Max is NOW!

Okay, so here is chapter two from the thing I’m working on. It’s significantly shorter, and I’m not sure if I want to add to it or not. But here is what I have so far.

CHAPTER TWO

I’ll be the weeping willow drowning in my tears
You can go swimming when you’re here
I’ll be the rainbow when the sun is gone
Wrap you in my colors and keep you warm

I’ll be the ocean so deep and wide
I’ll get out the tears whenever you cry,
I’ll be the breeze after the storm is gone
To dry your eyes and love you warm
-Otis Redding

Wil stood on the edge of the freeway overpass intertwined with the railing. He looked up at the distant mountain range, masked by the thick smog. He saw it both clearly and vaguely at once. The automobiles sped underneath Wil’s feet, he could feel the rumble of large trucks in his knees. For a few more moments he longingly gazed at the northern horizon. And then as quickly as he arrived to take in the view, Wil turned back down the overpass to finish his morning run. It was a recent resolve to run a few miles every morning for him. Almost immediately after beginning this habit, Wil noticed its affect on his life and body. It enhanced his energy significantly, but also seemed to slow down his obsessive mind, the best of affects. Nonetheless, Wil was also ashamed of running every morning. Most of his friends laughed at the idea of exercise. They suckled whiskey and vodka, sucked down cigarettes, gorged like pigs, and turned to mock the thirty-somethings making their early morning journeys in sweat pants and track jackets. So he rarely mentioned it to them, although it was something he looked forward to every day. Wil breathed fast and quick with every stride, sweat collecting on his every appendage. His mind escaped to a few night earlier, with Monica: her soft lips teasing his. He could almost feel her hot breath on his neck, the unbearable, musky heat. Not even the pain in his shins from the run could battle such a memory. Wil found himself craving the affection again, reliving those moments. But for now he set his eyes to the apartment complex approaching, and the ache of his arches.
Wil paused outside of his door, taking a few last breaths. He unlocked the door and found his way to the open floor of his studio. His heart was still pounding furiously. Wil lay on the ground and continued with his morning workout, crunching his stomach muscles. He broke away from the tension in his stomach, he drifted back to Monica. More thoughts filled his mind with every crunching contraction. Wil smirked through the dull pains and he faded into the delight of a few days ago: Monica’s naked body pressed hard against his in the early morning. Simple copulation was for animals, Wil pleasured in the intensity of the contact with another’s flesh against his. He reveled in the moments of stillness where the borders of their bodies blurred into a mess of flesh and fabrics.
Standing from the floor, Wil refocused on his workout again. He stretched a final time, touching his toes and untying his shoes. Monica made way to his thoughts once more while he stripped the sweat drenched clothes. He remembered tracing his finger across her stomach, encircling the navel, and back again to her side. It was done so lightly, just shy enough from tickling her. The friction between his fingertip and her midsection was so soft and could barely be felt. But this was just a memory now, Wil shook it from himself. He entered the shower and set the handle to its hottest position.
Steam filled the entire bathroom. It poured over the fogged plastic shower door. Wil left the lights off in the bathroom while he showered, and aside from the augmented light seeping through the tiny bathroom window, the shower stall was dark and somber. Wil leaned against the cold tile wall and the scoulding water poured down his hair, face, and shoulders. He closed his eyes enough to block the small amount of light. Each breath was full of sticky, steaming air. Wil released the tension in his shoulders, the soreness from his calves, and limped his body enough to stay standing, but still almost comatose. Soon his breaths were deep and long. His mind wandered through the past few days. But quickly he nodded into a day-dream, half remembering, half dreaming. It wasn’t about Monica or the night they met, Wil’s dream recalled Lisa from a deeper part of his mind, a time when they had only just met. Wil’s eyes grew heavy in the comfort of his shower, and he slipped off more into this memory of Lisa. She was smiling at him, with a look in her eyes of complete contentment, absolute confidence. Wil’s dream cut to the zoo, a common event between him and Lisa. She was croutched next to the turkeys, mocking a very hideous one in particular. They laughed at the creature, then laughed more at their insensitivity to the poor turkey. The laughter was silenced by a sudden and bright flash of light. Wil was standing alone in his room, a cell phone in one hand, his face in the other. This faded as Wil’s head twitched in the shower. The day-dream let go of him, and he opened his eyes only slightly. Underneath the gallons of water pouring down his face were tears cutting through the inner corners of his eyes. Wil lifted his heavy, aching hands and rubbed away the tears as if they were the only moisture on his cheeks. He paused a moment to peer into his darkened palms. He saw nothing, just darkness. And then he stood strait, moving from the wall onto his feet. It hurt too bad for him to continue with this dream, this memory, this forgotten time. Wil reached for the dull green soap and whispered to himself, almost inaudibly, “I miss you.” He lathered the soap between his palms, and tried to forget.