An Ocean of Cigarettes

So he burns. Ties a stone to his foot and drowns himself in an ocean of ashes and heat.

Then he takes a hit from the cigarette, lets the nicotine do its job, and is able to breathe once again.

Burning doesn't feel good, and neither does drowning. But it's better, somehow, than drowning in his own insecurities.

He much rather die from the ash and the burn.

Xuxi's knees bend until he's sitting on the tile floor, and the body length mirror can only see his head. Not his legs. Not his brain. His hair, his unkempt, dirty, unruly hair and nothing else.

This brings his lungs a breath of fresh air. Fills him with the brief relief of not seeing his face drawn in the mirror.

Xuxi's phone is suddenly ringing, breaking the momentary peace he had submerged himself in. It was supposed to be silent. 'Do not disturb' mode because the burdens he carries on his shoulders are already big enough. He expected the different settings on his phone would make others...well, stop disturbing him, let him wallow in pain alone.

Apparently, like everything else in his life, it didn't work how Xuxi wanted.

He turns his face down to his lap and finds the device laying on his knees, keeping constant pressure on the skin.

His hands fiddle with the brown cover of his phone, the corners bending against his fingers as he ignores the name "Ten 🥵" displayed on the screen. A small chuckle escapes his lips as he stares at the emoji, the name, and the stupidity of it all.

Some months ago he was dancing in front of huge crowds, singing next to people who loved him, living the dream- as one would say.

Then there was a post. And then there were five. Suddenly, his manager was calling, demanding a statement to be written for something he didn't even understand.

He was then apologising for "his actions", whatever the fuck those were.

The members started throwing side glances and asking questions he didn't have answers to because that boy in the news wasn't Xuxi or Lucas or Yukhei. He was- he was an idiot, a narcissist...an abuser.

And then he wasn't dancing, or singing and it is just ironic how everything fell from under him. Everything and anything he had worked for left him like water leaves the dessert.

Then he was back in China. Stranded to a bed and trapped by the pillows. His heart stopped beating in adrenaline, excitement from the crowds. It instead fought constantly against his ribcage; leaving his lungs with no air to breathe and no body to feel.

Another post was released. A full-blown investigation of how whatever those accusations had said was, decidedly, not true.

But it was too late.

He was already dead to the public and their eyes and ears. The ashes had clogged his own eyes and ears already too.

Sweat became tears, the light became dark and the phone stops ringing. Ten's name disappears on the screen.

It doesn't stay that way for long.

Ten's name appears on the screen again. This time Xuxi doesn't stare at the name for long, just sits the phone on the floor next to him and mourns the loss of warmth on his grey skin.

The ringing stops, eventually. The one on Xuxi's ears stays, as it has for the past month.

There's a new sound coming from his phone, and he sighs as he curses the useless 'do not disturb' on the damned device.