u p h e r e ↬ m.f. & s.m. [completed]

RUSSIN ROULETTE

Fr. 23th September 2016

"Shit man, you're drunk, man" Ryan slurred in a loud voice trough the room. Mark just laughed but his expression turned angry soon after. "I can't believe that bitch told us that it wasn't art! A F, a fucking F, dude!"

"I was there, you don't have to tell me! Calm down, it's over!"

Yet, Mark didn't want to calm down and smashed his beer bottle against the wall. The liquid, which still was in it, splashed and the bottle crashed into pieces. Some other people at the party looked at him with shock or tried not to stand on glass, but he could not care any less. Not now.

"This bullshit's not over and I'm not calm, for fucks sake Ryan!"
To which his friend could not do anything other than raise his hands up in defense and back off, and so he did. Leaving Mark alone, panting.

"Did you just throw a beer at my wall?" He heard the familiar Irish voice squeaking from behind. He turned around, Mark did not want to speak right now. The chance of spitting out an I love you was too high. "Well, okay. Why not. It's cool, right? My landlord's probably cool with it, too. Yeah." He tried shrug it off.

There were probably 20 to 30 people on this party and Jack, along with probably everybody else, started to understand how small this apartment really was.

Mark on the other hand was one of the few people who did not realize just how close everybody was to the other. It took him 5 shots and nearly 3 beer to get to this point, but at the same time he more and more ignored the fact that he failed their art project.

"Dude you don't look so good. Just lay down on the couch?" Jack put a hand on his friend's shoulder, his grip tightening as he tried to push him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Eventually Mark gave in.

Just as he wanted to lay Mark down, he heard Ken screaming "RUSSIN ROULETTE!" A few drunken Whooo's escaping the people's mouths around him as the clicking sound, of the revolver spinning, set in.

Jack's mind began to race when Ken put the gun against his head. It was just in time that he sprinted towards his friend and pointed the gun away from his head and towards the ceiling.

As a bullet was fired, the room went quick for a split second before various laughter started to set in. It seemed like Jack was the only one standing in shock.

He prayed that his neighbors would not call the police. He took the gun from Ken and pushed every bullet out of it, burning his fingers.

Mark had fallen asleep on the couch and Jack set himself next to him. "You guys are fucked up" was the last thing he said before drifting away into the world of dreams, too.

***

The next morning, Jack and Mark were the only two left in the apartment. The others had left earlier that morning or even in the night. Due to the fact that this was not the first morning they woke up together on Jack's couch after a drunken night, it was less awkward when Jack opened his eyes, stretching, causing Mark to wake up, too. 

The fact that they stared each other in the eyes for a few seconds, was awkward though. Especially because both of them noticed the love in their own eyes, but not the love in the eyes of the person they stared at.  

After a few moments, Jack asked "Coffee?" with a weak, still sleepy voice. 

"Yes" Mark nodded, his voice deeper than usual.

Both of them having their coffees on the table, they looked down. Jack was the first to speak out. "Ken nearly shot himself in the head yesterday."

Mark looked up at him, eyes wide open by now. News such as those could make a person more awake than any coffee in the world. Especially if it was crappy coffee such as the one they had to drink.

"He what?" He asked, his voice high in confusion, yet still a little sleepy, nearly cracking 

"I think, or hope, that he drank a lot, and then he screamed Russin Roulette and pushed a fucking Revolver against his head, man. But I was quick enough to point it away to the ceiling. Now I have a bullet in my ceiling, puke on my floor and beer on my wall, man I'm so done, everyone is just so fucked up."

***

A few hours into the day and Mark finally put the PS4 controller aside and got up from Jack's mattress, which still laid on the floor next to the window.

Jack, who sat next to him, watching him play looked up at him with a confused look on his face "Where ya' going?"

"Out. I still need to get new shoes for my brother." Jack got up as well and stretched once again that day. "I'm coming with you."

Mark stared at Jack. He did not want his friend to come along, he knew that there were only a few ways for families like his to get new clothes. The way they, or better said Mark, chose was to steal. And even though it became something so familiar and normal to him, he still was aware of the fact that most people would not unterstand.

And he wanted Jack to think good of him.

"If that's okay..." He added as he saw Mark's concerned expression, who quickly nodded, letting his  countenance falling back in place. There was no point in hiding anymore.

***

They went to shop near their neighborhood. Jack had asked him why he wouldn't go to a shop downtown, but as soon as he realized the reason himself he blushed slightly and let it be.

Jack thought it was because it was less expensive.

Mark knew it was because there were no cameras.

 He was about to stuff a pair of shoes into his backpack, just as Jack grabbed his hand and looked him in the eyes. Without a word he put the shoe back to its place and grabbed another, more expensive pair of shoes. 

He bought it, without a word. And handed it to Mark, without a word.

But it's true what people say; a look speaks louder than words.

***

words: ~1050

***

People start to add this story to their reading lists

I'm screaming

This excuse of a story gets votes as well.

Thank you so much for reading even though my writing is bad, you're so cool!

I'm sure I'll figure out the way I want to write...someday

until then

ENJOY THIS MESS