A piece of nothing

"Going back." The kid stated. He had holes dancing through his black trainers. He had a heart, drowned in liquid gold, turned to stone. He had a head built on life and essence and boredom. She curtsied, a foolish grace lingering on the daisies of a white dress. In the field she saw only with naivety and an unsure shiver in her spine - the first touch of love's ideal.  
"Why would you leave?" She stuttered, all green eyes and nibbled lips.  
"There are things." Once one had seen the vulgarity of affection he no longer cared for wise words from love-struck. Aged book's last breath of a fantasy long since past. He didn't like games.  
"We're young, Sebastian. We're still young and we're here. Why doubt me?"  
He laughed in his throat, trying to appear serious. A curl, and a  cigar away from authoritarian.  
"I don't doubt you, kid but you're all or nothing."  
"Stop talking silly, I'm here if you want me, I'm gone if you don't. I don't see how simple you need it."  
"Are you with me?"  
"I'm here."  
"That's not what I asked, Pen."  
"Why can't we keep it simple?"  
"So you're not mine?"  
"I'm yours for the moment."  
"You're insufferable."  
"You're typical. You wanted it or at least you never said otherwise. We've had this for months."  
"I want to keep you." He glared, his eyes carved in steel, uncaring. The grass moved. The sky was a sketch made with a light HB pencil. She let the wind rush over her - needles. The stream trickled. She kept her eyes closed. Her eyes closed bar a peek.  
"I am no one's." He sighed, kicked a stone, swore at her pale, pimpled skin. 'How can I love you?'  
 
 
The boy walked, until his young feet bled, until he'd ran her out of his head. She became the pouring beads of sweat on his brow. His nostrils flamed, arms stretching across the neck. The pavement cut more, the glass outside the pub cut more. He needed something, time to cool, for blood was boiling over blood that was boiling.  
"Something." He hissed at the bartender, nodding to a rapscallion on an edged table.  
 
I hate these days.  
Chocolate curls drape the white wall at the bay window seat. Stared. The reflection had her, what she needed, how she felt, what she could do - endless lists of endless lists of endless options and choices and directions. The dress was a pile on carpet. The trees outside raved. The pang in her chest felt heady. There was heat beneath flesh. A remedy for the endless days. He was a pastime, he was one hell of a way to pass it. He was something, definitely something.  
 
 
Immorally stubborn, he was fucking before he looked at a clock, drunk enough but not drunk enough. Dick unraveled and hard for a beautiful, young one. More beautiful than Pen. As infatuations go, she would have been a definite. Lathered all day in long, brunette strands and ethanol. Her cunt was wet for it. Bile was in his throat. The taste of her, the way of her. It was distinctly not Pen. Fuck. He moved away. All daisies and silly games.  
 
The car wouldn't start, not that Pen would have been in any state to start it. Red wine plus red wine plus red wine. Kids, that's a lot of red wine. She walked, she walked to the breakfast bar - two roads across and down to Seb's house on Arteria Lane. Bricking it, fucking terrified, she had the shakes, you know?
The gate was closed, she rung the bell. Thrice. She sat and had a cigarette, decided it was going cold. She wandered round the back to find him there, in a dressing gown - all in one piece. Exactly as she'd left him - one fight extra.    
"I bought you breakfast." Pen handed him the bag, smiled, silently, she turned on her heels. His shocked expression was priceless.  
"Are you coming in?" He yelled as she strutted down the alleyway.  
"No. I'll be back."  
 
The seat was pulled, the sandwich set on the table. He moved his head from side to side.  
"I don't get it."  
"She's checking up on you, boy." He ate the breakfast, calmed his head: It was her fault too, she won't care. Rewind, rewind, press rewind.-  
"Going back." The kid stated. He had holes dancing through his black trainers. He had a heart, drowned in liquid gold, turned to stone. He had a head built on life and essence and boredom.