When the Boundary Breaks

Vince and Howard's solitary thoughts some time after Party.


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When the Boundary Breaks by Thingogram

They’ve gone, again. They always go in the end.

You think you’re so amazing, but yours went first, didn’t she.

Do you miss her? Well, do you?

His stayed around. His came back. Yours didn’t. His came back, then she left, and then she came back again. How many times did she come back? You can’t remember can you.

She’s not come back again now. Are you happy now?

Yes? Well aren’t you the selfish little bastard.

No? You should be. You asked for this, you little whore.

He doesn’t look happy. Will he cry? Of course he won’t. He never cries in front of you. He won’t cry in front of anyone. It’s not his way.

You know you won’t cry. You just don’t. Why do people assume you do? You’ve never cried in public. You don’t cry in private either.

Why not? Too many one night stands; this one didn’t mean any more than another.

Too many one night stands, too many kisses in the dark with people you couldn’t see properly whose names you’ll never know. You never really did learn to love, did you.

Get over yourself you affected trollop.

Do you want to comfort him? Do you want to jump in and take advantage while he’s vulnerable? Of course you do you sick tramp, you want him now. Now that you’re alone, you want him and only him.

But tomorrow, or whenever you next see someone else, you won’t want him then will you. You’ll drop him just like that the next time Madame Blam comes along. Don’t kid yourself and say he did it first. Yes, you know he did, but it could just have easily been you, couldn’t it. And then you wouldn’t be thinking about it. Maybe he would. But you’ll never know that.

And when the lady leaves again, because you know she will; they all do. When she leaves again, he’ll still be there, waiting, all alone, for you. He’ll take you back, because they always leave him too in the end, and you’re all he’s really got.

And then, when the next one comes, you’ll leave him all over again.

Hold your hand out, you dirty using bitch.

When you finally break that physical boundary, it’ll be forever. A touch is an admission of trust, an invitation to enter, an unbreakable message through the skin that can’t be taken back. You can’t just give that to anyone.

No, you’ve never broken it. It may seem like you have, but it wasn’t real. He’s always tried to cajole you into breaking that boundary, and with him, no less, but he never meant it. No, he’s not malicious. He just doesn’t see it the way you do.

Perhaps it might mean something, something subconscious, but if it does, it probably isn’t something he wants to bring out. He seemed to ignore it quick enough; so should you. No one knows about it anyway. You can always pretend it never happened. Carry on with your monastic chastity until the time really is right to break it. Yes it might only be pretending, but you haven’t really broken it in your mind.

Somewhere there’s someone waiting. Someone who’s been waiting all their life for you. You have only to find them, and then Forever.

You only have to reach out.

From across a dimmed room skin touches and fingers clasp. Neither one moves as they feel everything but nothing. Time stills as they sit and wait for morning, another day where everything happens again, the same as it ever did and ever will.

They stay like this for hours, each as far apart as the wide sofa will allow, just touching, not enough to be intimate but just enough to be secure. They look straight ahead, not regarding the other, just thinking their own private thoughts.

Everything could change from here, given the chance the touch begs for, but as long as neither chooses to acknowledge it, it never will.