geist luka

Luka dipped outside for a smoke. It wasn't that he was that much of an addict, but the air of a late spring evening was too alluring to stay cooped up in his workplace all night, and even someone like him needed a few seconds of quiet every now and then. It was in-between dances, anyway. No one would even notice that he'd left.

He shut the door behind him and leaned heavily against the wall in the alleyway, peering up through the buildings and lights to what meager amount of sky could be seen. Not really an ideal place for stargazing, but it was certainly calming. He tugged the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, snagging one in his teeth and lighting up. The smoke he drew in added its chemicals to the cocktail drifting through his veins, and he let it out slowly, the cloud spiraling its way up to that patch of sky and fading into the blackness. His body loosened, the subtle nicotine relaxation settling his nerves and putting a stop to those pesky nigglings of thought and regret. Life was good. People adored him, he grew up toned and beautiful, and no one would ever have to know what he'd survived, what he'd given up to get to this point.

Maybe his habits were unhealthy and dangerous, but really, who cared? He was 20 years old and already right where he wanted to be. So what if he would be gone in ten years? Die young and leave a pretty corpse.

As he lowered his head, letting smoke drift from his nose before blowing it too away, Luka glanced out of the alley to the street in time to see someone happen by. He smiled. It was a handsome young thing who'd attended a party he'd gone to that weekend, older but not by much. He didn't even know the man's name, but still memories, fogged by alcohol and God knows what other substances, filled his head. This one had been especially passionate. They must have easily spent three hours in that room together, the man so eager to touch and fondle and fuck every inch of him, all with this look of awe on his face. This was no surprise to Luka. It was a common reaction to someone as gorgeous as himself. What did surprise him was the crying afterward. The drunken, emotional babbling, only half-understood but meaningful in its own pathetic way.

Luka dropped the spent cigarette to the ground, stamping it out and quickly following the man.

"Hey!" he shouted after him, quickly catching up. "Didn't think I'd see you again. How've you been doing?" He was smiling, just a bit coyly.

The man, however, didn't look pleased to see him. His eyes went wide, as if he'd seen a ghost. His teeth grit sharply.

"You... you alright there? Come on, remember me?" Luka said, trying to sound cheerful but there was something very unsettling about the wild look that filled the man's face.

"Get the fuck away from me..." The man answered, practically growling.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay." Luka already was starting to back away. "I just wanted to see if you were alright. We don't have to-"

"I said shut up, faggot." he interrupted.

Luka went dead silent, going still and looking as if he'd been slapped. The silence hung, heavy and oppressive until something began to break through the shock. Anger.

"Excuse me?" Luka finally answered, his hands starting to shake and his voice twisting into a snarling whisper. "What did you just say? You were the one that fucked me! That was your idea. If I'm a faggot, then you're one t-"

He was cut off as the man grabbed his wrist, squeezing it hard enough to leave a bruise.

"If you're not gonna shut up, then I'll make you." The man dragged him back towards the alleyway. Panic started to settle in, and Luka drew in a breath to shout, only to feel the wind knocked out of him as the man's fist connected with his stomach. He doubled over, but wasn't about to give up, clawing and biting and throwing blows of his own, fueled by anger. It wasn't his fault that this guy regret what he did! What the hell was so wrong with trying to be a good person, to check up on someone? Fuck this guy, he deserves any beating he could possibly get.

All thought, all struggle, all the raging stopped when something hard pressed just underneath his ribcage. Something sharp that drew a strangled sound from his throat. For a split second he thought the silence would save him, that it was an empty threat that would go away when he stopped moving. Then the knife bottomed out against his skin. He felt the trickle of blood start to pool on his clothing before the pain started, his heart starting to race as the realization sunk in. The world around him faded away, even the pain of the five inches of metal stuck in his skin seeming so distant as shock settled into his being. This wasn't real. The sounds of his own choked sobs hit his ears but never translated. He might have been saying words, might have been begging for his life or spitting swears,but he would never know.

The knife pulled away, tearing its way out before making another hole. And another. Eventually, frustrated that the crying and screaming hadn't stopped, he slashed that pretty white neck, deep enough to where everything was finally quieted in a torrent of blood.

The man abandoned the knife, thrown into the dumpster with the body, now completely still.

An hour later, Luka awoke again, surrounded by pitch darkness and a terrible reek of copper and garbage. As he regained consciousness, panic quickly wormed its way through delirium and weakness, and even if he didn't understand where he was or what had just happened, it pressed him on to escape.

He fell to the ground at the foot of the dumpster, the smell of blood still heavy in the air even outside of it. His body was mostly numb, but his own choked breathing confirmed to himself that he was alive. An ache radiated from his throat and stomach, dull and pulsing, but he couldn't stop now. He had to...he had to...

Darkness was setting in again, but he peered up through shattered glasses, eyes half-focused anyway, contacting with another pair. Brown and sad-looking, hovering above a dull silver binding  and framed by flowing, smoke-like hair. A girl. Who she was, he didn't know. Had he met her before?

She held him as he lost consciousness again, running her hands through his blood-tipped hair. She stayed with him when he was finally found, finally brought to medical attention, but no one else could see her.

He eventually found out that she'd allowed him to cheat death. She'd given him a second chance. But what would he do with it now?