DRIVE WEST

ELEVEN - Snitches Get Stitches, Officer (Part 2)

Apollo had swallowed love and other demons that haunted him for many nights, and like swallowing poison does, he quietly waited to die. Death kindly stroked his hair at night, like the mother he never had, and said he just wasn't ready-- which brought him to tears once again. During winter nights, he whispered in his sleep: "Even death has broken my heart". The women that slept beside him, dressed in only his satin sheets night after night, kept his secret; half because they didn't want to dig into the man and get their hands dirty with truth and shame, and half because they lied beside him only to forget their own.

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Sountrack for the chapter

Training Wheels by Melanie Martinez

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Apollo's arm held the door open with significant strength, as his chest bobbed up and down in heavy breaths.

Every exhale brought white fogs into the freezing air, "Can I see you outside for a second?" He asked Monday.

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They stared at each other, both wide-eyed, preparing to say things they'd regret in the morning.

He turned his body to the side shifting from one foot to the other and brought his hand to his chin, thinking.

She stood there hugging her arms, anxious.

He ran both hands through his hair, finally deciding, "Yeah, I'm not going to play it cool right now. Because I don't want you to think I'm cool."

"Apo--"

"No. Listen to me." He stepped closer to her rapidly and removed a lock of hair from her face. "Listen. I need you to hear this." The hairs in her arm lifted up as aggressive chills revealed the emotions this phrase bombarded her with.

His eyes were tearing up, and she looked into them in a way that felt like she was admitting defeat. There was lust in her, she knew, but it wasn't that that was roaring inside of her at this moment. It wasn't grief that was scratching the walls of his soul as he looked at her. It was something else.

Apollo had swallowed love and other demons that haunted him for many nights, and like swallowing poison does, he quietly waited to die. Death kindly stroked his hair at night, like the mother he never had, and said he just wasn't ready-- which brought him to tears once again. During winter nights, he whispered in his sleep: "Even death has broken my heart". The women that slept beside him, dressed in only his satin sheets night after night, kept his secret; half because they didn't want to dig into the man and get their hands dirty with truth and shame, and half because they lied beside him only to forget their own.

Apollo cried as he looked into her eyes, "I've been Johnny, I've been Atticus," He paused, and breathed with strength, "I've been Apollo. This whole thing has been..." His eyes looked around her hair, her lips, "Hard for me." Another step forward was taken by him, "Monday Emilia March, I don't care if I'm an astronaut next, or a movie star, or a barista, or a damn dog walker," Monday chuckled and looked away, but he grabbed her head and brought her eyes to him, "I know I'm so messed up." He whispered to her, and then stared. He let go of her and moved around raising his arms, "I know you deserve better. I know I don't have a chance with you." He looked at the sky and groaned, then screamed, "God, I don't even remember who I am! I got-- lost." He dragged his eyes to her, "In the middle of everything. I am so sorry. Monday. I am so sorry. I'm a mess."

She held back her own cry just enough so she could say, "What are you apologizing for this time?"

He closed his eyes, asking God for mercy and relief in secret. "So much."