SO weird and schitzo and . . . I dunno. Make of it what you will . .
. Written on the MCBC in a moment of twisted, creepy inspiration.
WHAT IF SUZE WAS ACTUALLY A GUY CALLED SIMON?
This is how the "Bedroom Scene" from Haunted would have gone . . .
- 8 -
"So can it actually be done?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could. I watched Paul remove his Ray Bans, and smirk at me. God, this guy was cool . . . I guess I knew why. What with the freakin' sweet wheels, the multi-million dollar house, of course he was going to be an arrogant son of a bittch. "Soul transference, I mean."
"Why do you want to know?" Paul arched an eyebrow.
I laughed offhandedly, and looked elsewhere. "Huh? Why do I - ? Oh, uh, you know . . . that Craig dude. He's really annoying me lately. He just, uh, wants to know about it. That's all. Then maybe he'll piss off and leave me alone - "
Paul's lips went crooked. Not that I was looking at his lips. God no. Sick . . . I'm not - I mean, I just WASN'T looking there, okay? "Whatever, Simon," he muttered boredly. "I think we both know why you want to know about Soul Transference."
I brought my gaze back to his, and blinked several times. "Hah. I have no ideal what you're talkin' about, Paul." I shifted back on his bed so I was more comfortable, glad that I was busying myself with an action that didn't require me to look at him. I was terrified . . . that he'd know . . .
"Yes you do," he edged closer to me. His hand moved so it was beside my leg. Instantly, these freaky reactions started happening all through my body. I breathed in sharply, and jerked away. "Hey, what the hell, man! Just - "
He cut me off, his smile bigger now. "You know what I'm talking about," his face was moving closer to mine.
"Jesse," he elaborated. "You think I didn't know?"
"HUH?" I exploded, terrified that his guess was so true. "Screw you! That's just - dude, that's off! I'm gone - "
My escape was hindered, however, when his hand shot around my wrist.
"Forget about him," he whispered desperately to me. "Soul Transference won't solve your problem. Come on, Simon . . . you know that I'm the only one for you . . . "
"But," I squeaked, "His pants, Paul. It's the pants. They just leave nothing to the imagination!"
"Want me to wear his pants for you?" Paul hissed in my ear.
The answer was deep inside of me, yet so close to the surface I couldn't stand it.
"Yes . . . Oh, yes . . . "
And then I kissed him.
I hope he didn't mind guys making the first move.