Title: You Almost Want To Be Insane
Warnings: Lemon. Slash. Blah blah.
Notes: I have no explanation for this. If you read it, you do, if you don't, oh well. It pleases me anyway. This does ignore some of the film's plot. And no, this doesn't include any real life relations. Merely the movie.
The basement was some sort of portal to hell. It had to be. The house was constructed mistakenly over the entrance to Hades. And now, the pissed off demons had come to torture whoever was closest. That would be me. No one else could see like me. They didn't feel the sensation of having your body spin through a time warp, to have eyes that can see moments long lost in time. I didn't know who the boy was yet. I didn't know much about this place at all, and I didn't want to have to explore it.
I didn't want to justify Jonah's existence. Because that would make ghosts and evil real. And everyone wants to leave that idea to horror film directors. So, instead of just letting myself be consumed by my drugs and chemical therapy, like I should have, I fought my insanity. I combated these visions with a stubbornness so vicious, I didn't even fucking know where the strength came from most days.
I was having such vivid hallucinations. That's what they had to be. If I told my doctor, or even my Mom, that's what would be garbled back to me.
'You're sick, Matt…the invasive therapy is the reason why you're seeing a teenage ghost boy and rotting corpses.' I could hear them now. 'So, don't worry. You're just a complete basket case now.'
And I'd even go for that. It's how desperate I am, I suppose. Lying here in a quiet room by myself, waiting for something supernatural…it pushes all my nerve endings over the edge. I have to try to lay still. Don't twitch, Matt. Whatever is coming won't kill you. What will kill you is cancer, eating away at you as you wait for a ghost boy. Or maybe you'll just off yourself, because the idea of living in such a house has warped your brain beyond repair.
Can someone know if they're crazy? Does a lunatic believe all of his insane rantings? Because if you feel fine, then you are. You just have to keep telling yourself over and over that you'll be okay.
My fingernails grind so hard against my palms that I've drawn blood up through my skin. I hiss and roll over so that my back faces the wall. My bed feels stiff as a board. My family seems happier when I'm down here. They're sitting in that dining room…eating something I could try to join them in, but I know I'd probably get sick. That and there is just something…something about that room I cannot take. It's worse then having chemicals in you. Worse than the nauseous feeling that I get even thinking about it. I don't go in there if I can help it.
Jonah dosen't like the room either. I knew that from watching him, his fear towards it. Whatever happened in there he hasn't yet showed me…
There I go again. Acknowledging his existence. For whatever reason, doing that is most off-putting. I guess my type of insanity can ignore blood and death. It's the entity of a ghost of a…guy. Like my age or close enough. He obviously died a long time ago and never left this creepshow. From what he already has showed me, it looks like he had something to do with the evil that was pestering me now. Not that Jonah was evil…at least, I hope not. If whatever I'm hallucinating turns out to be real I want to be on the right side of things.
The doors of the tiny crematorium wobble in their hinges. It's a creaky noise for the metal has long since rusted. The noise became louder- so much louder I covered my exposed ear and smushed my face into my pillow. How no one can hear these things…it tends to prove my 'I'm a basket case lunatic' theory. I'm just about to tell it to stop, to force it to, when the doors cease shaking.
Slowly, my left eyelid retracted up, sticking in with the lower lashes and made blinking difficult.
"Matthew?" A voice calls me. But no one is there.
It wasn't my Mom. It was a male voice, and it sounded confused. As if they were looking for me. My heart stalled a bit. Whoever it was, they were speaking as clearly as though they were a few feet in front of my bed.
"Go away. L-leave me alone," I stuttered and glanced all around the basement.
Nothing. No creepy clanking, no shaking doors, no pools of unexplained blood…
I jumped up into a sitting position. My pillow flung off the bed and onto the floor. I could hear every small noise around me, every groaning pipe, and every creak that came from upstairs. My heart beat loudly within my ribcage.
Slowly, I drew my knees up so that they rested against my chest. I knew I was looking feeble and pathetic now. My breath hitched.
"Please go," I asked the voice.
Silence. Again. Maybe they had listened this time. I wasn't about to help a ghostly voice that may or may not exist. Each one of those options opened whole new fields of problems for me anyway. If they didn't exist, then I was a crazy. If they did exist, I was seeing things no one should. I wanted to close my eyes out of fear but I forced them open. If another vision of a rotting corpse was going to show up, I wanted to know about it right away.
The fluorescent bulbs above my head flickered. I gulped.
Suddenly, the left side of my bed drooped. Like someone was sitting there. There was even a dent where a person should be. But there was nothing. My breathing increased, my blood pounded hard through my veins.
"Matthew," it whispered. Then the indentation began to crawl towards where I was sitting, body curled into a fetal position.
"No! GET AWAY FROM ME!" I yelped, the lights flickering out.
The thing struggled getting to me, like it was getting caught in the sheets. Then all movement stopped. I shook in my sweatpants. I hadn't been wearing a t-shirt or anything and the thing had made the basement incredibly cold. My teeth chattered, making my jaw ache…then a warm breath tickled my cheek. My heart stopped. It was one of those corpses, it had to be. It had crawled into my bed. A feeling known only as pissed began to stab into how scared I was. I wanted it out.
But you can't shove a ghost to the floor, can you? I pushed my hands out anyway, blindly, and pushed.
My fingertips brushed fabric. My sheets? No, too coarse. Wool maybe. And a cotton something…a shirt? A shirt worn by something that breathed. I could still feel the light breath on my cheek. Well, my mind decided then that whatever this was needed to be away from me and fast. Using my arms and my legs, I pushed the creature onto the basement floor.
It cried out and I shot out of my bed too. The lights flickered for a moment and then stayed on.
He was lying on his back, propped up on his elbows. I hadn't seen him so clearly before, at least in my own time. For a second I had thought maybe I was back again and having a vision…but I could hear my Mom saying something about electric bills. So, Jonah shouldn't look like that. Like a live person. But he did. Completely solid and visibly unharmed. Jonah actually seemed hurt that I had shoved him away. But he didn't rise. Only sat there and watched me. Maybe he was unsure if I would push him again or not. So I did what any other mental case would do with their hallucination. I offered to help him up.
He took my hand and I grabbed his arm. His solid arm. Jonah brushed off the dark shirt and suspenders he was wearing and straightened out his pants. Then he stared again. I suddenly felt self conscious. Chemo and all that other shit had made me paler than any actual ghost. I looked sick. Some sick people don't look sick, you know? I do. I even coughed heavily, and not to distract Jonah's stares. I just didn't feel well.
"W-why do you look like that?" I wheezed. I then spit onto the floor.
Jonah looked at the phlegm without any expression. "Like what?"
"I dunno. Not all…dead." I said blandly.
His face remained neutral. "Oh. I'm not sure." Jonah began to look around the basement, but he never turned towards the doors that lead to the mortuary.
"Well…why are you down here?" I asked stupidly. I had a million questions and quite a few complaints for him. But none would come out of my mouth.
Jonah shrugged. "Whenever I can find you, I try to be at least visible. I apologize."
"You don't like when I show you…what happened. I don't mean to, sometimes. I'm just trying…trying so hard…I need you to put the pieces together." Jonah said sadly.
"You can't just tell me?" I sighed. It would certainly be less difficult.
Jonah shook his head. His dark hair never moved. "I cannot."
"Wait, are you a ghost?" Again, stupid. A hallucination could be whatever it wanted, right?
He looked surprised. He even stopped pacing the room to stare at me. "No."
I blinked. "Well then, what are you?"
"I don't know."
"How come I can see and hear you, but my family can't?"
Jonah shrugged, eyeing me curiously. "I'm just drawn to you. I think it has to do with your illness."
I reached up to scratch at a sore on my ribs. "You know about that?"
He nodded. "I know I have to show you. You have to do what I could not."
"Like I mentioned, I am just drawn towards you, Matthew." Jonah said simply and began pacing again.
I sighed. "But you aren't alive…right?"
"I am deceased."
"Are you a hallucination?"
Jonah snorted, like he was trying not to laugh at me. A warm blush crept over my skin. "No."
"Then what the fuck are you?" I snapped. I hate being laughed at. Didn't he understand how strange this was?
"I don't know."
I groaned and went to sit on the edge of my bed. This was just too much. My stomach was in knots and Jonah wanted to play games. Ignoring him seemed easy, but what if I never got to speak to him again like this? I rubbed my forehead and continued.
"What didn't you do?"
Jonah froze. He turned towards me slowly. I hadn't noticed how his hands began to shake against his sides. I became scared, retracting my limbs up to my chest again in case something was about to happen. But he simply became animated once more and walked over to my bed and sat down.
Right next to me. His leg felt warm and quite human when pressed into mine.
"I-I can't remember. I know it's bad, what happened…something just won't let me remember." His eyes were glassy and wide.
"I wish you could just tell me," I said softly, watching Jonah's hands ball into fists against his thighs.
"I apologize…Matt I…I want to explain so badly, I just…I know it's making you sicker, isn't it? What I've shown you? What the house has done to you…" Jonah said, his voice heart-wrenching and deep like he was trying not to cry or hit something.
His…body, I guess you can call it that, shook under this force. His fingers gripped the tops of his knees and squeezed making the knuckles go white. Maybe he was trying too hard to remember or maybe whatever was keeping him so solid was breaking. Either way I grabbed his wrists and pulled them away from his legs. Jonah struggled for a moment before I felt his hands go limp in mine. I was amazed by how warm and alive he felt. I touched his wrist, but there was no pulse. How the fuck could that possibly happen? Without thinking, I reached beside Jonah's suspenders and placed my palm against his chest and felt for a heartbeat.
But of course, there wasn't one. I dropped his hands and my own.
Jonah watched me, again curiously. "I told you I'm deceased."
"Then how do you look like that?!" I yelled at him, gesturing towards his flushed skin and warm hands.
He just shrugged.
"You don't even have a heartbeat. But you breathe. I'm losing my mind…" I mumbled into my fist and gave a good hearty cough.
"You're perfectly sane, Matthew," he wrinkled his nose.
"Thanks, imagination." I rolled my eyes.
"I'm not in your imagination, either. This is real time. Real life," Jonah said, gesturing around the basement with his hand. "I'm real. Even when I don't quite look this way."
"Are you always here?" I asked. Might as well, he was being so convincing.
Jonah nodded. "Always,"
"But I can't see you usually,"
"I know. I stay around you though. That's how I knew about your cancer."
That was a little weird. Having an invisible guy watch me sleep was just another reason to stay awake. And…not shower.
"You don't go into the bathroom with me too, do you?" I asked sheepishly.
Jonah was expressionless, but there was a tinge of pink under his cheekbones. "Does that matter?"
"Ugh. I don't know." I rubbed my arms, feeling creeped out. "And you don't leave the house, right?"
"I did a few times. I just can't go on my own." Jonah told me, picking at a loose thread coming out of my blanket.
"Oh." I grumbled, still freaked about a dead guy watching me shower. Go to the bathroom. Pop my pills, throw up…those types of things.
Jonah glanced at me sideways. "Matthew, I don't watch you clean yourself," he said awkwardly.
"Or use the toilet."
He made an odd sound. I saw that the corners of his mouth had tilted up into a small smile. Jonah was laughing at me again. I pushed his shoulder away as if he was just another friend.
"Stop laughing at me. You know following me in there is creepy, that's why you made sure I knew you didn't watch."
Jonah just laughed harder, a sound that felt real and unreal all at once. It vibrated inside of him and clanged like wind chimes. "You looked appalled."
"I am!" I felt myself laugh a bit. "I don't know. I still think I'm insane. You can't be real."
"But I am." his eyebrows furrowed together. Jonah reached out then and grasped my arm. His hand was warm, almost hot. I could feel skin, fingernails…a human.
"Sorry I shoved you, by the way. But you turned the lights out."
Jonah didn't say anything. He stared at me, his bright eyes scanning my face, my blotchy chest, my extra large sweatpants. You'd think he'd be sick of looking, if he was around me so much. Maybe I seemed more real to him too. Maybe in his eyes I was unclear before, in whatever dimension of earth he resided in. Jonah's hand slid off my arm and it fell limply to my leg. But his other hand went higher, and his fingernails grazed my cheek as he touched my jaw.
I couldn't speak. If a guy off the street or even a friend had crawled into my bed and then ended up touching my face I would have punched the shit out of him. However, Jonah was just different. Another thing that just 'was' without any explanation. My pulse quickened again like when he had first appeared. I didn't even shove him. Jonah's eyes stayed focused downwards and his hand lazily explored my face. From the jaw he went across my cheekbones, then my forehead and over my nose. His nails dropped back to stroke my other cheekbone and then my lips. Jonah watched me curiously. Probably wondering what I thought of this. I wasn't thinking much. Just about how strangely warm his 'body' was. The pad of his thumb felt rough and way too normal. He began to swirl circles against my lips, still staring at my neck instead of my eyes.
"You aren't speaking," Jonah said softly, his hand falling away.
Now I began to feel the awkwardness, which was coming in droves. I shrugged oddly.
"You're just really warm."
Jonah stared, watching me fold and unfold my arms due to tension. "I've never felt so alive. I guess I became overexcited,"
I could take that as an odd apology. He wasn't sorry though, for touching me. I hadn't minded. Being dead would change lots of things for me, too. "No, it's okay."
He watched me for a second, his fingers drumming idly against his leg. Then his hand rose again and Jonah cupped my entire cheek in his palm. The heat was overwhelming. He should be stone cold. He shouldn't be able to touch me. But obviously, he was. Jonah pulled my face down to his. I hadn't realized the height difference between us before. He then pressed his lips into mine. My entire body went limp.
It was like a heat transfusion. All of his warm, strange energy shocked my mouth and spread through my face. The hottest part of me had to be my cheekbone, where Jonah's hand still rested. I wanted the kiss to end, but at the same time, I was glad he continued. His lips were soft and rather feminine against my chapped and bitten ones. Maybe I had gone too long without talking to girls…it hadn't seemed important once I was diagnosed. Who wanted a guy like me as a boyfriend? The point was, Jonah the dead boy was kissing me and I wasn't stopping him, or even freaking like I should have been. I was just sitting there. The scariest part was that I began to kiss him back.
Jonah didn't stop in shock of this. He almost had, his head had jerked. Maybe he felt that if he broke his hold that I would lose it. I wasn't sure what I would do. My hands began to shake so I rested them on his hips so that they would stop moving. Jonah leaned in closer towards me, taking his other hand and grasping my neck with it. He never held me too hard. Being touched was something I had feared after my treatments began. No one could really hug me or anything without irritating me in the process. Hell, Jonah probably knew that. He was my ghost stalker after all.
The kiss deepened, and Jonah slid his tongue against my lower lip. I almost jerked back this time. I don't know why I hadn't expected such, but it still alarmed me. I didn't want him to stop, though, so I opened my mouth slightly and his tongue pushed past my lips. He tasted like peppermint. Not the really sugary kind either, it was way too sharp. There was also something else I couldn't place. It wasn't bad, kissing him. I've only ever kissed two girls before so my experience was rather limited. Jonah was definitely leading everything, not that I minded. His tongue was just as warm as his skin, and felt amazing as he slid it over my teeth and especially when it rubbed against my own tongue. You know, kissing involves more bacteria than most people would like to think. All that saliva and germs…it could weaken me.
My left eye opened to watch Jonah, who for once isn't watching me. Our eyelashes almost cling together because he is so close. I take my hands off of his hips and steer his back so that he falls between my legs. Jonah then sits up on his knees, hands gracing my sides. Our lips depart and he finally stares at me. He takes in my lips, which are surely red and swollen, and how my palms are rubbing against his hipbones. He even glances over at the door to the basement. I could hear my Mom doing dishes, on the phone with Dad. Someone was running through the living room. Another on the stairs. I knew how Jonah felt. Somehow we were on our own private planet. We had to be. The others, humans and spirits, just didn't exist.
He knew I wanted him to kiss me again, so he did. I wished he could sit in my lap instead of against my leg, but that would crush what little muscle I had left. He weighed quite a bit for a dead kid. Hmph. Dead. I didn't want to think about Jonah's state. He wouldn't ever belong here with me. Not really. One day he'd be free of this house and pass into whatever his afterlife was. Then again…if cancer had its way…
But that was stupid. Right?
I laid back against the bed and took Jonah with me. He knew again not to sit directly on me. Instead, his thighs hovered almost, right above my hips. Our lips crashed over and over until I swear he drew a little blood from my upper one. Then Jonah changed pace. He put his mouth over my collarbone and began to bite at a spot of flesh. Not hard at all. It didn't even make me cringe like contact always did. His tongue went to soothe the genial bite, his illusory breath blew against the skin to cool it. But that seemed to make more spots of my flesh quiver than it should have. His palms spread out over my scarred chest. Jonah did even this carefully, using only his fingertips when it came to spots where there were more recent sores.
As he did this, I stared at his dark buttoned shirt and suspenders. Would they come off? Or are you glued to your clothes once you die in them? That seems stupid. I know. But how would I know what happens after a heart stops beating?
Only one way to find out. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled Jonah back up to me. I pushed at his suspenders and they fell wayside and smacked against his upper legs and ass. Jonah surprised me by untucking his own shirt, but I pushed his fingers away and undid the buttons myself. The cotton garment fell to the floor and he looked exposed. Had he ever done this type of thing, before he died? I wanted to ask but I didn't. Maybe he couldn't remember that either. Boy's chests had never done anything for me before…but Jonah's skin radiated light and heat; more than I could absorb. My hands slid across his front and then wrapped around his back. I raked him in again. I had to feel our chests touch.
The warmth- I almost cried out in pleasure. Nothing ever felt good to me anymore. I couldn't even look at websites or Playboys because getting stiff hurt so bad. I couldn't jerk my body like that. But having Jonah's skin touch mine was enough to get me hard, and I didn't even have to touch myself. He seemed content with me holding him, pressing our bodies together tightly. He kissed my cheek, resting his head beside mine.
"You make me sorry that I'm dead, Matt." he whispered into my ear.
I couldn't think of how to respond to that. But Jonah didn't seem to mind. He began kissing my throat again, but he didn't bite me anymore. I felt him move, so that he could hover back over my hips, when he felt it. How hard I was. With his wide, shiny eyes, he stared at the line that was blatantly obvious even through my thick sweatpants. For a second I thought he was going to climb off of me. Maybe leave. I…panicked. For some reason, and who knows why, I felt oddly attached to Jonah. I had been attached before, I knew that. I just hadn't wanted to be. But he didn't leave. Jonah hovered over my legs instead of my hips, and started pulling my sweatpants down. He looked so determined. I guess they didn't wear such casual clothes back in…whenever the hell time he lived. Boy, I needed to do research. But it wasn't time for that now. If he was going to touch me, I didn't want Jonah fumbling with pants and boxers. I pulled them both down to my thighs and eased out my hardened dick in the process. Jonah watched me intently, his eyes were still very wide. I let go of myself, not speaking. I sure as hell wasn't going to ask him to do anything. I wouldn't know what to say.
But Jonah seemed to already have a plan. He started at the base, working up so he could brush the seeping tip with the back of his thumb. I tried not to make a sound and it was decently hard. His warmth against that part of me was almost a fire hazard. I bucked against his hand so Jonah went faster, pulling and pressing my dick back and forth. A strangled groan escaped and I swore he grinned. So much for boys back then being polite and religious and all that shit. I knew that history book's pictures were crap. I knew I was close to coming, and that was when Jonah let go. My dick fell back and hit into my hip.
I blinked up at him, not noticing at first that he was undoing his belt. My eyes mimicked how Jonah's had been. Wide. Was any of this even possible? How could someone be aroused, but not have a pulse? But once Jonah kicked his black, dated pants to the floor, there was no question really. His dick, although smaller than mine, was hard and coated in a slick precum that had probably stained whatever type of underwear he had been wearing. I hadn't seen. I pressed his dick against my palm, rubbing the tip. With my other hand I cupped his balls. I didn't know how he wanted me to touch him. And again, I wasn't going to say anything. But Jonah made happy little sounds that were unusual to me, but oddly…cute. I made a face at my own thoughts. This entire moment was too much like a dream. The basement was bad. The house was…something else. But for this past hour, I've finally felt like a real person. And better yet- my stomach wasn't in tumbling knots for once.
"Matthew," Jonah's voice was whispery and light. He pushed my hands away and crawled over me, hovering.
I didn't realize what this meant at first. He had to actually grab a hold of my dick again and lead it between his thighs before I got the message.
"Wait! Doesn't that…um…" I couldn't remember anything I had ever heard about anal sex. All I knew was that it hurt even if you prepared for it.
"It won't hurt," Jonah laughed. "I promise." he added in a whisper and pushed me inside of him.
I had to yank my hands off of his hips and scream into them. The hot, overwhelming tightness pressed against my dick so hard…is it possible to explode? I wasn't sure. Jonah leaned forward, pushing all of me inside of him. His head tilted back. With his eyes closed, lips parted…I couldn't take staring at Jonah. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But I couldn't fuck him like I desperately needed to. The ache was already making itself known. My back hurt. My abdomen hurt. But somehow Jonah knew this too. So he brought his own body up and down, impaling himself again and again. Moans came from him instead of those girly sounds. True, hardened guy moans. The same kind that was slipping out of my mouth.
Could my Mother hear? What would she see if she stepped down into the basement?
Me gently humping the air? God, that's something to laugh about later.
My body was covered in sweat. Jonah's was clean, but it glistened without any perspiration. I suppose he really was dead. He didn't feel like it…especially as he came, the white spurts of warm liquid covered my chest. He still let me finish though, making sure he did most of the moving. I filled him and he shuddered as I pulled out. Jonah fell against me, kissing my neck, holding on to my waist. We stayed like that. Quiet. I didn't have anything to say or ask him. He couldn't tell me what would happen. If I'd even live through the monsters in my closet nightmare that I had been dealt with. Sometimes they were scarier than cancer. At least that was known of by other people. But Jonah knew it was real. And he knew I was now, too, if he had ever doubted me. One day I would release him. I just had to.
My skin was still very warm and it didn't pain me. I yawned, and my breath ruffled Jonah's dark hair.
He smiled at me. "Go to sleep, Matthew."
"I can't. You'll be gone then." I argued, but my eyelids were very heavy.
The last thing I can remember before falling asleep happened to be Jonah's fierce, dark blue eyes. They seemed to be trying too hard to look happy. I slept for about two hours and when I woke up, I was alone. For a moment it had felt like a very real dream. I was almost disappointed. But my chest was damp. My clothes were still on the floor. And although the basement was cold and forbidding again, an odd warmth clung to my bed. I stood up and crossed the room. I stopped to pick up my sweatpants and pull them over my aching legs.
A slightly cracked mirror hung on the wall beside the stairs. I smiled at the reflection, for a small bruise had bloomed on my collarbone. Maybe I wasn't crazy. Jonah was dead, and a ghost, no matter what he thought of himself. But if he had really been just a hallucination, I'd want to be insane. I'd wish for nothing more. I just had to help him now. My smile faded a bit. I knew that it would.
Because I was still stuck with my demons. And if I was ever able to see Jonah again like that, I knew it would be in death. Oh well. That's something to strive for.
Yeahhhh I know I ran with it, haha. Reviews, eh? Maybe.