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Complications Of The Flesh	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1262 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 10
Title: Complications Of The Flesh 10/10
Author: Robby a.k.a. Mr. Naked
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Till/Christoph, mentions of Till/Flake
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Beta: hannelore_k
Author’s note: Based on lisa_thecat’s wonderful “Dirty Story”.

X.

*I stayed, on this track, lost my way, can’t come back…*

I was watching the ambulance assistants, how they were performing all those maneuvers on him – I barely withheld my impulse to chase them away, to make them stop damaging his beauty.

They were asking me if he was on drugs. They were asking me about his bruises and cuts.

I could barely talk; I was whispering, calm, lost. It was as if almost everything in me was shut down. I wanted to react somehow, but all the strength for that was gone too.

He died a few minutes after they got him to the hospital.

A clot on his brain. Most likely he got it when he was beaten a few days before.

I was looking into their eyes as they were telling me that I couldn’t have known, that no one could have, and I wanted to strangle them. To squeeze their throats, see their faces turning purple, and see their lying tongues poke out, as they’d gasp for air. I knew very well it was my fault. My fault!

I should have taken him to a doctor for a check up right then, when I found him sitting in front of my house.

My first phone call was to Christian. I listened to the long rings at the other end of the line, and then the voice mail started. I didn’t leave any message.

I went downstairs for a smoke. It felt so improper to see that it was a bright sunny day outside. To see people coming and going, each absorbed in their own life.

My phone started to ring. It was Christian. I turned the thing to silent and continued to smoke my cig.

I hated him so much in that moment. I hated everyone in this world so much in that moment. I hated them for being alive, while Christoph was dead.

I was looking at each and everyone that was passing by me – I was waiting for the devil to come and offer me a deal; anything to have him back!

*All the hands of hope have withdrawn. Could you try to help me hang on?*

And I am still waiting for him to offer me a deal. Maybe it’s him that I’m searching for, when I get these moments of restlessness and I hop into my car, driving through the city.

It’s December again; this year it rains again, instead of snowing. I can sense some sort of panic in people’s voices by now when they talk about global warming and how the weather is really screwed up. What I’m thinking about is the long way from Hell to the world of the living – he could get his loved one back with only one condition: to not look at her while they were walking away. Of course, he couldn’t refrain from twisting his head to make sure she was walking behind him while they were on their way back to the surface of the Earth. Would I be able not to repeat the mistake, if I’d be offered this deal?

I was the one who arranged and organized everything for his funeral. Of course I had to deal with the police too, because of the marks on his body and the circumstances of his death. But I didn’t mind about anything, the costs, the innuendos, and everything else.

Christian offered to help, too. I didn’t tell it to his face, that I couldn’t stand his presence. I only asked him to take care of the stuff regarding my new book, which he actually did. I couldn’t stand anyone’s presence; but him – there was this irrational thought in my head blaming him, blaming his jealousy for what happened.

Christoph’s family was contacted as well, and I had the opportunity to see them. That’s when I understood why he preferred to run away from home at an early age and live on the streets. The classic story.

His things… he didn’t have much in that backpack. He had some money though, which I left there with his things, not knowing what to do with it, thinking that one day I would figure it out. There was also a letter addressed to me and stamped already. He didn’t say much in it, except that if I was reading it, it meant that something must have happened to him. He only wanted to thank me and to let me know how much he appreciated that I was so kind to him.

My book… was a success. I traveled around, promoting it, which was good for me, forcing me to keep my mind focused on other things, smothering a bit of the pain. It wasn’t actually a pain, it was more a paralysis of my soul. As if I was sedated, yet very lucid.

When I got back home I started to work and got involved in more and more projects. My forthcoming book was only one of them. All I did was bury myself in work, to keep my mind busy, to get myself so exhausted that when I got a few hours to sleep, I would just collapse in bed and not even dream.

But I did dream, from time to time. Of him, too. He would sit on the edge of a bed; on his naked torso would start to appear these weird bruises, shaped like the dark patterns on the wings of a night butterfly, until they covered him completely, like a camouflage.

I couldn’t even drown my sorrows in alcohol. I didn’t feel like it. I only stepped back away from the world, a bit. I didn’t need anything anymore. I didn’t need anyone, either. I kept even Christian at a distance. And I still keep him away from me, interacting with him only on matters related to my work. Maybe one day I will tell him that he’s a really good friend, and that I appreciate everything he does for me, even if I never show my gratitude.

It’s been almost one year and half. Last year’s holidays I spent with my relatives, thinking that one doesn’t know if he’d see them again the next time. But I don’t want to repeat the experience.

So, here I am, while others are busy with their holidays stuff, I’m cruising the streets searching for something. For someone. Hoping that it is him – that tall guy, with slim body and long legs, walking on the sidewalk like he’d be on a sunny Sunday afternoon… No, it isn’t him. I drive forward.

I think I lost my mind a little back then. But I don’t care.

I don’t even pick anyone up, most of the times. It is as if I’m scared of the mere contact with another human being. I just like to observe them from my dark corner. I do my rounds, I watch the people, I’m observing them, each and every detail about them, but this is all. Rarely do I go further.

Observing people like that does good for my work, though.

Sometimes I don’t even take the car. I’m risking to get mugged, stabbed, shot, killed – I don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference to me.

When I feel like having a drink I go into a club, just like this one, sit at the bar and place my order. Then turn and look at those inside – most of them are so young. I’m not the oldest in this place, but, again, I don’t care. I just look at their bodies moving under the frantic flash of the lights and in the rhythm of the pounding music.

“The coffee is mine,” I hear near me. “Think the beer is his.”

I turn, and see this guy sitting at my right. Black spiky hair, hypnotic blue eyes, beautiful face, nicely built body.

He smiles at me. He has one of those smiles meant to melt anyone on the spot. How was it? He wasn’t pretty. He was goddamn gorgeous!

Never seen him here before.

He pushes the beer bottle on the counter toward me. What a happy coincidence – the bartender mixed up our orders!

“Thanks,” I say and lift the bottle as a salute, and then I have my first sip.

He smiles again.

“I’m Richard,” he introduces himself.

I look at him and then millions and millions of questions start rising in my head, swirling around like those Amazonian butterflies migrating. The next second, though, I’m chasing them away.

“Nice to meet you Richard,” I reply softly. “I’m Till.”

~~ The End ~~
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Complications Of The Flesh