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...and all the sinners, [are] saints!	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2308 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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
- 1-Hope I
- 2-Love (Chastity)
- 3-Anger
- 4-Jealousy
- 5-Sloth
- 6-Greed
- 7-Lust
- 8-Gluttony
- 9-Charity
- 10-Vanity
- 11-Hope II
- 4
- 5
- 6
IV
Title: …and all the sinners, [are] saints! (4/10)
Author: Mr. Naked
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Till/Flake
Summary: Sloth
Disclaimer: If it’s true, I’d like to know too
Archiving: Only with my express permission.
Inspired by “Zero” – Smashing Pumpkins and “Keine Lust” - Rammstein

IV – Sloth

“I shouted out,
Who killed the Kennedys?
When after all
It was you and me”
- The Rolling Stones: “Sympathy For The Devil” -

Why should this morning be any different than the others? I woke up long ago, yet I can’t get myself to move off this bed. I crawled out of it only for the usual morning things one does when he wakes up and to get a new pack of smokes from my stash. Now I’m just lying here, smoking and watching the ceiling. The TV is on, but I can’t be bothered to follow what’s going on there in its narrow square world.

Hotels are the same everywhere. Not a slightest touch of personality. And this room just enhances the feeling of not having any connection to myself.

I feel so… empty. Empty of any will to do anything, empty of the ability to react at any stimulus. I only lay here, like a corpse getting rotten.

Emptiness is loneliness. I feel lonely, yet I can’t get myself to go and join the others wherever they might be and whatever they might be doing.

I could think about recent events, muse about them and sort things out so I could figure the answers for some questions that have been haunting my mind lately. But that would be too much effort for my brain as well. The ceiling above me, and the pointless noise from the TV seem more interesting for me now. At least they don’t ask me to pay attention to them. Actually they don’t ask for anything, they don’t get mad at me if I ignore them, they don’t have any stupid demands. So here I am, lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling.

Loneliness is cleanliness. Somehow I feel dirty, and right now I don’t give a shit. Dirt keeps me warm. I said no to Schneider, on the reason that a relation with him might be bad for the band, yet I didn’t mind fucking with Richard and Paul. With Richard and Paul it was just fucking, I wasn’t required in any way to put any emotion, nothing. Not that they wouldn’t want it, but I just felt comfortable with myself keeping it like this.

With Christoph it would be like… Oh, fuck; I get dizzy only if I start to think!

“Mornin’ Till!”

My gaze regretfully leaves the ceiling.

Oh, there’s Flake!

“Back from the morning walk?” I ask with the cig hanging in the corner of my mouth.

“You’re still in bed? It’s almost noon, you lazy ass,” he answers.

“Well, I’m tired. Concert, then bed performances…”

Flake takes a seat, but not on the bed, near my sprawled body, but on an armchair, facing me. He props his elbows on the arms and crosses his fingers, resting his chin on his clenched hands, looking like someone ready to listen to a good story.

“I didn’t even have my coffee,” I say peering at the TV.

“Uhuh,” mumbles Flake.

“You could bring me some,” I say and shake the cig ash in the ashtray placed on the corner of the matress, near my pillow.

“The phone is near your head, on the night stand,” he replies. “They invented room-service, you know?”

I grin and drag another smoke.

“You’re asking for too much from me,” I answer.

“No shit, Till!” He mutters and puts his arms in his lap, while wearing a displeased expression on his face.

“You wouldn’t do this for me, right? Not even call room-service for me?” I sigh rising my gaze over the ceiling.

“Well, I’m tired of it,” he says, calmly.

I twist my head and look at the TV’s screen again. I grab the remote control and start zapping through the channels.

I don’t want to ask him what he is exactly tired of, because a long discussion will follow and I really am not in the mood for it, either.

“You wouldn’t, even if my life would depend on it,” I muse out loud while changing the channels. “I’m tired, I’m getting old, and this life is really wearing me out.”

“Yeah, life’s a real bitch,” he spits at me and stands up.

“You sound like a bitch today,” I mumble watching him walking out of the room.

Oh, well, no one died yet because he didn’t have his morning coffee.

And when I’m thinking that I have to stand up, have a shower and then drag my body to somewhere, to do something, to keep myself active, depresses me even more.

I feel dirty, yet I can’t unglue myself from the sheets. Wish I could have a nap, but I can’t fall asleep. Though I am so tired and so drained.

All that bullshit that I served Christoph is making me dirty. But the thought of coming clean to him is more frightening.

I hate when emotion is involved, makes me feel like I’m chained, choking me, putting me in a vulnerable position. I’ve been vulnerable for so many years and it wasn’t worth, because exactly those who shouldn’t have taken advantage from it chose to hit me where it hurt the worst. Now I’m not willing to risk again. Better keep it simple and clean.

Cleanliness is godliness.

“Thought I’d still find you here, like this,” Flake’s voice makes my glance slide down again from the ceiling over to his slim frame.

He’s back already and he's carrying two coffee cups.

“You came back,” I state.

“I brought you coffee,” he replies walking over to my bed.

“Mmmm, aren’t you a good boy? Thanks!” I say starting to smile.

“Here,” he says, lifting the left hand. “Your coffee!” He adds and turns the cup upside down.

The brownish coffee powder empties all over the bed.

“What the fuck?” I growl, moving backwards.

“Do you want sugar with it?” He continues and lifts the other cup spreading sugar all over the covers and the pillow.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I burst rising.

“You, Till! You and your fucking laziness!” He answers on a vicious tone.

“You’ve got PMS or something?” I growl, shaking the linen to make the specks of coffee and the sugar fall on the floor.

“No, I’m just sick of it, and sick of you,” he answers retaking his seat on the armchair.

He’s too used with me to fear that I might actually get off of this bed, break one of his legs and beat the shit out of him with it. That’s probably what’s he’s after, to make me so angry so I’d get out of my bed. I know him very well too.

“What did I do this time?” I sigh laying back on the mattress and start zapping again through the TV channels.

He doesn’t reply just keeps watching the TV screen for a while.

Nothing interesting. I leave it like that and light another cig. I recline on my back, put an arm under my head and start admiring the ceiling again.

“Did you notice I have a cold?” I hear his voice.

He has a cold? Fuck, what about the tonight’s concert?

“Take some pills and you’ll be as good as new,” I reply exhaling the smoke loudly.

I put the cig back in my mouth and the other arm under my head.

“Just as I thought so, you didn’t even notice. I’m invisible for you. You notice me only when you have problems, or you’re horny and have no one to fuck for the evening.”

Where did I hear that tirade before?

“Who has to put up with your crap all the time? Who has to listen to you whining every time? 'Oh, Richard did this, Paul said that… Nobody understands me, the world hates me…' That’s what I have to hear all the time from you.”

“Sorry, didn’t think you wanted me to serenade you under your balcony, princess,” I grumble and take the cig out of my mouth.

“No, Till, that’s not what I want. We’ve been together for so long. I’ve put up with you screwing around. That I can understand, though I don’t like it. But your Majesty is so lazy; you wouldn’t make the effort to put some emotion in whatever relation we have. I’m the one who has to always… I feel like I’m chasing you around!”

“You’re starting to sound like my ex-wives.”

“Yeah, but maybe they were right. I’m the one who has to call, who has to go after you. And it’s like you don’t give a shit whether I’m near you or not. You give me the impression that I’m bothering you most of the times.”

“Well, right now your whining is really bothering me,” I answer and get again the remote control like trying to give myself another chance to watch something interesting on TV.

“You stupid ass!” Blurts Flake and, with a jump, he’s in front of me and snatches the remote from my hand.

“You and your fucking TV!” He hisses, shaking of anger, while pressing the red button to turn the TV off. “Pay some attention to me, for once!” He adds and throws the remote somewhere along the room and the small hall to the bathroom.

Then I hear the poor object falling on the tiles with a crashing sound.

“Wow, you’re mad!” I sneer and put out the cig.

“And you’re just a selfish bastard!” He replies, calmer, but despiteful.

“What’s new?” I say propping my elbow on the pillow and resting my head on the palm.

“Oh, fuck off!” He gives up. “I won’t be your fuck buddy anymore!”

“No problem, I can find someone else. Now, please bring me back the remote.”

“You’re incurable!” He says on a exasperate tone.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Bring you flowers and chocolates?”

“No, Till. You can shove them up your ass, that’s not what I’m asking for. But, as always, you haven’t been listening. I want some consideration, you dumb fuck. But screwing around with Paul and Richard is worth your attention more. I’d tell you to go play with Richard and Paul, but they won’t get you back, anyway!”

“No problem, there are others,” I smirk putting out the cig.

My throat is really hoarse, I do need some liquid to chase away the smoke stuck there.

“Like who?” He mocks me.

“Well, Christoph would be fine for starters” I reply on the same mocking tone.

“Christoph is with someone else,” he howls in laughter.

This icy claw sticks into my spine, holding me breathless for one second.

“With whom?” I emit through my gritted teeth.

“Well, get out of your fucking bed and find out!” He snarls.

“That’s bullshit,” I mumble and lay on my back again.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. But you can’t be bothered to go and find out even that. Fine, stay like that. Keep being so self-centered, you’re the fucking god. The world should be standing at your feet to serve you. Keep whining about how shitty life is. On hate others and yourself! Oh, the tragic figure! Fucking drama queen.
The solitary sad poet! Actually that bed you’re on has more sensitivity than you. Nothing can ever touch you, you’re just stone and ice, nothing more. You aren’t able of any feelings. You can’t love anything, not even yourself. You hate yourself so much that you demand and expect others to love you, in compensation. If you’re in love with something, it's your fucking sadness!” He concludes and leaves the room followed by the door slamming with a fierce thud.

Oh, fuck him and his moods! When did he become such a bitch? “Pay attention to me, you’re a selfish pig” … blah, blah, blah! At least he should have fetched back the remote.

I look at the darkened screen of the TV. In the black glass I can see the whole room reflected. And me, lying in my bed, as well.

He’s wrong, I don’t see myself as a god or anything of that sort. And my problems are my own, along with my suffering and everything. I’m not claiming to be a fucking martyr, and I’m not looking to achieve godliness. If there’s a god up there, he’s just empty and dry like I am now.

And intoxicated with madness. Like this madness burning up my insides while just picturing Christoph with someone else but me. What happened with all those sentiments he confessed he has for me?

In the motionless dark world of the TV screen I can see myself shifting on my side and putting the ashtray on the nightstand. Somehow my glance gets stuck on my own reflection, fascinated by the sight.

How could I ask for faithfulness from him since I’m such a whore myself too, though? I just rejected him, what do I want from him? To wait for me? To wait until and if I make up my mind?
The sight of my own frame lying in bed, half covered by the sheets, is starting to piss me off. Fuck, I need that remote control to turn off this reflection of mine. How do you turn off a turned off TV?
Shit, I give up!

I only sink deeper under the covers and throw them over my face hoping that I’ll be able to fall asleep.

To be continued...
- 4
- 5
- 6
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...and all the sinners, [are] saints!