Beautiful

An "alternative universe" fic involving Yelawolf and a lucky lady, at least that's what he believes.

I patiently waited for my bottle to arrive. It sullenly and regretfully stared at me from across the bar, a sad look on its face.

            Not again, it said somberly. I could barely hear it though. The roar of the sweaty and glittered bodies behind me drowned out the guilt.

            It knew the routine though: I cop out and distance myself from reality like it’s my favorite past time. Mr. Daniels seemed to be my only vice sometimes. I used to count on Jack to swallow my weaknesses, but now even it seemed to judge me from afar.

            Mr. Daniels stared continuously. I guess my train of thought led Jack to a developing bipolar personality, because now it was crying but also yelling.

            Leave me alone, I don’t need your lip, I said to myself. Yet, Jack still heard me and cried a little more. Don’t leave me. Where is that goddamn bartender?

            Suddenly I was crying myself. When everyone behind me seemed to be lifting the world off of his or her shoulders, I sat here falling in a puddle of whiskey.

            Why are you so pompous? If you want Mr. Daniels to say hi then just walk up to it and say something.

            But I can’t. I ran a flawed and petty hand through my greasy hair and I realized that the black strands were dousing over my face during the entire monologue with the world’s smallest violin. I was a little happy though, since the mop managed to wipe up the tears.

            If there’s a mess and you were the only one around to see it, is it still a mess? I laughed a bit. All of the sudden you’re so philosophical. Where were you when you dropped out of high school?

            Finally the bartender wrapped up his gleeful conversation that no one but himself really cared about. He brought Mr. Daniels to me.

            “Leave the bottle,” a dumb smile bled on my face. Come to think of it, I wonder if the bartender saw the blood running under my eyes �" those heavy lids vampire-like.

            You’re so dumb just like your smile. Your eyes aren’t bleeding dumbass. Even if they were, bartenders don’t ask miserable f***s like you obvious questions. Why do you think you’re here all alone in the first place?

            The bartender left with a professional smile. Bartenders are probably the only people who don’t judge and don’t dress to intimidate.

            And yet you’re still intimidated…

            That was the last straw. I gripped the bottle tight in my hand, clawing away at it and almost crushing the glass. I pulled Mr. Daniels’ head off and drank its blood regally. If I can’t get my own life then I’m going to take yours. If I can’t solve my problems then you’re going to do it for me. I hate that I need you to drown out the noises, but I just need the quiet sometimes.

            Sometimes…

            I dropped the bottle down on the bar solidly. It took me a burning moment to finally realize that I had drunk the whole thing.

            You killed Mr. Daniels but I’m still alive.

            “I f*****g hate you.” I cried a bit more, my black mess drying up the tears once again.

            As if a light when off, my head sunk to the surface of the bar like the exaggerated gawk of a teenage boy in math class. My hair poured all over the smooth, glistening and razor sharp counter.

            Another dumb song was playing. I finally realized after all of this time that I didn’t pay attention once to the beautiful noise.

            “God I love this song…”

            My head turned, still on the bar. The ridges in my skull irritatingly pounded into my brain as my head rotated, searching out that melodic voice.

            Of course my mop diluted the image. But suddenly my mop wasn’t black sludge, but, rather, melted dark chocolate. It’s like the beautiful soul of Mr. Daniels was reincarnated within me.

            I lifted my head with confidence, wiping away chocolate with a structured hand. And there she was, in my direct line of vision…

            Wisps of golden blonde hair. Not just golden, but platinum. Like one day the sun decided to kiss one lucky girl and bless her with an unrealistic color.

            Bright red lips like the color of my dumb Christmas socks that I wore here because I was too drunk to pick out normal ones.

            Bright white skin like the color of the Eucharist at mass every Sunday. Can’t remember the last time I went.

            Black clothes from head to toe to resemble the darkness of the night. The darkness of my apartment because I didn’t pay my bills on time. It was a tank top, some skinny jeans, and

hooker boots.

            There was nothing else to call them. No other name. Hooker boots.

            Her hips swiveled and shook to an unrecognizable beat. Why have ears to hear when you have eyes to see?

            Don’t even think about it. You don’t want another mistake lying as evidence in your bed when you wake up unaware and regretful.

            I disregarded the monster in my head. I wasn’t going to give it any of the energy it craved or wanted. I didn’t come here with a purpose but now I’ve found one, and I wasn’t letting this strand of tainted and worn fabric go to waste.

            Normally I would be downing some liquid courage, but since Mr. Daniels was lying completely still at the bottom of my stomach I decided to sail the ship without a five day forecast.

            I hopped off my bar stool with much not-needed vigor and crawled my way over to her. She was like one of those dumb broads in these New Age horror movies who s***s herself out and becomes so stupid and unobservant that the killer walks right up behind her and strangles her before she can yell, “My dad’s gonna kill me!”

            I wrapped my slinky arms around her waist like a disgusting snake. She jumped slightly, but pushed herself into my body confidently. She giggled again, sweet and salty in my ear. I began to kiss her neck, tasting perfume and sweat, but there was sweetness there as well. My eyes honed in on her masculine jawline and pouted lips. We began dancing in no apparent rhythm, yet for some reason we were in sync and happy.

            We hadn’t even spoken �" a silent tango �" yet suddenly I felt like I was in for one hell of a night.

            She turned in my arms, and it felt so slow and significant yet it happened without purpose and with magnificent speed. She looked up at me, a secret lying in blue eyes. They didn’t seem real to me, like she painted them that way. Even so, I believed that they existed; I believed that I was meant to see them.

            She smiled brightly, but she smiled with no interest in me. It was almost like she was smiling just because she could. I can’t remember the last time I did that.

            “I like your style, kid,” she commanded. I smirked a little. I looked like the bad side of a junk yard. I guess I could say she has low standards, yet she looked at me with pure intensity and decision making.

            “You wanna come back to my place?”

            Oh God. Here it comes.

            I ignore myself for a moment contemplating my pros and cons. This was the first time a girl had asked me to come to her place. It’s always the guy that does that really.

            “Well?” She seemed almost arrogant, what with her cocky hair flip and sinister eyebrow raise. She bit her lips if only to seem just a bit innocent.

            I looked around, as if anyone but I could reveal an answer �" as long as I didn’t have to make it. I shoved my wonky hands in tattered pockets, flipping my hair as if to level the cocky attitude.

            Offhandedly, “Sure.” And that was it. I didn’t look into her fictitious eyes when I said it, but after I uttered the nonchalant answer I raised my eyes to her. I felt like suddenly I was locked in a room with Lucifer.

            She pulled my lanky hand from my pocket and literally dragged me with a strong arm to the blank doors of the bar, pulling me into a night drenched world. I was screaming inside with delight and fear, questioning my sanity at the moment. Right in front of me, to the left of her flowing sunshine, was a Harley Davidson draped with a stunning leather jacket that shone even in the subtle moonlight, and a helmet that fashioned “Rock” on the side. I assumed that the other side said “Roll”.

            “This is yours?” I asked, as if it could be anyone else’s; she was already straddling the damn thing. She pulled on the jacket and adorned the helmet way before she answered me.

            “No.” I smirked again and hopped on behind her, no helmet to protect my racing mind. It felt submissive and discomforting, but the warmth of her body eased my tension. “Hold on,” she warned. I could almost taste her smile. To assert her warning, we went from zero to sixty in a second. We were off to the races.

            “What’s your name kid?” she asked nonchalantly. I almost jumped out of my skin, not expecting her river-like voice to flow over me. Oh yeah, my name.

            “Michael…Michael Wayne,” I replied a bit confused. I almost forgot my name, focusing mostly on the soft smell of her dazzling hair and the trail of smoggy air we left behind mile for mile.

            “Jocelyn.” That was it. No last name, no feeling, just a reply.

            “Nice name,” I offered with a yell, but I didn’t believe it got through to her over the roar of her engine and the screams of New York nightlife. We were quiet for a while, just licking at the speed and raucous air. At that moment I hated myself. Suddenly this girl decided to develop no personality.

            “Where you from, kid?” She asked. Once again I almost jumped out of my skin.

            “Uhhh…Alabama,” I stuttered. I almost forgot where I originally lived too. It was like this girl was sucking out my long-term memory like a leech.

            “Hmm. What’re you doin’ in the city that never sleeps then, babe?” She giggled as we headed to a red light. I expected her to run through it; just seemed like the kind of person she was. Was…Like a light switch, this girl developed a personality once again. Zero to sixty.

            “Chasin’ dreams. Avoiding reality.” It was an honest answer, more leveled than the screams that I had to make when the tires skidded swiftly on the street.

            “One of those?” She replied rhetorically…a smile fit in there somewhere.

            “F**k you, you don’t know me.” I didn’t know where the defensiveness came from, but her comment hit hard. She turned to face me.

            “I think I know you more than I know myself.” Straight face, pale moonlight. She turned forward as the light burned green. Off to the races.

            “We’ve barely even had a conversation,” I remarked truthfully. My brows furrowed.

            “Well we are now…” I waited. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that eyes tell a story? I’ve barely seen yours yet they told me you’re a drunk b*****d who doesn’t know the definition of reality nor confidence. Don’t tell me that I don’t know you. I practically am you.” Yelling.

            That was the last thing either of us said the rest of the ride to her place. I took the time to contemplate what she practically burned into my head. I hesitated getting off of the Davidson, not even taking a glance at her home.

            “You comin’ in or what?” She stated with a surprising southern drawl from a world far off. “You might like what you see if you look up. I promise I won’t stare at your eyes this time.” Subtle sweetness after a pleather of bitterness. I chuckled.

            “You know…when I looked in your eyes…all I saw was blue…and a secret,” I stated matter-of-factly.

            “Yea…they do that,” she agreed firmly, no sign of a smile in her voice. “Now get in my goddamn house.”

            It was huge. White, glass rimmed, geometric, and huge.

            How could she be you when she lives obviously well off and has the money to pay for it? You’re lucky you had enough money to buy Mr. Daniels.

            “No s**t Sherlock.”

            “What?”

            It took me a brief moment before I realized that I was talking to myself. At least I was less of an idiot enough to be almost quiet.

            “Oh, nothing.” She smirked and turned away, being obedient towards her own rule and avoiding a glance at my eyes. I cursed myself as she unlocked the door, pacing her way in with a little bounce. She turned into a normal girl for a moment.

            “I have some more Daniels in the cabinet if you want,” she offered passively. My prostitute Mr. Daniels reserved reincarnation (I supposed) and placed itself in my dream girl’s cabinet.

            “Okay…” I replied shortly, continuing to gaze at the beauty of this house. The stairs were like a collage of intestines, the kitchen heavy like a stomach, the living room spacious like a brain. I couldn’t find the heart though. Maybe Mr. Daniels could find it.

            I veered off to the stomach to find Jack as Jocelyn climbed the intestines. I didn’t know why she was regurgitating herself �" I hadn’t thought to ask.

            More white, more blanks like a useless shotgun. The white, however, was full of life like the paleness of her skin. I guess color really doesn’t matter.

            I went to a dirty-brown cabinet, the only non-white thing in the stomach at this point. The first one that I went to was brutally locked. About four locks decorated it. I shrugged indifferently, and then went to the next �" brutally locked.

            Alright, what the f**k? I chuckled to myself. What possible secret could this girl hide in her eyes and lock in her cabinets that is so horrible? Nevertheless, I kept foraging on. I was like a nomad searching desperately for meat. Finally, the third one opened out of the five…Jack was found.

            You should be appalled at how happy you are that you found it.

            “You should shut the f**k up,” I said to myself again with a laugh. Less quiet than before �" I mean she was still upstairs.

            I cracked the seal of the bottle and dragged my feet across the kitchen linoleum. Like a moron my dumb hobo foot banged into a white chair �" a little dining room set.

            Gahhh! It’s like every white thing gets lost in translation in this place! It took me a painfully silent and excruciating moment to realize that she had four chairs �" not just one or two but four.

            Why does she need four chairs? She hasn’t really mentioned her family or possibly

friends. As I thought about it a bit more, I realized that we really hadn’t discussed anything except how big of an a*****e I am. After the pain ceased in my foot and I took a long pull of my drink, I decided to peruse around the home a bit, drinking in the white liquid home like the whiskey.

            I walked through a doorway connected to the stomach �" possibly a cell wall of sorts �" dark and abysmal. Some lights embraced me, dim but comfortable.

            Motion censored lights. Yeah she’s not rich at all.

            “Why should it matter?” I retorted to myself. I needed to stop; I was verging on schizo.

            I crossed through what looked like the living room (dim lights!) that I viewed from the foyer minutes ago. White but decorated �" a nice lavender couch and more dirty brown furnishings. No T.V. No other electronics. Just dim lamps and a couple of photos �" art and memorabilia categorized.

            Out of my own curiosity (blended indecipherably with conscious free will) I decided to glance over some of her photographs held up by a tall, upright shelf furnishing. Some graduation pictures, some with her sitting by a piano, even one where she was accepting an award of some sort.

            Jealous?

            I ignored the voice for the first time in a while out of pure innocence and non-deliberation. I was too enchanted by one photograph.

            It was older than the rest, respectively speaking. Her supposed parents were arm-in-arm and smiling �" but what intrigued me the most was the boy on the left side of the photo. He looked exactly like Jocelyn. Same hair (just short), same dazzling eyes, same pale white skin, same beautiful smile. Her brother perhaps? Cousin �" well it couldn’t be a cousin �" they looked too much alike to be that distant. I don’t know why it intrigued me so, but I found the picture haunting and startling.

            For one, it looked like a professional family photo, so why wasn’t Jocelyn in it? Second, why would she have it up on a furnishing where all of her photos were placed if she wasn’t in it? Maybe it’s not �" I lifted the photo and looked behind it �" “The Reynolds Family”. Well, she didn’t mention her last name, so I was perpetually stumped. Who was this guy?

            “Hey detective.”

            I jumped out of my skin at the loud boom. I was careful not to drop the photo now cradled to my rickety chest. I placed it softly back in its place on the shelf and deliberately turned around.

            “Hi,” I said softly �" a scratchy voice from the whiskey appearing itself. It was still in a deathly grip at the neck from my rusty hand. Her arms were crossed and her stance made her look tall �" yet she had that perfect little smirk placated on her firm face. “You look really beautiful when you’re mad,” I remarked in a childish physical manor.

            “Oh really?” Suddenly her whole look changed from fierce and stunning to furious and deadly. She brushed past me with disdain and evil flowing over me from the intense wind of her body. She entered the kitchen �" not before ripping the whiskey from my wrongful hands �" and sat herself down heavily and with purpose on the dining room chair; the white chair staring blankly. Huffing, “Well if you were that brilliant of a detective you would’ve been able to find out that I don’t take too kindly to condescending compliments like that!

            It was like one of her dim light switches went off and suddenly I was on enemy lines. I furrowed my brow and walked over to her with hesitation and confusion �" some anger even.

            “What do you mean?” I demanded with derision. If I was the enemy then I was going to bring in the armed forces. She glared at me with dark eyes �" dim lights. Something was bubbling at the tip of her fiery tongue; something evil was coming.

            “You wanna know why,” she stated sharply, rather than questioningly. “No one �" not one person �" ever cared to give me a second glance in his or her lifetime. Crudely ignored until finally I changed everything about myself. Every damn thing. You couldn’t imagine the pain, the emotion…” She started to bawl, taking a pull of the whiskey still half empty and slurring her next words. Her eyes drifted solemnly to her feet �" no longer blue or black but white in them.

            “All for what…what did I gain? Self-respect maybe? A nice home? A fancy ride and some clean clothes…But what did I earn? Why did I wait for all of this? Why did I blame everyone else but myself for something that I couldn’t change? Someone…something made me that way, and now I’m changed because of me. I didn’t ask for help and I didn’t want it either. I didn’t do all of this for the stares and compliments. I did this,” she pointed to her body, “so I could feel like myself �" someone I didn’t have the pleasure to know for years. Now I’m still not perfect �" pills decorating the inside of my cabinets…not a single compliment could fix all of the psychologically traumatizing s**t that I’ve been through. I may look beautiful to you now, but would you say that about me before? Not a single compliment could fix me just like a bottle of whiskey can’t fix you. So why give it a chance?”

            My face fell at her last statement. Suddenly the reality of my depression sunk in and I heard what she said. I didn’t just look at a face, I stared at her words; I focused on the clarity and the biography. She admitted to me everything that I couldn’t admit to myself. I knew the man in that picture, but I asked her anyway…

            “That…that man in the photo…”

            “Me.” She was staring at a white wall, the tears stopping but two distinct rivers still present. It finally occurred to me that she wasn’t even wearing mascara, and that she didn’t really need it. Her pale eyes and purposeful expression told the whole story �" her whole story. Finally.

            I was entranced with her face. Pain, sadness, blinded happiness �" all in one impenetrable face. I didn’t care for the boy in the photo. I cared for Jocelyn. I cared for this woman.

            I sat down carefully next to her in a pink chair with flowers and tints of baby blue and a rainbow on the legs. I put my hands on a green table with dandelions sprouting forth and tickling my fingertips. Through the holes in my shoes I felt the dirt of the floor and sand between my toes. The dim lights were now the sun. There was no longer just white anymore �" no longer did the dim lights cast a shadow.

            I placed a hand over hers, clutching but not gripping the soft skin. She was shaking softly �" suddenly her eyes darted away from the still white wall and her hands flew out from under me. She turned into a bashful child with pigtails in her golden hair.

            “Hey, it’s okay.” And it was. I took her delicate hands back and rubbed them with my soft hands. She smiled just a bit and finally glanced up at me �" the rivers were dry.

            “How do you know?”

            “Because you told me it was,” I replied with a mirrored smile. It was the most honest thing that I had said in a while.

            “You know, blood always stays the same. No matter what you change on the outside…you…I will always be the same on the inside,” she confessed prolifically. I chuckled and glanced at the dandelions wrapping their stems around our fingers.

            “I guess so,” I agreed. “Why have ears to hear when you have eyes to see?” She answered my rhetoric-

            “Because your eyes never stop working �" it’s the ears that have to try harder every minute of every day. I guess we’re blessed with a curse.”

            “Yes.”

            And we looked at each other. The only real reason that I came into this woman’s house was because of the way she looked. She was the person that embraced what I couldn’t. The woman had a purity that showed itself on the outside. But then I realized �" through our round about conversations �" that her body was decorated with her inner beauty �" a beauty that subtly tainted by the pain that she embraced…the story that couldn’t tell itself.

            But now I know. I know that she has a story �" so I listened. I know that she probably has estrogen pills in the cabinet, some for bipolar disorder and some others for her Parkinson’s.

I know that her parents disowned her. I know that she is a journalist with multiple awards. I know that she’s utterly lonely in life. I know that she struggles through each day with a fake smile across her face to make it seem like she’s having 100% fun yet she crumbles inside.

            But now she knows. She knows that I have a story �" so she listened. She knows that I can’t admit to my self-medication. She knows that my wife left me. She knows that I’m only in New York because there are more bars here. She knows that I have no talent whatsoever. She knows that all of my “friends” packed up and left. She knows that my dad never came home one night. She knows that I struggle through each day with a fake smile across my face to make it seem like I’m having 100% fun yet I crumble inside.

            We know all of these things now. Things we never wanted nor needed to know �" but things that we had to know.

            “You know, it’s four in the morning,” she stated matter-of-factly with a yawn to emphasize her point.

            “It’s okay…It’s not a school night,” I yawned. She snorted.

            “Would you like to sleep over?” She asked innocently with a silly grin.

            “Sure.” I shrugged my strong shoulders.

            And we made our way up the intestine stairs.

* * *

            In the morning, I found that my bones didn’t creak. My muscles didn’t ache. My brain wasn’t pounding. The whiskey forgotten on the dandelion table. I smiled, Jocelyn’s small body curled into mine. I felt at peace now. I finally listened.

            And to think all I was looking for was another bar. I couldn’t even remember what song was playing.

Author's Note

Wrote this for my creative writing class a while back. Everybody was so surprised by the ending :D. Forgive me that it's so long and probably not that exciting but thanks for reading anyway :3