Black Hurricane

After wrapping up what should have been a five-minute interview, which was actually more like 5, I packed up my camera and Dean swaggered around me.Eric was busy typing quickly on his cell phone while organizing his tape recorder and manuscripts.

I almost dropped my camera bag when I felt a hand on my shoulder, the stroking of my thumb back and forth freezing me in place.

Dean leaned close to me and whispered softly, "How about the two of us being alone for a while?"

Wow, what a height.That's probably the most condescending thing a rock star ever says on a date.

"What if I say no?" was my answer, and I shrugged and shook his hand away, suppressing a tremor.

"I'll introduce you to the rest of the band." The smile in his voice had me swooning, and I still do, but I'm not getting it anymore. "I can even do a solo show for you if you want."

"No thanks." I whispered, tongue tied a little.God, I was really nervous, I moved my eyes elsewhere.

He raised his eyebrows: "Oh, sorry, I thought you were curvy. You're not homophobic, are you?" He asked with a chuckle.

Just because I rejected him, I must be straight?

"See my friend over there?" I pointed to Eric, who was looking at me curiously. "He is completely the spokesperson of 'curvy'. The person I know who is more crooked than him is myself, so no, I am not homophobic."

"Oh." Dean folded his arms around his chest and frowned. "So you two are a couple?"

I chuckled, shook my head, and continued to pack the camera.

Dean moved closer, his heat rippling down my back like a gentle lap.I thought rock stars reeked of alcohol and sweat, but all I could smell from Dean was his own, and it wasn't bad at all.His smell was different from his old days, maybe because he was a boy then and now he was a man.I hated him, hated him with all my heart, but I hated even more the body that was easily influenced by him and betrayed my inner self.My normally dry palms are now wet, my stomach is churning and my head is spinning.I felt like I was 13 again, which annoyed me.

"Why, just because I'm not interested in you, I have to be a straight man or have a wife?" I asked flatly, reaching for the doorknob.

As his hand covered mine on the doorknob, several thoughts popped up and struggled in my mind.Want to punch him in the face; want to yell at him how he hurt me as a kid; want to kick his balls because he can't remember who I am; but most of all, I want to open this Open the door and escape quickly.

I glanced aside and Eric had already packed his things.He was carrying his small satchel and was staring at us.

"I feel as if I've seen you before," said Dean, his voice soft and deep. "Have we met?"

Yes we have.No we don't.My throat was blocked and I couldn't breathe.I pushed open the door and strode towards the square light at the end of the corridor, which was endlessly long.But at least at the end, I can fill my lungs with air that isn't polluted by Dean's rotten personality.

Eric ran after me, but didn't notice him until I was in the empty hall.There is no fresh air here, only the smell of decoration materials that seems to be everywhere.I looked in the direction of the gate and walked along the crooked path, almost kneeling on the ground as soon as I went out.

"Damn, Jess, what the hell happened?" Eric asked, panting next to me. "I've never seen you like that."

"What does it look like?"

"Don't know, angry, sad, nervous. Why don't you like Dean?"

"I just don't like it, okay?" When we were still indoors, it rained outside, and now the air is very refreshing, I took a few deep breaths, and then recovered to answer Eric's words.

"...I mean, as long as it is a man with a long dick, you will fuck, why would you refuse today?"

"Fuck, Eric, let's stop talking about it."

"Hey guys," Kal-El (short for Calvin the Albino, who is also known as "Superman" in honor of his favorite superhero Kal-El) greets us.He stood by his old blue Toyota and showed up at just the right time to pick us up.I don't think I've ever felt more relieved by his presence.Well, this sentence is not entirely true, he also saved me many times in high school.

Note ①: Calvin the Albino, abbreviated as Cal-Al, albino means albinism.Kal-El in the back is Superman's original name.

"Wow, you changed your hairstyle again," Eric said, just to change the subject, there was no element of surprise in his tone.

Kal-El's long blue hair had now been dark red, looking very flamboyant but matching his pale complexion.The hair is trimmed straight and even, and the shape is unique to set off the face.As usual, he's wearing colored lenses, today in bright blue, and his leather jacket and chain might fool you into thinking he's a member of the band Black Hurricane.This good friend of mine may be very different from others, but his unique style of dressing, his muscular figure, and his deep voice make him extremely sexy.It's just that he doesn't think so.

He stared at my hand that was clutching my stomach and the expression on my face, then looked at Eric.Then his gaze passed over Eric and stopped on the poster promoting the media conference.After glancing at the crowd of men and women at the entrance of the hotel, he turned his gaze back to the poster.

"Hey, that band is—"

"Yes." I replied as I got into the car.Kal-El loves rock 'n' roll, but he's also a loyal friend, and he's not a fan of "Black Hurricane" at all.Or at least he's pretending he's not a fan.Several times I caught him unconsciously beating to the song "Black Hurricane" on the radio speakers, lip-syncing the lyrics until he saw me staring at him.

He got into the driver's seat, and Eric opened the back door and got in.

"Fuck, wow," Kal-El said, "are you alright?"

"It's okay," I replied, "I just need to get out of here."

Kal-El sped up the driveway without saying a word, the car made a sharp noise due to the rapid acceleration.Eric bumped his head against the back of the front seat. "What exactly is going on?"

"We used to go to high school with Dean," Carl said. "He's a real jerk."

Eric shut up rarely, and Karl's short answer just now made him not say a word for the rest of the journey.I thought most likely he would. He pressed on, asking why I didn't tell him I knew Dean, but he didn't ask anything, and I was grateful for that.I'm really not ready to talk about it, and it hurts to even think about it.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Dean fucking McQueen.His original name was Dean Summerfield.Not only was he my first love, but he was also the first person I let into my heart - close enough to break my heart.And he did break my heart.I haven't had a consistent boyfriend since him, and I don't think I'll ever have one.Sure, young hearts hurt a little, but what Dean did was outrageous.

I met him on my first day of high school.God, it was like a dream.He was a sophomore, two years older than me, and I started high school at 13, a year above my peers.I don't remember seeing him in junior high, so I guess he just moved into the area.Otherwise I couldn't fail to remember that flowing black hair, those bright green eyes, that chiseled face.He was very popular in his black leather jacket, with the prettiest girls and the coolest boys.He speaks concisely, smiles charmingly, and has a standard bad-boy demeanor that makes my eyes follow him involuntarily.I managed to get his address and followed him from his bungalow to school and back home, even if it meant an extra 15 minutes of detour.I also got his class timetable and sneaked a peek at him between classes just to get close to him.When the weather is nice, I listen adoringly to him playing the guitar outside.He played a completely different guitar than me, and I was forced to take classical guitar lessons, while Dean played something heavy, like rock or something.His music is the style that I like from the bottom of my heart.

He was in a school band—not one with horns and flutes—but one that used very different types of instruments: piano, bass, drums, guitar, and even kids with vocals as instruments.I wanted to join the band so Dean could impress me, but I was acclimatizing to the new school all first term, so I didn't join until the second term.I think the day of the first band rehearsal was the day Dean first noticed me.

The sharp thud of Kal-El's Toyota parked pulled me out of my thoughts.I'm home now.

Eric grabbed my hand and said seriously, "I wish you'd told me that you knew Dean. Did he bully you?"

I turned around and gave him a hug: "He didn't bully me, he was just a complete asshole." There is no need to ruin Dean's idol image in Eric's heart because of those old things, Eric has been them since the beginning of the band fans.

I gave Kal-El a tight hug too, and turned to leave.

My house used to be an industrial loft in the heart of Boston, near the Harbor Walk.The rent is cheap, and it's not too shabby.It's cheap because it was a scrap dump when I found it, and the owner didn't use it.Even though I had to take the subway to get to where my friends lived, I didn't find it bothersome since it was a straight line.But now I'm in a lot of trouble because my landlord keeps talking about raising the rent and even selling the loft.

It took a long time to take the elevator up to the fifth floor, so I climbed the stairs in two steps.The attic is somewhat messy and full of oil paintings, white canvases, paints, brushes, and various other painting utensils.A small area had been scavenged and used as a living room, with a worn-out three-seater sofa, a CRT television, and an old stereo.A small nook off the living room is the kitchen, with a breakfast table for two and a miscellaneous collection of kitchen utensils.I don't think I've ever had two plates in the same suit, and almost everything comes from second-hand stores.The only door in this open space leads to the hand-sized bathroom, which means that my only bedroom is nothing more than a bed behind a hand-painted curtain and a wardrobe for clothes.

If robbers were going to rob my house, they would be really disappointed.The only valuable thing I have is an old Fender electric guitar, black six-string, a little warped, but that gives it a unique tone.When I'm not drawing, working, or hanging out with other people, I'm sitting on my bed and playing my guitar.I've even composed some tunes over the years.Not for the sake of pleasing others, but for one's own ears.

I want to run my fingers on the guitar right now, but the strings are frayed and the E string broke yesterday morning, leaving a trail of blood on my hand.I'm going to settle myself down this afternoon with something else, like Nine Inch Nails, a half bottle of peach schnapps, a clean paintbrush, and the rest of whatever color paint I have left.Painting relaxes me.People always think I'm relaxed all the time, but I'm usually relaxed when I'm drinking, flying leaves, having sex, or painting in the morning.Anyone who knows me knows that I get extremely anxious when things don't go my way, and things haven't been going my way lately.

My life has no direction, and every time I think about it, I feel anxious.When I was a kid, everything was planned.I was a gifted kid, the kind of kid who outpaced my peers in the classroom and put together puzzles faster than anyone else.My older brother Mike was like me, and my parents were overjoyed when they found out.They spent every penny on my brother's further education, so by the time I was in school there wasn't much money left.We're not really poor...we're poor in terms of indebtedness, but I'm a kid and I don't ask for much.We got poor when the bank foreclosures made my family bankrupt.At the time, Mike was working for some mysterious agency or something, regardless of how poor his parents were.What my parents didn't want the most was that I was a bad boy and dropped out of high school... all thanks to Dean.

I don't like to look back. At the age of 13, I was short and thin, and people often mistake me for a freshman in junior high school②.I insisted on growing my hair down to my shoulders despite my mom’s objections, and while it made me look a bit girly, I was a teen skater and that’s what a teen skater should have.My hair is golden brown now, but when I was younger it was lighter, almost golden brown, which matched my naturally tanned skin.My eyes are brilliant, turquoise with dark rims.I think that's why Dean thinks he recognizes me, but I'm a lot older than I was then. After I was 15 I jumped in size, which happened to be right after Dean left, and I got a little bit more muscular, although I still don't have much muscle.My face is small and feminine, but at least it's more manly than it was then.I'm different, but not enough that Dean doesn't recognize me.I guess it's because I've never been that important to him.

Note ②: American junior high schools generally start at the age of eleven or 12.

I was very shy as a kid and my quietness was taken as "lazy".My parents gave me a lot of extra homework, they thought I was "gifted", and I didn't have time to make friends.I was also extra shy when I found out that I liked boys, and I didn't know how to deal with this orientation.I'm not clumsy or stupid, but when Dean first noticed me at my first band practice, my heart was beating like it was going to jump out of my throat, and my face was getting red.His gaze made my feet soft like jelly, so when I staggered back to my seat, I didn't notice the chair at all, and slumped to the ground.Everyone laughed, Dean laughed, and I laughed too, embarrassed as hell and not knowing what to do in response.

I could sense right away that he knew I was interested in him.This really scared me, but there was nothing I could do.At first he didn't look at me very often, but after he caught me staring at him a few times, he started looking in my direction constantly.Probably wondering if I was looking at him, which I do almost all the time.Hey, I really can't help it, I really hope that I can go back to the past, and then slap the self who is obsessed with him.

The CD of "Nine Inch Nails" stopped, waiting for me to go back and look at my paintings again.Somehow I came up with a mix of peach pink, black and green tones.There's nothing weird about it, except that the color looks at me from the canvas like a pair of green eyes, and I can't help but think of something.

Drawing is what feeds my mind, it's the only sanctuary where I can get away from chores and focus on it, but damn... not only does Dean try to interfere with my thoughts while I'm painting, he's like a worm The same got into my painting.He was looking at me now, smiling smugly at me with his beautifully curved lips.I drew him half undressed, his bony crotch peeking out from his black leather pants, his dark pink nipples looked so enticing, and the bad look on his face was just gorgeous.He's just beautiful, and I hate that he still makes me so horny and haunted.

I'm supposed to be at "Enrique's Pizza" in half an hour, and before I go I take down the thing I drew and scribble on it and ruin its beauty so that Dean won't be in my When he left, he was still haunted in the attic.