vicariously

I'm going to post a couple of stories I've been writing for a while and see if anyone is interested in reading the rest. Here is the first one and the first thing I wrote with the idea of other people reading it. I've gotten good feedback for the most part with a couple of exceptions. Let me know what you think and thanks in advance for taking the time....


Nicky contemplates the nicotine stains on his fingertips, and wonders if bleach will really remove them, as Stacy asks him for the fourth time if he wants to go out for dinner or order in. 'Killing In The Name Of' by Rage Against the Machine pumps out of the hi-tech stereo system in an otherwise relatively unfurnished apartment. A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling.
Stacy's voice takes on the strident quality he loathes as she begins to ask him about dinner for a fifth time. Nicky finally looks up from his in depth study of his fingers, and sighs, "Whatever, I really don't care Stace,"he says. He notices a pinhole in his tuxedo shirt that he wears un-tucked over a pair of washed out jeans as she slams the door shut behind her, leaving. Things have been deteriorating between them the past few weeks. He senses the end of their time together, and wonders why he doesn't care more. He stubs out the cigarette he was smoking and fishes a joint out of his pocket and lights up, switching the stereo to some vintage rock from The Who. Sitting on the carpet with his back to the wall, Nicky just can'tt seem to care about anything too terribly much today. In fact, he doesn't feel any motivation to move from one minute to the next on most days. His green eyes coupled with his jet black hair and added to an attractive smile keep him from spending much time without a girl in his bed. Thinking of Stacy, he briefly considers calling her on her cell to ask her to pick up a pack of smokes while she's out, then reconsiders. Deciding it wouldn't be worth the latest edition of 'The Gospel according to Stacy' he would have to wade through, he decides to ditch her for now and get something to eat. He pushes himself to his feet, and takes a large draw off of the joint he is smoking. Stifling a cough and holding in the smoke, he walks to the stereo to turn it off.
As he walks to the bathroom to take a piss, the earlier scene with Stacy replays in his mind, this time with an alternate finish.

"Nicky, do you want to go out to eat, or order in, godammit!?!?!" Suddenly Nicky jumps up from his slouch against the wall, pulling the hunting knife out of his boot, and viciously thrusts it into Stacy's chest, again, and again. Blood spurts warmly onto his hand, his arm, and splatters his chest, staining his white tuxedo shirt in a pattern he finds strangely beautiful. Stacy's screams fill the apartment. Nicky realizes he enjoys the sound of Stacy screaming in horror and pain as much as he hates the sound of her talking....the stereo plays on in the background.....

As Nicky zips his fly a chill runs down his spine. That was freaky. Coming back to reality feels like breaking the surface of dark, murky water. A gasp of breath completes the image, as he shuts the violent thoughts out with visible effort, shaking his head to clear it. He flushes the bowl and smiles. If only it were that easy.
Leaving his apartment, Nicky walks to his favorite Chinese restaurant. His iPod churning out the latest song by Combichrist, he enters China Pagoda, in Georgetown, not far from where he lives. He plops down in a booth and orders. His mind wanders. The image of Stacys blood spurting onto him keeps interrupting his musings and he feels a bit of confusion about the weird little scene that played out in his mind.
Nickys order of Orange Beef (Dog he thinks) arrives late, and is a bit cold. The waiter smiles and offers no apologies. Nicky grunts in anger and digs in, his hunger taking over. He is thinking about work tomorrow as his mind shifts gears, yet again.

Nickys order of Orange Beef (Dog he thinks) arrives late, and is a bit cold. He glares at the waiter, who smiles and offers no apologies. Nicky grasps a chopstick tightly in his hand and whirls into a standing position. He brings the chopstick around and plunges it into the mans neck, with a loud popping noise. Blood spurts onto the table, and onto the Orange Beef (Dog he thinks) and the waiter sinks to his knees. The waiters screaming seems to go on and on in a high pitched voice that Nicky thinks would sound good with some drum and bass in the background. As the waiters screams diminish into a liquid gurgling sound, he shoves his plate of Orange Beef, (enough already, we know its Dog), away from him and runs to the bathroom in a panic. With a dry mouth, wild eyes and shaking hands, Nicky splashes some water on hisface and stares at himself in the mirror. Trying to slow his breathing down to normal and get hold of himself, he grips the sink with both hands and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels like someone has just tilted the world on its edge, and he cant seem to find his balance. Slowly opening his eyes and staring at himself in the mirror, he doesnt know what is real. Random images from the two scenes flash through his mind as his panic builds. He bolts out the back service exit into the alley needing some fresh air. Suddenly the idea of doing hallucinogens this weekend doesnt seem too swift. Not relishing the idea of heading back to an empty apartment with random blood-soaked images ricocheting through his mind, he flips open his cell and calls his best friend. Hey man, its Nick.
Dude, whats happening? Max asks.
Im fucking losing my mind is whats happening, can I stop by? Nick asks.
Yeah man, of course, cmon over, whats the deal? Maxs girlfriend is asking him who is on the phone, and Max motions silently for her to be quiet, concerned for his friend.
Im not fucking sure, but I need a sane person right now to bounce some shit off of, and youll just have to do.
Fuck you man, get your sorry ass over here, Ive got some killer dope, youll be fine Max replies, trying to use humor to bring Nick back to himself.
Ok, Ill be there in like ten. This is no joke man; I think I am in serious trouble here. Max tells him to relax and get moving, so Nick jogs over to Maxs place, relieved to have a safe place to land.
It felt so real man, I mean I could feel the blood, hear the screams, I cant explain it. Nicky says. He arrived about twenty minutes earlier to Maxs apartment, which is about five blocks away from Nicks place. He is struggling with trying to explain what happened to him.
Youre probably just stressed from dealing with that bitchs bullshit, relax man, Im sure youre fine Max tells him, as he passes him the bong packed tight with some really potent Pot. Hit that and shut up for a bit, just listen to some good tunes and chill.
Nicky, do you want a beer? Julie calls out from the kitchen.
A bottle of Jack might do me better, but yeah, Ill take one, thanks Nick responds, sounding more sure of himself than he feels. Max sits on his black leather couch Indian style wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare. Julie, a very attractive redhead with a body that Nick has always thought Max doesnt deserve, hands Nick a beer with a cute smile and sits down on the couch next to Max. Julie is wearing cut off jeans that are cut less than an inch below her crotch and a tank top with no bra. Her breasts jiggle suggestively as she settles into a comfortable position. She smiles again at Nick and turns to resume watching the tube with the sound off. Nick shakes his head, as he tries to forget the strange shit that brought him to Maxs place in the first place. A local band doing a fair imitation of the Sex Pistols blare from Maxs stereo as Nicky flicks the lighter and hits the bong. He is hoping that the pot will wipe the memories from his mind, but he knows its useless. He can still see the blood and hear the screams. He just cant seem keep his heart from galloping in his chest. Filled with anxiety, Nick goes over the last few hours in his mind, still not able to be sure of what was real. He feels like a rabbit caught in a trap, eyes wild, heart racing, and his panic threatens to overwhelm him.
Im telling you its just your overactive imagination getting the best of you man Max says. You need to just put it out of your mind. Dude, Ive never seen you act like this before. Just relax, seriously. Nick nods and forces a strained smile as a silent scream echoes in his head.

An hour or so later, Nick is back at his place, totally stoned, his panic only slightly less than it was. He takes a moment to be thankful that Stacy is still out, and plops down on the floor. He uses the remote to turn on his stereo. He is hoping to find some music to calm him down and Psycho Killer comes on by the Talking Heads. Perfect, he thinks, thats just fucking perfect, and he flips the stereo off. Hoping he can manage to sleep this off and make more sense of it in the light of another day, he lies down on his futon, clutching his pillow in a fetal position. After fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, his mind racing, he gives up, miserable. He stumbles into his bathroom and grabs the bottle of Tylenol PM that he keeps in his medicine cabinet. Dry swallowing the two pills, he makes his way back to bed, feeling hopeless, scared, and alone. Twenty minutes later, sleep takes him.