The World Spins Madly On

A song fic inspired by The Weepies "The World Spins Madly On."

 

The World Spins Madly On

Song & Lyrics by The Weepies

 

Woke up and wished that I was dead

With an aching in my head

I lay motionless in bed

I thought of you and where you'd gone

And let the world spin madly on

 

Everything that I said I'd do

Like make the world brand new

And take the time for you

I just got lost and slept right through the dawn

And the world spins madly on

 

I let the day go by

I always say goodbye

I watch the stars from my window sill

The whole world is moving and I'm standing still

 

Woke up and wished that I was dead

With an aching in my head

I lay motionless in bed

The night is here and the day is gone

And the world spins madly on

 

I thought of you and where you'd gone

And the world spins madly on.

 

Isaiah’s breath held steady in the air as he exhaled. He watched it materialize, suspended in the cold for much longer than was normal, as if time had stopped to hold it there. After a long, lonely minute had passed, the evidence of his breath slowly disappeared and Isaiah inhaled, pulling the oxygen inside his lungs. It was cold as it passed through his throat and it sent goose bumps over his skin. The hairs stood on end, suffocated by the layers of clothes that protected him from the bitter December morning. He shook the feeling away and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his down jacket. Pounding it against his palm, he leaned against the brick wall of his apartment building and glanced down the block towards the lonely streets.

There weren’t any cars on the roads. It was too early. Five thirty seven a.m. Only the insomniacs and work hungry fiends were up at this ungodly hour. These days, Isaiah had trouble deciphering which of the two he had become. Work took his mind off of every regret and the insomnia brought it all back by nightfall. He wished that he could find a balance but six months had passed and he was still running in the same circle with the same mistakes weighing him down.

He separated a cigarette from its brothers and brought it to his lips, holding it there between his lips. Replacing the pack inside his pocket, he took a lighter from the other and raised it slowly. Ignition sparked the flame and it warmed his face as he lit the cigarette and inhaled. Tobacco was the only thing that seemed to get him through the mornings anymore. Hell, the evenings too and sometimes… the afternoons. He’d never been a smoker before – hadn’t given a minute of his life to that cancer until the day that he’d woken up alone, without her. 

He’d been the one who had walked away. He’d made the decision on his own. The cancer that was eating away at his lungs could not be blamed on anyone else but himself. He couldn’t blame her for creating in him the need to satiate a hunger that he could never feed. He’d done it to himself.

He placed the cigarette between his fingers, drew it away from his lips, and pushed the smoke into the air with a heavy breath. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the cold brick and pulled the cigarette back; another drag, another pull on his dying lungs and somewhere inside, his heart was still beating.

 

“I forget sometimes… how much you love me,” she said from her place in their bed, a playful smile curling across her face. Isaiah looked up from the sketchbook where he’d been laying out this week’s piece. He tossed his head back gently to remove the dark hair from his eyes. He wanted to see her.

“How can you forget? I’m reminding you everyday,” he smiled, his pen paused over a half finished caricature.

“I know,” she nodded, as she shifted under the sheets, the fabric falling against her skin, illuminating every inch of her curves. “But I still forget.”

“Do I need to give you a reason to remember?” he asked, raising his eyebrows playfully.

“No,” she smiled, pushing her manicured fingers through her chestnut colored hair. It fell perfectly as if she hadn’t spent an entire night tossing and turning against her pillow, against his chest, against his heart.

“What can I do then?” he asked. “So that you will stop forgetting?”

“Just tell me that you love me,” she said.

“I love you,” he said, with a moment’s hesitation.

She smiled widely, her eyes illuminated with the confidence that his confession was the truth. She knew that he loved her. He didn’t know why she would think that he didn’t. He set his pen down and slipped away from his work.

“Isaiah… you’re working,” she said, trying to protest as she watched him come towards her. She put out her hands and shooed him away, as if that would make him change his mind. He climbed onto the bed and crawled towards her, on his hands and knees. She smiled as he stooped over her and brought his lips to hers. He kissed her, softly at first. He pressed his body against hers. She could feel his desire, he could sense the heat of hers. He kissed her delicately and then deeply, eagerly, hungrily, until she pushed him away.

“You have to finish your work, Isaiah,” she said, sternly. But her lips were red from the friction, and her eyes were dancing with the heat that had been ignited between them.

“No I don’t,” he said. “I have to finish you first.”

 

He couldn’t get her out of his head, out of his heart, out of his dreams. He’d walked away, everything about it had been his doing. He hadn’t fallen out of love with her but he had to do something before she fell out of love with him. He wouldn’t survive.

 

“Where were you?”

She was standing at the door of the kitchen, leaning against the frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She was in sweatpants and a t-shirt that was two sizes too big. The sleeves were rolled up. Her hair was coming free from her ponytail. She’d been sleeping. He could see the imprint of the throw pillow on her cheek. He hated it when she came at him like this, so vulnerable and real. It made it so much harder for him to walk away.

“I was out,” he said, as he pushed the refrigerator shut. He had a water bottle in one hand, three Extra Strength Tylenol capsules in the other. He put them in his mouth and chased them down with a long drink.

“That’s not an answer, Isaiah,” she said, angrily. He knew that she hated it when he didn’t call, when he didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. But what could he say? The truth would not be right. He didn’t want her to know the truth.

“I’m tired,” he said, capping the water bottle. He brushed past her, leaving her standing in the harsh light of the kitchen. He moved quickly towards the bedroom that they shared, that he wanted to leave behind. He didn’t want to keep doing this to her. He shed his coat and dropped it onto the floor by the door, pulled his t-shirt over his head, unbuttoned and stepped out of his pants.

“I don’t understand why you are acting like this,” he said, appearing in the shadows near the door. He glanced to her over his shoulder. In the dim light of the bedroom, he could see the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to promise her that he would change, that things would be different soon. He sighed and turned away from her. He couldn’t do that.

“Can I just go to bed? I don’t want to get into this with you tonight,” he said.

“Then when, Isaiah?!” she cried. “When will you confide in me? When will you tell me what is going on in your life?”

As hard as it was to do, he ignored her. He sat on the side of his bed and ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

“I’m tired,” he said, for the second time in ten minutes.

“Yeah. I bet you are,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’ll never know what from, will I?” He looked at her as she moved away from the door and began reaching for things – her keys, her cell phone, a pair of shoes.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “It’s three a.m.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Since you don’t ever tell me anything, why should I extend that privilege to you?” she asked, as she pulled a sweatshirt off of the floor and over her head. She looked at him with angry eyes, eyes that showed all of the heartache, all of the pain that he’d caused her to feel.

“I was out with a friend,” he said, hoping to satisfy her, hoping to pull her back into the bed with him. She stopped and looked at him.

“Which one?” she asked. He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. She didn’t like any of his friends. He didn’t have an answer that she would want to hear. So he told her the truth.

“One that you haven’t met yet,” he said.

“A woman?”

“No. His name is Reid.”

“What does Reid do? Do you work with him?”

“No.”

            “How do you know him, Isaiah?” she asked.
            “I met him through Patrick,” he confessed. Something passed over her eyes, a realization, he assumed. She shook her head.

            “No,” she said, pointing at him with her car key. She shook her head. “No, Isaiah, you are not going to go back to that.” She was crying. He stood up and stepped towards her. It was too late. He’d already gone back. He could feel it in his blood, coursing through his veins, taking over. She stepped away from him when he came closer.

            “I’m sorry,” he said. “I will stop.” He was lying. He was always lying. He could never stop. It was always there. It would always be there.

            “How long?” she asked, looking up at him with her wet eyes. Now would be the time to coat the truth, he told himself. Lie to her, lie to her face, to her crying, aching face.

            “Six months,” he said. He tried to lie but he couldn’t. Not when she was crying because of him. She was always crying and he was always the one who brought the tears.

            “I can’t believe you,” she said, her voice barely audible. But she looked up at him with angry eyes. “I can’t believe you!”

            “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out to her. But she backed away, her shoulder hitting the doorframe. She oriented herself and stepped through, into the hallway, into the darkness. He couldn’t see her anymore.

            “I’m leaving tonight,” she said. “I can’t look at you. I will come back tomorrow and you will tell me everything, Isaiah. Everything.”

            He didn’t get the chance to answer her. She left him standing in the door of their bedroom, hating himself for who he was and who he had become.

 

            Isaiah flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the sidewalk and watched it roll off of the curb into the gutter. For some reason, he stared, watching as the melted sludge carried the cigarette away from him, away from where he stood. He swallowed thickly and glanced upwards at the sky which was slowly filling with the light of early morning.

 It had been eight months since that day. He wasn’t there when she came home, her head full of ideas to heal him, her heart bursting with the promises of a second chance. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t do that to her. He packed his things, everything that was of importance to him. His clothes, his artwork, a photograph of her. He’d promised her so much and he would never be able to give her anything. She needed to be with someone who could deliver. She deserved that much. So he’d left her a note.

 

Please let me leave. I love you too much to stay. I won’t do this to you. If you love me too, you will understand. I’ll see you again someday but until then, I can’t keep hurting you. I love you. I always will. I always have. Never forget that.

 

He wondered about her everyday, wondered what had become of her too. He still loved her, more than he had loved another human being. But he knew that his thoughts would never go any further than his own reflective mind. He wasn’t going to go looking for her. The world around him was moving so fast and he was standing in the same place, staring up at the rising sky as her world spun away from his.

“Isaiah… come on. You’ve been out here long enough.”

He glanced over his shoulder. The orderly had snuck up on him, her entrance onto the quiet street now a complete surprise to him. She was beckoning him forward with her slender fingers, a soft smile draped across her tired face. He took a deep breath and shoved his hands into his pockets and turned towards her.

“You’re going to get away from this place if you keep this up,” she said, as he came up to her side, towards the door of the rehabilitation clinic where he’d been living for the last six and a half months.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, quietly, shaking his head. She laughed gently and prodded him forward by placing her hand gently against his back.

“Well, good. All the more reason for me to come to work every morning,” she said. “Not get your butt inside.”

The door shut behind them and Isaiah felt the pull of the world outside, as it continued to spin, leaving him behind.

Author's Note

This is a rough draft. I'd love to hear your comments on what I could improve as far as the plot development and story construction is concerned. Especially about whether or not it fits with the given lyrics.

Reviews

[Kate]

Again, you've got this knack for eye-catching one-liners. "Only the insomniacs and work hungry fiends were up at this ungodly hour," is so true. I'm personally a huge fan of that time of morning, but that's beside the point. Moving on ...

I'm curious what's happened to him by the end of the story. Is he in a rehabilitation clinic? I like the fact that his actual indiscretion isn't named. I can imagine what it is, and I like that ambiguity. As far as plot development goes, I don't know if I'd change anything, honestly. The pacing is very appropriate, though the argument does seem to come up out of nowhere. Ahah! Here's what I'd tweak. Despite the fact that Isaiah (Mhmm...Isaiah, huh? What was the character's original name? ;) ) is well aware of how the argument came about and what his problem was that drove her away, the reader isn't entirely sure. Perhaps you could give us some insight into what happened in between this warm bedroom scene and the argument. Just for clarification.

Finally, without question the story fits the lyrics you posted at the opening of the story.

Now write something else so I can read it!