Damien: he deserves itMature

 

During the six months of Kyle's absence from my life, me and Nathan had been going pretty steady. He kept me from harming too seriously, I got him through prison life in one piece, and we both enjoyed the sex. It's not love, no matter what I say to him, and we both know it. But it doesn't stop us from being good for each other.

He'd gotten over me calling him Nate, though to be honest, I only called him it to annoy him. In turn, he'd started calling me Dimples, because of the dimples in the small of my back when I arched it while he was fucking me. He says they're cute. I don't see how, but I don't argue against it. We rarely went very far without each other, and most people had learnt to leave Nathan alone unless they were feeling suicidal. Or they were new to the unit.

Until today. Kyle's visit hasn't done anything for my declining mental health in the slightest. I settle down in a corner of the yard, out of everyone's way planning to chain smoke my way into an early grave. An old, all too familiar itch is back, and I have no way of scratching it. So instead, I pick the scabs off my arm, watching the blood well up and drip down my arm. Yeah, I'm emo, whatever. I can't help it. When I run out of scabs to pick, I scratch a new patch of my arm til that bleeds too and lean my head back against the fence.

When I open my eyes, I'm looking up at an unimpressed Nathan. "What?" I ask tersely"I thought I told you to quit with the scratching thing," he says, crossing his arms. I shrug and light another cigarette. "What's up?"

"Kyle visited. He's in a really bad way and I can't help feeling bad about it." Nathan sighs and rolls his eyes.

"He deserves it for what he did to you, babe." My gaze snaps up to him angrily and though I see a flicker of worry in his eyes, he stands his ground.

"He doesn't deserve to feel like that when I know I don't feel half as bad as him about it," I snap, "I've had someone there for me and he doesn't really have anyone to cheer him up." Nathan doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. I can see exactly what he wants to say about Kyle in his eyes. I stand up and shove him aside roughly. Not expecting it, he stumbles and gives me plenty of time to get the fuck out of there.

 

He sits somewhere else for dinner, leaving me to pick my scabs in peace. I barely touch my food. Seeing Kyle didn't do much for my appetite, to be honest, and I don't just mean the fact he looked like a skeleton. I put my head on the table, sighing at it. All I want is Kyle and some drugs. Is that so much to ask?

The End

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