Sometimes in life there are times when bad things happen to you. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. No one had anything against you. You just happen to be fall in a pit of misery and don’t know why. Perhaps that was what occurred in Mama’s mind when I was born. It was a breezy autumn day and she was in labour. It was raining out then. Pitter-patter…pitter-patter it went outside. While my sister and I lie impatiently inside her stomach.

However one of us would not be. She knew that or at least believed that. Years ago she met up with a withered old fortune teller who foretold that she would get married and deliver twins, however one of them will not be alive or at least not in their own body. The other twin will have dominated the other twin’s body. When she asked how, the old woman told her that the disembodied infant’s soul will inhabit the surviving twin’s body and with therefore be duel-souled. She will have to treat the “survivor” as two people and not one.

Mama grew up in a violent home where she witness her mother being abused day in and day out. She was one of many children. After her mother was killed due to a fatal attack her father caused she lost all faith in “God”. Her father had not only killed her but most of her siblings. That night she was out with some friends from school. Her father was a home with her mother and three brothers and sisters. Also in his company was a loaded rifle that he used for hunting. It all went downhill when he and her mother got into a small fight the escalated. He shot her, and all of the children. The neighbours heard the gunshots and called the police. Grandpa was arrested for 1stdegree murder and sentenced life in prison.

Mama was adopted into a kind family in upstate New York, where she continued her high school education. It was then that she visited a carnival with her friends. She got her fortune, hoping that her future would turn out better than that of her family’s but she was sorely mistaken. I, myself do not believe in fortune telling nor do I believe in “God” or anything that remotely close to church. I find it all mankind’s pathetic attempt at holding onto sanity. However I do believe that is wasbecauseof her pain and hatred toward “God” that she was willing to believe anything. She didn’t tell me this. Over time I began to piece these together out of the thing she hadn’t said or wanted to admit. Perhaps she didn’t realize it yet. Maybe she did, but couldn’t face the truth. I wish she only knew how much her selfishness affected me.

I remember the story so well. She told me this many times, the story of Abigail and me. My name is no longer what she had planned it to be. It never made the birth certificate. She wanted Abigail to be known to the world. I would forever be in the shadows.

For years it was just her and I. Papa was gone before I was born. She and he were happy together; that was until he began taking drugs and beating her every night, and that was before he went made her the laughing stock of his family. Then one day, four months after she heard of the pregnancy, she found him hanging from a noose in their home.

The letter he left behind was a cruel one. He told her she was unfit to be happy, that her life would be filled with nothing but misery and everyone she encountered would scorn her. He was ashamed to have married such “disgusting whore”. The treatment she got from his family was not different from what he had written. Her family, a deceased mother and father and no existing sibling, were no help either.

At the age of seven, we moved away from Albany New York and went to Queens where we stayed for years. At the age of 14, we moved to Brooklyn, where we’re staying now.

 

“It’s a boy!” the doctor cries, lifting my body into the air. Mama watches me as I cry, helpless in the doctor’s hands. “He’s quite pretty,” the doctors regards me. “You’re gonna have to watch this one. The girl’s will be knocking your door down.”

“Shewill be quite fine under my care,” Mama doesn’t look fazed as the doctor gives her a funny look.

“Mrs. Winston, your daughter she—”

“She’s doing quite fine,” Mama smiles and reaches out for me.

 

“I was, wasn’t I,” I smile. Mama brushes my long brown hair. I’m six years old, sitting at the end of my bed letting Mama brush my hair. She never got it cut for obvious reasons. There are times were I’m almost deceived because of how feminine I look.

Back then I was underdeveloped though. Of course I’d be lanky and have a high voice. I was a young boy. All boys were like that. However I liked boys and that was because I’m gay—not because I’m a girl.

My hair is silky smooth because of my father, who was Caucasian. I also have his eye traits and my body is much like his. I get the colour of my skin from my mother, who’s African American. People who mistake me now for a girl are just like those back then. Now, even though I know the truth, my soft appearance, still somewhat high voice and lack of strength make me wonder if I should consider sex reassignment.

“Yes you were,” Every day she fastens ribbons in my hair helps me into one of the dresses she ironed for me. I slip on my Mary Janes and head off to school. Every night she’d iron the ribbons and clean them if they got dirty. Today they were filthy.

 

 

Ding-dong, ding-dong…

Went the school bell, it’s time for recess. I grab my jump rope and head outside. It’s nice out and the blacktop isn’t so crowded. There’s no one to talk to in my class, so I always play alone. Lifting my hands up I begin to skip rope and sing mindless songs. “Judge…judge, where’s the judge, Mama’s gonna have a baby, roll it up in toilet paper, send it down the elevator, what it’s gonna be: a boy, girl, triplets, twins,” I sing the last part over and over again as I skip, thinking in my mind what was I really? A boy or a girl, was I both? Was I anything at all? Maybe I was nothing.

A forceful push from behind sends me falling to the ground. “You dirty faggot, I don’t even know why you’re allowed to be here? Didn’t anyone tell you were a boy? Boy’s don’t wear dresses!!” it’s Ulixes, a boy in my class who always hated me. Today he’s with a few other boys. They drag me to a secluded part of the playground, a place where the trees block out the view of the teachers.

I’m thrown to the ground, sending out a dull thud. All I see are four mean looking boys standing around me, taking turns kicking me and spitting on me. Their shoes dig deep into my skin. One of them gets the bright idea to undress me. They all come at me and rip off my clothes.

The dress, a lace dress handmade by Mama is thrown onto the ground like it was nothing. All I can think was the way she looked when it was done. It was the first dress she ever made for me. She was so proud of it. Now it was covered in dirt and grime and beyond repair. She would heartbroken. Other articles of clothing at tossed away as well. Three of them hold me down while Ulixes spreads open my legs.

“This,” he grabs a hold of my blemish, the appendage that was never meant to be there. “No girl has a dick.” Oh, so that’s what it is. Mama never told me.

“I’m a girl,” I cry. He punches my eye. I fall back, feeling the pain throbbing like a beating heart. “That’s mistake, I can’t help it,” tears rush down my face. How dare they call me liar? Mama said clearly that I was a girl. By them saying I’m a liar then they’re calling Mama a liar too. Mama would never lie to me.

“Oh yeah,” Ulixes unzips his pants and pulls out his dick. “Then suck it,” what, why would I want to suck that? His friends push me forward. It’s long and limp in his hands. It’s like mine, but we’re different right? I’m not a boy, even though I have a “dick”. I have to prove to them that I’m a girl but why do I have to suck his dick to do that?

I open my mouth and let him slide inside. He grabs my head and jerks my head back and forth. The sensation of it in my mouth; why is it so amazing? I want more of him. “Look, he’s hard,” one of his friends shout, kicking me in the back. I accidently bite down on his dick. He lets go of me, screaming in agony. Pushing me away, I fall to the ground. His friends begin beating again as Ulixes rubs his dick. He puts it back in his pants and zips them up. He pins me down. I’m lying on my stomach. Twisting my arm he bends it out of place…harder and harder until….

CRACK!!!!

I scream at the top of my lungs, tears gushing down my face. The teachers finally hear us and come running. Everything is amuck. The boys are severely punished. I’m sent to the hospital. Mama is beyond furious.

She sits in the hospital room with me, wiping my tears away. “Boys are evil aren’t they?” all I can do is nod. “Especially white boys,” All the boys who attacked me today were white but what does that have to do with anything. “Papa was white too and look what happened to me,” she sighs. We’re all alone now. None of the doctors outside pay her any mind. “Let’s never make that mistake again,”

“Yes, Mama,”

 

The break was clean so they were able to set the cast. As for my other wounds, they were as bad. They cleaned my wounds. Mama insisted I go home. They couldn’t force us to stay, so Mama paid everything and I was discharged the same day.

 

Mama hums as she brushes my hair. After she finishes she wishes me a good night and leaves. I lie on my back so I won’t mess up the cast or dislocate bone. They had to “break” it again so that they could set it in place. That hurt a lot. As I sleep again, I try not to think of what happened. Still that doesn’t mean she’s going to be kind to me. Why did my “dick” react that way when he made me do that awful thing? Even now thinking about makes it rise up again, and all I can do is lie there uncomfortably. It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

Ten Years Later…

 

My name is Abigail Winston, and I’m seventeen years old. I live in Brooklyn with Mama and her in-home Nurse Martha. She’s been with us for three years now. Sometimes I think it’s been three years too long. The doctor deemed her mentally unstable three years ago. In my opinion she’s been mentally unstable since dad went and killed himself…or maybe it was when he first beat and raped her. For me the reality of her emotional windstorm was when I told her that I was a boy. That was five years ago when I was in middle school.

 

After looking in the mirror for years, after that incident with Ulixes, I realized that I was a male. Mama was lying to me from the beginning. Still I fantasized about men. They’re beautifully sculpted bodies just waiting for me to love them. Every night I would think of them and my dick would perk up. Rubbing it helped. Stuff would come out; something I later learned was called “sperm”.

After years of trying to think of a way to tell her, that night I just came out and told her. “Mama, you lied to me. I’m a male.” She looked surprised at first but then she became suspicious and asked me who told me. It took a long time to tell her that I figured it out on my own, all the talks that I had with my school counsellor. She really believed that I was conspiring against her. That night she beat me hard and long until I said that I was a girl.

 

Now today, a junior in high school, I’m wearing a frilly pink baby dress and ballet slippers. I’m walking down the streets of Brooklyn hoping and praying for my life to end. Mikhail is with me, so I don’t mind. He’s been a good friend of mine since I entered high school. He’s also tried to sleep with me sine we met in high school. “Abby,” he calls me as I walk past him. Sighing I stop and allow him to catch up to me. He turns me around, cupping my face in his palms, and pulls me in for a gentle kiss. “Don’t walk away from me like that,” he brings me from into his grasp, his grip getting tighter. “You can’t escape me,” I know he’s just joking. Still it’s a bit frightening, considering the amounts of times he’s managed to drag me to bed.

“Plus I think you’re check holds a lot of value to you. Hmm,” His father, Afanasy Itskov, is my boss. I work part-time at a music store. Even though dad left behind a crap load of money I still prefer to get out of the house and why not earn money at the same time. However Mikhail, having a thing for me, makes me go on dates for him in exchange for getting the money. Those dates sometimes involve giving him blowjobs and having my anus flooded with his jizz. He knows I’m in a relationship with Azazel, and yet he beds me. If I give up sleeping with him, then I’ll lose his friendship. I can’t have that. I need someone there; I need him there with me.

“I’ll go with you,”

 

He takes me to L’Eau Noir, a restaurant with glass for walls. Behind the glass there is huge fish tank that rings around the whole restaurant. The floors are black tiles, making the silver tables and chairs stand out. There is a second level as well. It’s at the top of twenty foot plat form with stairs winding up the side.

The food they serve is extremely expensive. Mikhail pays for the meal each time. I never get too see the bill. Well one time I did, it came up to $11,400. My heart nearly fell through the floor. Tonight we take the subway there. It’s not that far from his penthouse.

“So how are you this fine evening,” he smiles into a glass of cucumber water. “You seemed really tense during the math exam we had today.” It’s true, I was tense. That was only because I was thinking about how my night would with him. Besides that I haven’t visited Azazel in three days. I want to know how he is. Are they treating all right? I hope so. I need to see him. I remember the day that he left me. It was terrible, him and his brother, two young beautiful people with so much love in their hearts. I didn’t deserve it. Yet they adored me.

“I have a lot on my mind,” I finally say. “Just stress,”

“I know you’re thinking about him,” Mikhail glowers at me with dark gleam in his eye. There’s something about the tone in his voice. I know he’ll be rough later on. But then he sighs, taking a sip of the water. He takes his menu up and flips through it with an agile hand. “I think tonight is going splendid.” he smiles at me as if he’d forgotten what he said a moment ago.

A waiter dressed in a black leather bondage outfit comes over to us, rolling a cart shaped like a man in shackles acting as the support for the tray. On the tray are our meals. The service here is excellent. Their entertainment however is a bit provocative. They offer a 20 course meal for 12,000 dollars. We’re on the soup course now. For that we have Chilled Watermelon Soup, which I hear is amazing.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” the waiter smiles at us before rolling that cart away. The statue of the man blinks and I to tell myself it it’s not real, that thing is fake.

I begin to sip the soup and to my surprise it’s actually quite delicious. I eat each as slow as I can without guzzling it down. It’s nice and cool as it slides down my throat. I must enjoy it because if I’m bad, the next thing pouring down my throat won’t be cool at all.

“The show is going to begin soon,” at the far end of the restaurant there is a stage where they perform sex acts. Some a gay and others straight, but most are gay. The audience here is bisexual.

“This soup is really good, I didn’t think watermelon could really be made into a soup,” I stress these words, hoping he might get the subtle hint that I don’t want to see it. He laughs softly and I know he does. That’s when the curtains open and the show begins. There’s beating, chains, and horny young boys. Tonight is all gay performances. I like them better than the straight ones. The girls are annoying and they’re noisy. I don’t like the shows in general though. Then again I have no choice but to be here. Besides I like the food they serve. I used to wonder how we were able to get into the restaurant being only seventeen, but then I learned Mikhail has a relative who owns the place. He allows him to come here. Of course that’s the only thing that family bonds will allow him. He only gets a discount here and there. Tonight we have to pay full price, plus the fee for show.

By the tenth course, the performers onstage have had three orals and five anal sex scenes. The man onstage now is panting. He’s blindfolded and cuffed to an X-shaped stand. There is a man kneeling in front of him, slowly sucking on his cock. He’s stroking his own as well. My dick reacts a little, swelling up some, but then I think of a naked girl and it deflates.

When I look back at Mikhail his moaning, stroking his exposed cock. His cheeks are red, his eyes glassed over with lust. His tongue flops to the side, and droll pours out. “Abby…I can’t wait to enter to you. I’m going to send you to heaven,” As he says this, his cum spurts into his palm.

 

In his penthouse, he has a master bedroom. The bathroom is the size of my apartment, with a Jacuzzi Bathtub, a long counter holding three separate sinks, a walk-in shower and two separate rooms for toilets. In his room there is a walk-in closet big enough to fix a football team. His bed is a king bed, with a bamboo themed comforter, soft green sheets and off white pillows. The room holds that theme as well. Bamboo patterns are one the walls and silver lamps with cut glass, the designs again Bamboo. We take a shower together as always.

The water is warm on my back, the pressure tiny fingers massaging my muscles. The tile is smooth and cold on my knees. The surface is slightly bumpy though. I grasp his hips in my hands and touch my lips to his cockhead. “The diner was amazing as always.” He likes having conversations as I entertain him. I can’t help but admire his ability to get erect again after such a short time. Well it wasn’t that short. I push him in further, and suck him roughly, just the way he likes. He grabs my hair and jerks my head back and forth. He cums in my mouth; his sperm drips out the corners of my mouth. Letting of go of me, I fall back onto the floor.

Tears drip from my eyes, and I move away. “I’m a despicable human being,” I cry, wiping his spunk off my face. The tears come faster and soon I’m shaking in agony. To think I could stoop so low. Mikhail lifts my ragged body up and turns off the shower. I’m not quite sure what happen after that. All I know is that I end up on his bed and he’s &%&!ing me harder than I’ve ever been &@@@ed before.

Perspiration is thick on his brow, but he doesn’t let up. His grip is tight on my thighs. I can’t stop crying. Most of it is out of shame. How could I do this?

My heart is breaking. I’m just rolling in broken shards of glass. No matter where I move I get hurt. My heart is stabbed through many a time. It’s bleeding out and it’s only matter of time before I die a miserable excuse for a human being.

I sigh in relief when he cums. He peels off his condom and goes to dispose of it. I roll over on his bed and try to compose myself. When he’s back again I can feel him wind his arms around me and turn me over. “I love you, Abby. Why can’t you get that through your head? Azazel is on the brink of death. You were mine in the beginning anyway.”

“Mikhail, please don’t leave me like Azazel. Everyone is leaving me. I can’t afford to lose you as a friend.”

He laughs at this. “I can’t believe you. ‘As a friend,’ he says. “Well, I’m more than just a friend to you, Abby,” His eyes, for the first time show wave of sadness. “I know you’re in love with me too. You have to be.”

“You’re being selfish,” I cry, trying to push him away.

“No,you’rebeing selfish. Sleeping with me when you don’t feel anything for me,”

“How about you then; forcing me into sleeping with you in exchange for moneyIworked for. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Yet you want to be my friend. You can’t live without my friendship, Abby. You said so yourself.”

“I need a friend,”

“In that case won’t any guy will do,” he pins me down, glaring at me through bitter tears. “I don’t want to see your face again. Get dressed and leave,”

It’s fairly simple to find my clothes. I race to put them on trembling under his watch. Why does he have to do this? Couldn’t he just be there for me? I wanted a shoulder to cry on, someone to call at 2:00 in the morning because I couldn’t sleep. He wanted me as a lover, and I sold my body to him. Now Ihaveto seehimagain.

 

 

December 15, 2010

The Brooklyn Hospital Centre

 

“Why hello there Miss Winston, how are you?” Carol Summer smiles at me as I come into the hospital. I always stop by the front desk and say hello to her. Of course I need to in order to get inside, but I like talking to her. I’ve been coming here for over a year now. She knows the ins and outs of my being here.

“I’m feeling anxious,” what will Azazel think of me coming here after sleeping with someone else.

“Well don’t be. I’m sure whatever is on your mind will seem like nothing after you go see him. I’m sure he can’t wait to see you,”

“Really,” my cheeks flush pink. I begin to panic for a moment. My hands involuntarily clamp onto my hair. “Do I look all right? Is there anything on my face? Is my hair all right,”

“You look lovely dear. I’m sure your boyfriend loves you just the way you are,”

“Thank you,” she hands me the visitor’s pass and wishes me a nice time.

“I’ll see you later,” I say heading for the elevator. I have to come her way on the way out. On the way up I pat my skirt and reapply some perfume. It’s all nice, but I know this is just a false pretence. I know this is all just a cover, a way to conceal my infidelity. He sees through everything. His love is all I have left in this world. I can’t lose that.

The elevator door dings as it opens up to a floor of hustle and bustle. The odour is something I’ve grown to get used to. It barely fazes me. I walk further in and down the hall to his room. He’s in a room of his own. Furfur made sure of that when he came in. I haven’t seen him since the day he left for Japan. It’s been eight months since then. That was a month after the funeral. That day still rings in my mind and in my heart. I don’t know he does it, but somehow he pays for everything while he’s over there. Why not leave him with a relative?

“Hello Azazel,” I walk in and sit at the edge of his bed. “How are you?” he doesn’t answer. Of course he won’t. He’s been sleeping for over twelve months. Still I know he can hear me. I’m ashamed to even show my face to him. I slide off the bed and get on my knees.

“Please forgive me,” I clasp my hands together and look at him. “I’ve been a terrible person,” I reach for his hand and bring it to my lips. “I’ve slept with someone. His name is Mikhail.” I let silence pass. “I’ve to tell you this because…” yes, now that I’ve hurt him beyond repair he’ll hate me forever. “I want you to hate me. Hate me with all of your heart.” My heart begins beating quickly. I’m starting to get carried away. “Please hate me,” I cry, tears streaming down my face. “If that means you’ll wake up and live again, then hate me. Can’t you see how ruined I am without you? I’m nothing, I amount to nothing. You’re the only reason I’m alive!” I can remember his voice, the way he’d hold me when I cry, passion in his kiss, I can remember it all.

“All that we’ve been through together; we can get through this now. Even if I’m no longer a part of your life anymore, there’s nothing I want more than your happiness. Tell me to leave you. Tell me you hate me and you never want to see me again. I deserve it all.” There’s a strong grip on my wrist, nails digging into my skin. It’s Azazel, I know it. I look up at him. There are tears in his eyes.

Instantly I’m transported back in time where I was a sophomore. I was with him on a date in the New York Botanical Garden. I was in the midst of a “Great Depression”, cutting seemed the only way out. It all started when he came over to my apartment to pick me up. Mama was furious as usual, but we had already been dating for a year now. We told her this many times. Before she would scold me, but that day she just scowled at him like he was trash. It bothered him but he never complained about it. In fact he was always very respectful to her.

“Thank you Mrs. Winston. I hope you enjoy your day,” he made sure not to do anything that would upset her in front of her. After we were out of the building he pulled me close and kissed me like he’d never have the chance to again. “I’m sorry I came without notice. I just couldn’t wait to see you.” He beamed at me. “Three weeks is too long to apart from you,” Azazel went of a cruise with his family, including his two brothers. They wanted me to come along but the rest of their family including grandparents, aunts, and uncles—didn’t think it right for me, an outsider, to be a part of a family affair.

“I know how you feel,” I say burying my face in his chest. For those three weeks, aching for him, having to deal with Martha, and longing for his touch, it’s all been hell for me. I need him so badly. “Three weeks, it felt like three years.”

“I’ve got a surprise for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” I do this. Something light and paper-like is set in my hands. “Open them,” when I do I see two tickets for the New York Botanical Garden. It’s in South Boulevard Bronx. That’s across the bridge from here and next to Manhattan.

“Thank you so much!” I grin ear to ear, leaping into his arms. “I’ve never been there before but I’ve heard it’s a beautiful place. Have you gone there?”

“No I haven’t. That’s why I want to experience it with you.” He guides me to the side of the street where we wait for a taxi. Azazel tells the driver where to go. It takes us forty one minutes to get there, but it doesn’t feel long. Azazel and catch up from where we left off in more ways than one.

His fingers are entangled in my hair, his lips locked with mine. My heart is beating fast. We manage to compose ourselves as Azazel pays the fee. We get out and Azazel fixes my hair. It always surprises me how doting he can be. It’s almost like he’s my dad.

 

It’s after we leave the New York Botanical Garden where things get horrible. We got to his house afterwards. His older brother prepares us a wonderful dinner. His name is Furfur. He’s in college studying to be a neurological specialist. His younger brother Caim is in middle school. He’s really cute and has a thing for me.

Azazel brings me into his bedroom and locks the door. He shares the bedroom with his brother. However I can never really tell which item belongs to whom, they’re both hardcode Goths. They’re last name is La Croix. They’re family is originally from France. Azazel’s grandmother is an immigrant. They’re also Romanian as well.

 

Azazel lies me down on my stomach and kisses me fervently. His fingers are quick and I can’t stop him from unzipping my dress. Underneath are large burns on my back and right shoulder. There are also cut wounds on my wrists. When he sees this, he’s grows speechless. “Tell me again…what you did while I was gone,”

“Martha beat me. She was angry at me and threw hot grease on me as I was running away from her. The gashes are from when I cut,” I say this as emotionlessly as possible. He can’t know how much I needed him, how much I wanted him to be there. Tears drip from his eyes. He looks at my skin so intensely it frightens me. He has me sit up and turns me around. His fingers trail over the burns. As he looks, he begins to sob.

His kisses my back, whispering, “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t left you alone you wouldn’t be in this state. Your beautiful skin is damaged. Oh, my baby,” he turns me to face him and holds me close, his nails digging deep into my skin. The way he cried for me, I’ll never forget that. I couldn’t even cry for myself yet he could feel my pain. No one’s ever cried in my place.

 

“Should we do this?” he asks me, I can’t see the hunger in his eyes. I know he wants it just as much as I do. “I can wait till you heal,”

“No, I’m fine. Please take me,” I beg him. He kisses my forehead and strokes my cheek.

“I’ll be gentle,”

“No, do—” our lips meet again. He holds onto me, with a gentle touch. I can’t help but want to taste much more of him. We haven’t seen each other in a while. I wish he was rougher with me. Azazel’s eyes, they’re so full of pain. Why is he in pain?

“I understand you’re hurt, but why did you have to cut yourself?” he lifts my wrists up and kisses them both. “This body it’s not just yours anymore. It’s mine too. Please don’t hurt anything of mine,”

“I’m not anything special, Azazel.” I say, pulling my hands from him. “Besides it’s not your fault that I got hurt. You haven’t seen your family in years. Why should I get in the way of that?”

His eyes tell me he’s struggling to answer, but then he finally says, “How can you say you’re not special?!” he yells. “You mean more to me than anyone in the entire world!!” cupping my face in his, he kisses me in a not-so-gentle way. “Do I have to show you how much you mean to me?!” I close my eyes and felt him love me, his tongue sliding over my nipples, biting them roughly. I can feel his fingers penetrating me, pushing deeper and deeper inside to places I didn’t even know where there.

“Azazel!” my voice is embarrassingly loud. “Ah! No more!” it feels so weird. It’s like he’s pulling my insides out. He slides his fingers out, and lifts my waist up. “Wait!” I cry.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was hoping we could do another position,” I turn him around and have him lie on his back. I straddle over him, pressing my bottom against his cock until it slides right in. Both of us groan in bliss.

“Feels amazing,” Azazel’s cheeks are pink. “Are you sure you want it this way?”

“Yes, I want to make you feel good too,” Lifting my hips, I thrust them back and forth, my body trembling under the pleasure. Azazel’s moans only send me farther into ecstasy. Grabbing a hold of my waist, Azazel jerks me faster and harder. I can barely keep my voice down, all of its gibberish. “Ah…nm….ah,”

“I don’t think I can hold out much longer,” he cries.

“Neither…can…I,” I cry, cumming all over his stomach. My body is exhausted. I can barely breathe; he cums not too far after me; his passion filling me up inside. I fall onto him, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry,”

He laughs softly. “For what,” he strokes my hair gently, his touch like gossamer.

“For cumming on you,” he laughs again.

“Well I guess I should apologize for cumming inside of you,”

What a strange thing to say. “I wanted you to do that. I like it when you cum inside me,” I can’t help but giggle. His skin is so warm and feels nice.

“Well maybe I wantedyoutocumon me,” he smiles wickedly, poking my noise making an “err”noise as he does it.

“You’re strange,”

“So you are you,” we both laugh at our choice of topic for conversation. This is soon abandoned for playful kissing. He slides his fingers into my hair, intertwining them in the strands.

“Don’t ever hurt yourself again.” he says as I break the kiss. His expression is solemn. “It breaks my heart to see you wound yourself like that…and another thing, don’t ever belittle yourself. You’re going to have enough people in the world to do that to you. Don’t try and beat them to it. You’re a beautiful, magnificent human being and I love you…I’m madly in love with you, Abigail.” There are tears in his eyes again. “Promise me you’ll love yourself,”

“I promise,” tears fill my eyes. I bury my face in his chest, not wanting him to see. “I love you Azazel,”

“I love you more,” he holds onto me tightly as if I might float away if he didn’t. That night we cried more than we did ever before. We didn’t even know why. I’m somewhere in our hearts we knew that those feelings we held were too precious to keep locked away.

 

“Forgive me, Azazel. I didn’t mean to…but I can’t live without you. How much longer do you want to me to wait?” his grip gets stronger and stronger until…he lets go. It’s like nothing happened. “Azazel,” Standing up, I look at him closely. He’s still unconscious. Nothing’s changed. When I look closer to see his tears, I realize there’s nothing there. He never cried to begin with.

 

December 20, 2010

Brooklyn Public Library

 

Dear Azazel,

Five days until Christmas. The snow is really heavy this year. It’s like all of Brooklyn is blanketed in white. Sometimes I wonder if we’re frozen in time. Nothing seems to be changing anymore. Or perhaps I shouldn’t be looking on the outside but rather on the inside…the inside of my heart. There’s nothing but sadness and loneliness there and perhaps some resentment and self-hatred as well. The world is cruel place but when you hate yourself it really can’t get any worse. Being alone trapped in a broken home; I wish you would come back to me.

You’re everything to me; I really can’t imagine having been born in a world without you. When I met you everything changed. You, my love, who brought me out of my darkness and into you world of light, nothing is what it seems anymore. The heaviness in my heart was lifted the moment you looked me in the eyes. Please come back to me. When you left all you lustre in my world turned to ashes. I’m nothing now without you. You gave my life meaning. Now you’ve left, it’s meaningless…I’m meaningless.

Abigail

I close my diary. I bought it the day that he was admitted into the hospital. I knew that I couldn’t really pour my heart out to him anymore. I’d tell him things. However they seem to just float away without meaning. People tell me to have hope and say my words really are heard, but after months of speaking to someone who won’t answer me, what left is there to hope for?

I want to hope. I will hope. He will come back to me. I just have to have faith in myself and have faith in him. He’s got a strong heart. He’ll make it. I know it.

Tucking the diary in my backpack I go over and look out the look out the window. Something is compelling me to do it. As I peer through the glass I look out onto the street. There aren’t many people out, probably considering the weather. It’s been what most people would call “awful” these past few days. For me though, it’s been beautiful. A group of children catch my eye. They’re all dancing in a circle, sing Christmas carols. It’s very appropriate for it now. Christmas isn’t that far away.

Then I realize that among them there is a teenager. He looks to be about seventeen years old. His eyes are startling shade of green. Most of his hair is covered by his yarn hat. It has a grey with a pompom at the top. He’s snuggled up a grey parka with worn jeans and sneakers. There’s a gentle, and yet playful look on his face. His features are so familiar, and yet I remember where I might’ve seen him before.

Before I know it, I’m running outside, just to get a closer look at him. His back is to me and he’s talking to the children who I know realize are really dirty looking. They look like they’ve been living in the gutter. Their clothes are worn and filthy, they’re hands are grimy and they’re eyes—they’re lifeless. One of them spots me. “Braeden, someone’s staring at you,” He whispers loudly.

Braeden turns around, his eyes widening as they focus on me. A warm smile spreads across his face. “Hey there, Abby!” he calls out. “Care to join us?” he holds out his hand. I’ve no choice. I race of and grab his hand. The child next me, a young boy around five or six, grabs my hand. We begin dancing and singing. The joyful tunes of Jingle Bells, and Deck the Halls somehow lift my spirits. Then I’m crying again. I try to stop it before I look weird but I can’t. I break away and wipe my eyes. They all look at me curiously.

Braeden doesn’t ask me anything nor does he get mad. He simply smiles once more and pulls into his arms and wipes my tears away. As I look up at him, I can tell he’s kind person. Cupping my face in his hands he leans close to me. I can’t stop him; it’s all happening too fast. Our lips meet in a soft kiss. He doesn’t pull away though. He keeps on kissing me until I stop crying. Then he moves back and pecks me on the cheek before stepping away.

I’ve stopped crying but now I’m speechless. The children start giggling and are whispering to each other.

 

“He kissed her,”

“I know that,”

“She’s blushing,”

“What do you think he’ll do now?”

They’re all waiting for my response. “Abby,” Braeden begins. I look into his eyes. There is question in them. My heart is beating rapidly. I don’t know what to do. “Abby,” he says again.

Who are you?! I want to say. Instead, I turn around and run as fast as I can. I don’t look back even though deep in my heart I know I should. Deep inside I’m grieving. How do I know I’ll ever see him again? Who was he? Why did he have to kiss me? How does he know my name? So many questions are filling my heart. I have to get rid of them. Otherwise I’ll go insane.

 

December 25, 2010

Greenwood Cemetery

 

In Loving Memory of

Caim La Croix

1996-2009

 

“Merry Christmas Caim,” I kneel down in front of his grave, set the bouquet of roses down. “I miss you,” the snow is cold against my legs, but I don’t care. All I know is that six feet under me is the boy I fell head over heels for. If I only knew a way to get him back again. I try not to think of that though. People say things like “they’re in a better place now” but where is that really? Is it peaceful and quiet or dark and lonely? Is he alone—alone in the dark?

He had such a beautiful soul. He was so loving and devoted to those he loved. He was reliable and was always bringing smiles everyone’s faces. How could someone who sacrificed so much for the sake of others just die like that? “Thank you, Caim. Thanking for having loved me. I’m so happy you let me be a part of your life.” Warm tears streak my face. “I hope you can hear me way up there,”

Somewhere in my heart, I know we’re still connected even though he’s not here physically. He isn’t gone. He hasn’t left. I can feel his love all around me. He’s telling me to have hope. “Is Azazel going to join you soon?” I whisper. As if in respond the wind picks up. It makes a howling noise. I think I’m going mad. Either that or that wind say ‘no’.

“Thank you,” I smile happily. “Thank you, Caim.”

RATE THIS CHAPTER!