Like every year preceding this, Halloween sings around to torture me. I’d have to face hundreds of painted faces and darkly garbed children who come to my doorstep imploring that I bequeath them with a meagre amount of candy. Of course they don’t word it that way. Sometimes I wonder if there’s any difference. At first I found it quite baffling that we’d even get kids when we live in a stink old apartment building with terrible electricity and rats around every corner. They never fail to knock upon our humble door though, their eyes extra-large and innocent. Weakened by their state of distress I’d give them each three pieces of candy (I usually get something different each year).

Halloween is over three weeks away, but I can’t help but have it in the back of my mind. Mama and Martha go on a three day trip to upstate New York to stay with one Martha’s relatives. They host a Halloween party up there and have tons of fun. Mama is still pretty young. She’s got a youthful body and can be energetic when she wants to. The only problem is turning the “off” switch afterwards. That’s what Martha is for. She is the only one who can calm her down.

There was one night where I walked by their room, and saw Mama crying. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” She cried. Martha held her close, pressing her face against her busty chest. “I don’t even think I’m worth loving.” Mama looked small and vulnerable in Martha’s arms. Tears stained her cheeks, and she shock like a frightened child.

“You are worth it,” Martha cried. “I love you,” her voice, it wasn’t the sort that one woman would use to speak to her friend. It was what she would use to when speaking to her beloved. I saw it then, the true intentions of Martha, the woman who attacked me whenever I did something that hurt Mama (directly or indirectly). She’s in love…with my Mama.

Mama reached up and pulled Martha down for a passionate kiss. The two women held each other then. I stood in the background frozen, unsure of how to react. I walked away when Martha began undressing Mama.

All night I had the image of the two in my mind. I thought of how that could’ve happened. I mean what’s so attractive about Martha? She’s a tall woman in her late thirties. Mama is in her thirties as well. Martha has long black hair with a heart-shaped face. Her eyes are a bitter shade of black. Her lips which are actually quite full are usually pressed into a thin line. She has a slim waist with large breasts.

I knew Mama was bisexual but I also knew she liked men more than she did women. She only ever dated a girl when she was in high school. The relationship lasted a year. It only ended because the girl had to move.

 Mama and Martha’s relationship didn’t disgust me. I mean it would be sort of hypocritical if you look at the facts. Mama was put off by men after father died. No more would she suffer ultimate reticule and oppression from a man. No more would she be forced into silence. Women were the only source of happiness for her.

She believes that I’ll get hurt if I fall in love with a man and wants to protect me. I understand where she’s coming from, but I also know that not all men are dickheads.

 

The next morning make sure I’m out before they wake up. The doors are lavished with squashed witches and pumpkin stickers. A lot of them are old and faded. Still our neighbours never failed to hang them up. It’s an unspoken rule I suppose.

 

At school I don’t see any decorations. It’s to be expected in a Catholic school. Such activities are considered “heathen” and “unholy”. This doesn’t stop the boys from buying decorations for their homes and getting gruesome costumes to don when traveling round the neighbourhood for the quickest sugar rush. Even in their teens, boys have the minds of children.

Mikhail is no exception to this. He’s already hung up tons of ghouls and witches are around his house to choke an elephant. He loves Halloween like no other holiday. Every year he’d hold an over-the-top party for his closest friends. This year he invites me.

“I feel honoured,” I smile, unable to dissociate myself from the night he raped me. I can’t look at him the same way again. It feels like my words are becoming superficial and my eyes are avoiding his face. If he notices this at all than he’s not letting it show.

“So you’ll come?” all he needs are long floppy ears and a wagging tail. He’s practically been up my ass all day about whether or not I come to the party.

“Yes,” I say for the umpteenth time. He pulls me into his arms for the umpteenth time and kisses me.

“So you’ll stay the night and keep me warm.” I know what he’s saying and as I open my mouth to protest, he slips his tongue into my mouth—rudely cutting me off. Sometimes he’d silently coax me into a make-out session while other times I muster up the strength to push him away. He’d then say I’m being “shy”.

“Yes,” I find myself saying. “I’ll stay with you.” I look into his eyes, daring him to say more, but he remains silent.

Later on, after school we head to his house to do homework. Mikhail insisted on this, saying it would give us more time together. In my mind I tell myself that this is just as friends. Of course it doesn’t work that way with him. Mikhail will not take “no” for answer. I can’t take the thought of him leaving me though. I need his friendship. My heart is not strong enough, not that strong.

Considering the number of times I visit his house, I’m surprised I haven’t just moved in. Mikhail’s father and mother are really friendly with me. They treat me like their son. Mikhail would always correct me when I say this. “It’s son-in-law,”’

“We’re not getting married.” I say, feeling some kind of way.

“Did you know that marriage ceremonies are just an outward appearance that someone is married?” He leans in close to me, breathing on my throat.

“How do two people become married—officially I mean,” he chuckles at this. His lips brush against the outline of my neck.

“They make love, Abby.” He whispers lasciviously. “We made love…so now you’re my wife,” my skin crawls at the thought that he could be my husband. No, that’s not the case. We’re both guys. How could sex cause us to marry? If that’s the case than I’m also married to Caim, aren’t I? Caim would be married to Azazel too. That would be polygamy though. Just thinking about it all is bewildering and frankly my head is hurting now.

I decide to play along. “Now that I’m your wife, what would you have me do.” This was a bad idea from the start and his response sends bad chills up my spine.

“I would have you lie on your back for me, and let me plant my seeds in you. I would have you father my child and be the sweet wife I know you were raised to be.” Mikhail presses me down. We’re lying on his bed with our textbooks out. He pushes them off. They crash with a loudthudand then all goes silent. He’s lying over me, our eyes are locked.

“However you’re not a woman though, are you Abby? No matter how many seeds are planted inside that sweet ass of yours, a child could never be created. Though you were raised as a girl, you could never be one. You don’t even act like one.” A smile appears on his face slowly. “Perhaps the way you wag your ass in my face…that is a bit feminine.” My cheeks turn deep red at this.

“When did that ever happen?” I shout.

“You don’t remember? I had spiked your drink with hard liquor and you got drunk. You were begging for me to @*%* you. You had your ass in the air and were crying.” His expression is serious now. “How stupid of me; of course you wouldn’t remember that. You had a bad hangover the next day. I helped you get dressed and everything.”

I remember now. Well not about the sex part, but of the next day. Mikhail helped wash me, and bath me. I remember how childlike I felt in his arms. Still in my heart I knew I was safe. He even helped feed me. I was so out of it, and I never got a chance to thank him. “I’m sorry,” I say feeling really bad.

He laughs. “Why,”

“I never got the chance to thank you,”

“Why not make up for it, eh?” he smirks playfully. Tears begin to well in my eyes. Please, I think, please don’t take me again. His expression changes then. “Never mind,” he rolls over and begins to pick up the books when I stop him. Part of me knows that if don’t give myself to him now that this relationship with become void. I need him, I need more than ever and if that means giving my body to him than I’ll do it. Mikhail can have my body but he’ll never have my heart. That belongs to Caim and Azazel.

“Take me,” I say as enticing as possible. Mikhail then drops everything else and lungs at me. His lips find mine quickly. Every fibre in my body tells me this is wrong. My mind will not be able to handle this kind of reality. Not Mikhail, not Mikhail; it has to be him! Azazel, my unattainable dream, when will I be able to get him understand how he makes me feel? Azazel, come back to me.

“Jean,” It’s him—Azazel—lying above me. He’s wearing a black studded shirt with baggy black and red bondage pants. His hands are covered by fingerless gloves. Reaching down he strokes my cheek.

“I love you Jean,” just ‘hearing’ it brings tears to my eyes. I pull him into my arms and kiss him. It’s a bit sloppy though I think he gets the point. My body takes over. I turn him onto his back and begin to pull off his clothes. He looks at me when a stunned expression.

Running my fingers over his nipples, I see the look of confusion, delight and arousal in his eyes. I bow my head down take at bit out of one. He lets out a soft whimper. I twist the other between my fingers. He responds beautifully. His voice only drives me further and further into madness. His skin is incredibly soft against my tongue.

“Can you…” he trails off, but I know what he wants. I move downward and lift his legs up. His prick is nice and stiff. A thought sparks in my brain. I lift his legs a little higher and press them together, sandwiching his erection between them. He lets out a loud cry. “*^#&,”

My mouth is sodden with drivel. I want to taste him. I gulp his testicles like two ripe plumbs. The taste of his sweat is intoxicating me. Licking his shaft, I watch him cover his face in embarrassment. His cheeks are burning. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmur.

Azazel’s sobbing; his face is dripping with tears. “Ah-ah,” he cries lovingly. My body is just demanding that I take him now. Of course there is a part that just wants to taste him, to savour the essence of his flesh, feel the tanginess of his sweat soaking his cock so elegantly. His body spasms for a moment and then he comes. He looks both relieved and ashamed at the same time.

“Now it’s my turn,” I say sweeping up his cum. Wiping it on his ^&@!!&&; I use it as a lubricant (I’m too lazy to ask for the real thing). My fingers slide in; it takes some work, considering how tight he is. I dare to add another one in. Wow, it’s really tight. He’s squeezing me, practically cutting off my circulation. After the third goes on, he startles to loosen some.

“I need you to work with me,” I tell him. “Relax, I won’t hurt you,” he’s burning up inside. It’s like an inferno. He’s getting really wet down there.

Just as I go to enter him, he shouts, “Are you going to use a condom?” his eyes are filled with horror. “I have a stash in the nightstand.” Part of me feels injured. I move over to the nightstand and grab a rubber. It comes on easily, not that I wouldn’t think that it won’t. Rubbers have always irritated me. They take away from the naturalness of making love.

I coat it down with lubricant (just to be on the safe side) and dive in. Even though the condom I can still feel his heat. I rock my hips back and forth, in a quick motion. He reels back his head, moaning to the heavens. Grabbing onto him, I lift him into my arms, not letting up. “Am I getting the right spot?”

“A little to the left,” he murmurs. I shift the direction of my thrusts, eliciting cries of pleasure from him. “Ah, that’s it. It feels amazing,”

“You’reamazing,” I kiss him, wishing that somehow this moment would never end. “Ah,” a moan escapes me. I’m climaxing. We cum together, our nail dig into each other’s skin; our lips glued together. Falling down, Azazel clings to me, nuzzling his face in my chest.

“Never leave me, Jean.” He looks into my eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Promise,”

“I promise,”

 

The next day Mikhail barely talks to me. Turning off his alarm, he stumbles into the shower, nearly killing himself. I offer to help him, but he pushes me away. As he gets in, I notice blood dripping out of his ass. His eyes hold resentment in them, and I can’t understand why. It’s on the way to school that he looks at me for the first time. He breathes out, frustrated.

In my state of distress that morning, I had taken care of him the best I could. I took a shower with him anyway and help him so he wouldn’t get him falling over. I helped him into his clothes and brushed his hair for him. Afterwards I made breakfast and helped him eat. Perhaps this was too much. I even carried him some of the way out of his apartment. He punched me and got out of my arms though. He’s been walking ten paces ahead of me the whole time.

What if I screwed up? What if he doesn’t want me as a friend anymore? I prepare myself for total rejection. “Abby,” impulsively I burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, Mikhail. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I did, but please don’t hate me! I don’t want to lose you!” My body is shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. The tears won’t stop falling either. Mikhail’s expression softens some. He takes me into his arms and holds me tight.

“Oh baby, I don’t hate you.” He sighs. “You…you just surprised me is all. I mean you asked for me to ‘take you’ and then you just…” he trails off. He looks a bit nervous.

Oh crap! In that moment I remember everything. I remember hallucinating and thinking he was Azazel. I remember pushing him down and making love to him. I remember it all. I have to come up with a plausible reason for why I did it.

“I was making love to you,” I say. “I couldn’t help it. The feeling just came over me and I wanted to...I wanted you to know my feelings.” Mikhail lets go off me. Now’s my chance, I have to push him further.

Kneeling down I take his hands in my own and kiss them. He’s blushing profusely. People around us stop and stare. “I’m in love with you Mikhail Itskov. I want to spend forever with you.” As I say it, an odd feeling washes over me. What if Mikhail is the one? Perhaps I was chasing something I could never have. He loves me, I know it. I haven’t been fair to him.

By the look in his eyes, the tears sliding down his cheeks, I can tell he loves me. “Will you stay be my side forever?”

He looks away for a moment; his whole face is beet red. “It feels like you’re proposing to me, Abby,” his murmurs.

“Call me Jean,” I say. He looks back at me. “Will you?”

“Yes, I will,” I stand up and lift him into my arms.

“Oh baby, you’re the best,” I smile, and for the first time, I allow myself to feel it.

 

At school we part ways. I head into homeroom and take my seat. Right next to me is Azazel, who has stopped looking at me. Since that day, every day is torture. I can’t stand being next to him. My heart is breaking more and more and he couldn’t care less.

Today there is a new student. His name is Eros Argyis. He’s fairly tall with short platinum blonde hair. His eyes are droopy, with long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. They’re a soft shade of violet. He’s very high cheekbones for a boy. His body is beautifully sculpted. He’s very lean. I can tell just by looking at him. Despite the fact that our uniforms are not form-fitting, it’s obvious the boy’s got a six-pack under there.

Azazel’s eyes are glued to him. In them I can see a hint of lust. My stomach does cartwheels inside. How could he take interest in him? I mean Eros is beautiful and all, but didn’t he say that I was beautiful? Eros takes the seat behind me. Oh @^** I didn’t know it was empty. “Hello,” he whispers, his breath on the back of my neck. I turn around and look at him directly for the first time.

“Hi,” I say feeling awkward. I hope he doesn’t take a liking to me. That would be most inconvenient.

He gives me a strange look. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t talking to you,” he smiles. “Could you tell me the name of that adorable boy right there?” he points at Azazel.

“A—”

“My name is Azazel,” Azazel interrupts. He looks at me for a split second, a look of contempt in them. I’m rendered silent. Humiliated I turn around and bury my head in my arms. When will this hell end?

“It’s nice to meet you,” Eros responds. Beyond that I don’t know what is spoken. I do my best to block it out.

“Winston, pick your head up or go to the nurse!” I hear our homeroom teacher yell. I hear laughter. Sitting up I ask to go to the nurse’s office. After getting a pass, I head there feeling utterly dejected and embarrassed. On my way there, I bump into a taller boy. He’s quite beautiful, with two-toned hair and bright green eyes.

“Hello there,” he smiles. “Are you feeling all right,” he reaches out and strokes my cheek.

“Yes,” I lie, but just as I say this, tears start to fall. Hurriedly I wipe them away, but they just keep coming out. “I’m sorry. This must be annoying,” I feel arms wrap around me, and look up. It’s him, he’s hugging me.

“It’s not annoying.” He smiles sadly. “My name is Braeden O’Hara. I’m a sophomore here. If you ever need someone to talk I’m here.”

“Thank you,” I say, a ray of hope bursting inside my chest. “I had better get going,” I need to get to the nurse. I can’t have my homeroom teacher thinking I just wanted to hang about.

“Where are you going?” Braeden asks.

“To the nurse,”

“Oh, well it’s in the direction I’m going. So why don’t we head there together?” he seems pretty nice, so I say ‘yes’. When we get there, he stops and opens the door for me. I step into the office, to see a modern looking desk, covered with neat piles of paperwork. There is a peculiar looking lamp in the corner. Its shade is shaped like skirt, while the bottom is legs. For a moment I wonder if that’s even allowed. An eye-shaped clock hangs on the wall adjacent to the desk. There are several waiting chairs on the right side of the room. On the other end is a bunch of sick beds. They all have curtains above them.

Sitting at the desk is a rather round-looking man in his late forties. The nameplate on the desk reads: Tyler B. Wellington. “Yes…how may I help you?”

“I’m feeling rather faint. May I lie down for a while,” I say, walking up to him. Braeden comes in as well.

“Will you be all right here?” I nod and thank him.

“You’re welcome. Anytime,” he smiles at me once more, wishes me a good day and tells me he hopes I feel better. “Goodbye,” he leaves just as quickly as he came and I’m left alone with Mr. Wellington.

“Lie down on one of the sick beds. Let me now when you feel better,” he takes my pass. “I’ll give you a pass to go to your next class when you feel you’re ready,”

“Thank you,” I say, and walk over to a bed. Pulling the curtains shut, I lie down and rest my eyes. In my dreams, I’m with Mikhail. We’re laughing together. Then suddenly he changes to Azazel. He looks at me contemptuously and walks away from me. He and Eros (who appeared from nowhere) walk off into the sunset together. Braeden, who’ve I just met, then emerges. He takes me into his arms and kisses me. We make love over and over again until I nearly pass out.

Waking up I look at the clock. It’s past nine o’clock. How could I have slept that late?! Sliding out of the bed I get up and ask for a pass back to class. We’re in fifth period. By the time I get there, it’s already started. I sit in my usual spot and hope that I won’t have to see themagain. Of course I do. In fact I’m paired up with them simply because everyone needs three members in the group.

We’re working on a group project. Each group has to perform a short play. It is due in two weeks. For each group, the teacher will be the narrator. He realizes that some groups require all three to be involved as actors in the play. There will be a group of teachers working as the stage crew. So we also need to go to them and tell them what kind of backdrop we’ll need and what kind of background music we’ll want.

Everything was announced before I came in, so I don’t have any say as I what I wanted our group to do. Eros and Azazel have decided to perform a tragedy. Eros and Azazel will be two lovers, and I will be the villain that comes between them. Part of me thinks the plot was meant to have a subliminal message to it, but I shake it off.

“First we should work on the script,” Eros says. “We can’t go anywhere without it.”

“We decided you will work on the script,” Azazel tells me. “Eros will be working on the costumes, and I will handle the stage crew.” Wow, it looks like they’ve had everything planned out. They didn’t even think about what I wanted to do. “How fast can you get it written down? It has to be at least three acts.”

“I can get it done it four days,” I say.

“Good, then I’ll be counting on you for that,” Azazel offers me a faint smile for a split second. I don’t take it to heart. Knowing him, he’ll go back to hating me again.

The rest of the period, I spend writing while they go over the plans. I begin to see how everything is going to be. Eros will monopolize Azazel while I am forced to do the work. It’s afterward that I finally take a breath for the first time. They have everything planned out by the end of the period.

 

When I get home I fell into a restless sleep. My mind is filled with them. Even as I close my eyes I see them; Caim and Azazel. They walking away from me, their backs turned. I call out to them but they can’t hear me. They run towards Eros and embrace him. They end up kissing and making love—right before my eyes. Eros looks up at me and smiles evilly. “Filthy voyeur,” his words strike me like an arrow through the heart. That’s when I wake up. My sheets are stained with tears. I slide off the couch and head into the bathroom to begin my ritual again.

 

The next day after a ritual is always hard. I have to wrap my wrists and try to cover them up. Hopefully they stopped bleed by then. Today they still are. My life stinks. It’s during third period that I realize that I might’ve cut them too deep. They’re dripping on the desk. My teacher looks over at me and gasps. “Winston, what happened,” he helps me up and begins dialling a number on his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” I ask nervously. In the corner of my eye, I see Azazel looking directly at me. His eyes show a hint of panic. I disregard this.

“I’m calling an ambulance.” He yells, shutting the phone. “Dammit!” lifting me into his arms he carries me out to the front of the building. “This student is injured. He needs to get to the hospital,” I want to tell him there’s no need to overreact but that all ends when I see the amount of blood pooling on the floor. Everything goes black.

When I wake up I find myself lying on a hospital bed with tubes running in and out of me. The room is fairly spacious with the usual curtains, television and chairs for visitors. There is slight pressure on my wrist. Shifting my eyes over I notice the boy Braeden, sitting there by my side. There are tears in his eyes.

“Hey there,” he moves closer to me. “How are you feeling,” to be honest I feel like &$%&. After the blood loss (my fault) my body has literally been drained of all energy and right now I’m floating in and out of consciousness. Lifting a hand up I reach out for him. Surprisingly he takes my hand in his. He breathes a kiss upon my palm, causing the blood to rush to my face. “I was so worried, Abigail,” my body jerks suddenly. For years no one has called me that except my mother.

“You can call me Abby,” I say, feeling nervous. A soft smile fades onto his lips.

“All right...Abby,” he strokes my hair gingerly. Why is his touch enough to make my heart race? I barely know him at all yet I feel like we’ve known each other forever. “Abby,” his voice is soft…seductive. My eyes flicker up to at him. His face is inches from mine. “Abby,” he says again, there’s a look of sadness and desperation in his eyes.

“Braeden, what’s wro—” his lips close on mine. Everything’s spinning, and my heart, if was racing before, is nearly bursting out of my chest. Braeden cradles me into his arms like a child. “Braeden, I-” I begin once he breaks the kiss.

“I love you,” what?!

“What do you mean,” tears sting the corners of my eyes.

“I’m in love with you, Abby. Everything about you draws me in. Ever since I saw you for the first time I knew I wanted to spend my life with you. I want to protect you and cherish you forever.”

“Ever since you saw me first?” does he mean that day when I went to the nurse’s office. No, that can’t be. The way he’s speaking it’s as if he’s been waitingyearsto tell me. The desperation in his voice is apparent. Why is he so nervous?

“Yes,” he smiles. This time I can tell he means it. “You’re most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. Please be mine,” those beautiful green eyes looking deep into me, shimmering with tears. I want to embrace him and kiss that beautiful alabaster skin—why I am feeling this way. His voice, the way he speaks, it’s all so familiar. Why is it familiar? Before a few days ago I haven’t met him in my whole life. If that’s true the why does my heart ache?

I reach out hold onto him, my hands shake violently. Hot tears seep from eyes and I know then that everything is about to change. “Braeden, who are you really?” an image flashes in my head; a dark figure dancing in the rain. I can see the shape of the body and recognize it as a male. His face is covered, but I can see strands of hair escaping the sides of his hoodie. He’s got his arms stretched out on both sides and is looking into sky. There’s a sense of immense happiness in his stance. This image flashes through me like a bolt of lightning. Before I know it I’ve gone under again.

 

A Week Later

 

When I get back to school, my world, as I know it, comes tumbling down. Azazel and Eros are a couple. I couple. I found this out in homeroom. Azazel was with a friend of his and he mentioned Eros as his “sweetheart”. In my heart I already knew he was unattainable but hearing this makes everything worse. My heart sinks inside inch by inch.

By lunch I can’t take it anymore. Tossing out my food I retreat over to the spot where Azazel and I went when we “friends”. To my surprise (or rather not), Azazel and Eros are sitting there together. Eros and he are in a romantic embrace. Azazel’s back is facing me, but Eros—Eros can see me. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. Turning away I strive to find another place to sit.

 

After school as I head out, I feel a hard poke in my back. Turning around I see Eros staring at me. “I saw what happened to you, Winston.” He looks at my wrists, nestled deep in my sleeves. “Did it hurt?” a part of me relaxes. He’s worried?

“It did, a lot.”

“How did it happen…I mean you can’t just start bleeding like that?” his eyes, I realize, are actually filled with worry.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise,” he wraps an arm around me and guides me down the steps to a black Rose Royce. “Get in,” I’m helped and before I know it I’m driving off with Azazel’s boyfriend.

“It all started when I was seven. I was curious about blades and accidently cut my thumb trying to see what it felt like. Then I knew the beauty of pain. What you saw was my negligence in cleaning it up.” Great now that I told him he’ll think there’s something up with me.

“No,” he’s says after a while. “What I saw was a desperate cry for help,” oh crap, he probably wants me to see a shrink. “You really need to learn how to cut better,” huh? I meet his eyes for the first time, and see a hint of mischief in them. “Would you like me to show you how,” he moves closer to me.

“I suppose so,” my voice is shaking. It’s obvious and I knew he can hear it too. “Please move back Eros. This is awkward.” He laughs at this.

“What, are you attracted to me.”

“No, I’m not! Besides you’re dating Azazel. What do you want with me? If anything I’m just a nuisance, right?” he moves even closer, his lips almost touching mine. “What do you want from me?”

His eyes, as if a fire has been light in them, become fuelled with anger. “I want to know what’s so amazing about you. Why can’t they stop thinking about you?”

“Who,” I ask lamely knowing very well who he means.

“Azazel and Caim, that’s who,” he shouts, backing away some. “They never really mentioned you but I know that I’m not the one they want. From the beginning there has been no passion at all. It all began when you landed yourself in the hospital. Azazel has been going crazy since then. Caim isn’t right in the head now either. He keeps talking to himself and doesn’t look at me anymore. It’s like he’s blaming me! Why me,” he’s crying, his body is shaking like a frightened child.

“It’s not your fault,” I find myself saying. Why does he have to be like this? I can’t help but want to take him in my arms and comfort him. Eros is not at fault here. “You’re in love with them. You want to them to yourself, don’t you? It’s only natural. Take care of them, please. Make sure they forget about me—if what you said was true,”

“I do love them.” He sighs. “I love them with every ounce of my spirit.”

“I know, Eros. I can see it in your eyes. Be happy okay,” he gasps, looking up at me, wide-eyed. “You deserve to be happy too. If you wanted to tell me to back off, then I will. You don’t need to be worried about me either. I’ll try to learn how to cut better.”

I look up to see we’ve reached his house. “Let’s get out,” I slide out of the car and thank the driver. Eros follows, grabbing onto my arm. We had into his home, a brownstone decorated in elaborate ironwork and moulding. We step inside and at once I’m struck by the beauty of the interior. There are marble statues greeting us as we enter. One seems to be of David the other is of the god Eros.

“What do you think,” Eros’ voice comes out of nowhere. I turn back to see him standing in the doorway, smiling at me slyly. What happened to the snivelling, crying boy I was with before?

“It’s beautiful.” I say, admiring everything. The staircase itself is even beautiful, with intricate designs in the railing leading up to the balcony above. Eros approaches me, intertwining his arms around my waist.

“You’re even more beautiful,”

“Uh…thanks,” I say, pulling away from him. “So what did you want me here for?” he startles for a second.

“I really wanted to show you how to cut better. Besides I have something to show you.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me upstairs. We enter his bedroom.

It’s spacious with a large canopy bed a large Persian rug, a gaudy looking desk with shelves of books and a small hearth. There’s a door in the back which I assume leads to a bathroom. “Wow, it’s kind of like stepping back in time.”

“All lot of the things in here have been passed down from centuries ago.” Eros holds onto me even tighter.

“What did you want to show me?” smiling he lets go of me so he can shut the door behind us. Walking back over, he steps into the room in the back. After a few moments he emerges with a set of knives. He’s wearing gloves as well.

“Eros,” I look at him nervously. He sets the knives down on his bed and pulls off his jacket. As he unbuttons his shirt I notice thin cut marks on his skin. They’re each small indents, and not really noticeable but with the multitude of them it’s hard not to notice them at all.  I can tell that this took him years to achieve. “You share my passion.” He knows how I feel. He doesn’t just sympathize, he understands. I can’t myself from running to him. “May I,” Every fibre of my being wants to touch him. To feel the scars of passion etched in his flesh, it would be the greatest pleasure I could ever endure.

A knowing smile arises on his lips. “Youareattracted to me,” he presses a soft kiss on my cheek. His lips linger there for a moment. “Touch me,” he whispers. Slowly I reach out and make contact with him. Eros closes his eyes and sighs. That’s where I hesitate. Does he not want me to touch him? Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I mean I don’t even like him like that. I just want to know what he feels like.

After a few moments of silence, he opens an eye. “Feeling shy,”

“Well, no b—”

“Then touch me,” he leers, closing in the space between us. He even presses my hands down on him. I let my fingers roams his body, touching every curve and surface. He only breathes in and out peacefully. “Feels nice,” he murmurs. “Touch me some more, ne?”

That’s where I reel backwards, nearly falling over. “Eros, that’s weird.” Keeping his eyes closed he flashes a goofy smile.

“Says the guy feeling me up.” He bursts into hysterical laughter. It’s not long after that I join in as well. “You’re really adorable, Abby,” I nearly choke when hear my nickname. I look up to see a loving gleam in his eyes.

“Eros, what are you talking about? We’re just acquaintances. His smile fades. He walks over to me; head bent down and snatches me off the ground. I struggle unsuccessfully to get down as he tosses me onto his bed.

“Acquaintances, pff, aren’t we more than that now.”

“Now…”

“Now that we’ve shared the deepest part of ourselves,” I can’t believe it, he’s really crying. Why though, I mean we barely know each other. “I haven’t even told Azazel and Caim this. When I saw you though, I felt differently. I knew that you would understand. Today, I was going to tell you, but then you told me that you cut as well and I was happy. I was happy that I wasn’t the only one.”

That can’t be real. “You have to be the one to share this with me. We only have each other.” His fingers close around one the knives. When the realization that blade will slice open my skin, every cell in my body rejoices. I lift up my arms above my head and tilt my head back against the comforter. The blade kisses my skin and slides gracefully across it. I can open my flesh parting, and the warm blood spilling out. He continues to make similar cuts in me until the blade is dripping with blood. He licks both sides clean.

“Your taste is amazing,” he grins through his tears. His eyes affix themselves on my wounds. Eros lifts me up, and laps up the blood running down along my torso. He tongues the open slits in my skin, sending strange sensations across my skin. Even after the blood is gone he’s still sucking on the now puckering sores.

My mind is going crazy. With every kiss, every lick, I sink deeper into a beautiful misery. I can hear the clink of his belt and sound of it falling on the floor. Immediately I sit up (he set me down on the bed). “What are you doing?” I shout.

“Taking off my pants,” he laughs. His eyes grow serious. “This is part of it, Abby,” he states this as a matter of fact, sliding his thumbs behind the band of his boxer briefs (to pull them off). By the stiff bulge, I can tell he’s really eager to show me the ways of cutting erotically. He hands me the blade he used to cut me. “I don’t want to cross-contaminate. Either one of us could give each other AIDS or something.” Stepping out his briefs he leaves them on the floor. “No hard feelings,”

Eros grabs both my pants and underwear at the same time and rips them off as if it were nothing. He lets them fall to the floor too, before straddling me. He begins to slice at his wrists and holds them up to my mouth for me to lick. Hungrily I drink the metallic fluid and kiss his soft skin. In the corner of my eye I see pre-cum dripping out of him. While he goes off to get his “paraphernalia”, I lick the blood of his knife. It’s thick…I wonder if his sperm will be too.

“What do you think,” I look up to see him leaning against one of the bedposts, a discerning gleam in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“What you think of my blood? Is it to your liking,” He’s still being serious, but something about his expression makes me burst into laughter. I see him cringe in pain as if hit and stop.

“I love it, Eros,” my body forces me forward, and then suddenly I’m in his arms. “Could I have more, please,” he resents me now.

“Why’d you laugh then?”

“You don’t have to be formal around me, Eros. You told me that we have only each other in this. Besides we’re not in love. Why worry about my feelings,”

“Right, we’re blood buddies,” this makes me giggle more. He joins in this time. “I’ve got the lube,”

“That’s not funny, Eros,” I stop laughing.

“It’s the only way I can really feel complete. I haven’t done it before and I know now that it’s missing. Please let me take you.”

“I’m dating someone, Eros. What will he think?”

“You mean that Russian kid Mikhail. He’s in four of my classes. I know him really well.” He grins. “We used to be sex-friends.” My jaw nearly drops. “When I told him that I liked to cut myself he cut the whole thing off. No pun intended.”

“You mean that if he were to find out about me that he might dump me too,” a ray of hope shines inside of me. I don’t let it show though.

“I don’t know, that was in middle school. He might be more open-minded. Like before he used to only date white boys. Now he really likes black and Asian boys. He pauses to think. “I head likes orgies too. The only way I know is because I was invited to one.” Eros is amazing. With this information I can be all emotional and break up with Mikhail. Where would that lead me though? Mikhail genuinely loves me whereas Azazel couldn’t give two ^^@*s.

“How did you know Mikhail and I were dating? Did he tell you?” Eros blushes at this. He shifts his gaze quickly from mine. Eros looks tentatively at the floor. “I kind of saw you confess you love for him…or something like that.”

He was there?! Crap, what am I going to do now? “You saw that, eh?” he nods quietly.

“Did you mean it?” his eyes take on a serious edge. “It really didn’t sound like it.” How did we get from lovemaking to arguing about my relationship with Mikhail?

After moments of exaggerated silence my tongue is willing to move. “No,” I say, my heart falling into my stomach. “I didn’t mean it.” What will he think go of me now?

“I thought not. You weren’t genuine,”

“What are you trying to say?!” I finally scream. “Are you saying that I’m wrong for trying to find love?”

“No, I’m saying that before you proposing marriage you should be genuine about how you feel.” He’s right.

“I know I have to, but I can’t possibly hurt Mikhail.”

“You’re hurting him now! By lying to him and having him think you in love when you’re not, is hurting him. When the truth comes around he’ll be crushed.” There are tears in his eyes again. This time it’s accompanied with a rather embarrassed expression.

“Eros, are you in love with Mikhail,”

His eyes grew three times their size. “What are you talking about? We broke up years ago,” he’s in love with him all right. We’re both fools in love I suppose. He’s too emotional to take me now. I breathe out slowly and sit up, pull him into my arms. He’s shivering as if he were cold. I can hear his heart rattling inside his ribcage.

“No need to be frightened.” From the beginning I know we we’re both undeniable “bottoms”. Part of me hoped he would take over and let me be the recessive but now I have to be on top. How does it go again?

I lie him down. As I move up he drags me back down, and embraces me. “Make me forget,”

“What,”

“JUST DO IT,” Eros shouts, his voice suddenly animated. He lifts his legs up. “I’m about to explode here,” He really wet. Should I check to see if he’s loose enough or should I dive right in? ###$ it all.

Groaning, I enter him. The soft fleshy walls of his anus constrict around me and squeeze me tight. It’s so tight I can almost feel my heart throbbing from my length. “H-harder,” he shouts. I position my body so I’m on my knees completely. Jerking my hips back, I slam into to as forcefully as I can. Considering the fact that I’m not very fit, you might as well say that move totally went bad for me. My thighs ache like hell. What is he like—180 or something?

No backing down now, Ab. Just because you’re too damn lazy to lift a few weights doesn’t mean you take it out on your partner. It’s not like he’d gripe about trivial issues like body mass or such. With each thrust it gets easier. Maybe this is like lifting weights. Hush; don’t compare such idiotic things together like that? In what way would they be similar?

Eros seems to be in somewhat of a trance. He’s not really involved at all. His eyes have taken over a glazed look, and if you were vigilant enough, it might seem as if he just drifted off into some distant place in him mind. At least the tears have stopped. Of course then, when I’m left utterly defenceless, does he scared the living ^#!! out of me. “AHH!” the mist vanishes and he snaps awake, as if shaken from a dream.

My sperm streams into him, and I cuss under my breath for having little endurance. I feel a sharp, poignant pain drilling into my neck and realize its teeth. He grinds my flesh between his incisors like it is food. “Eros, stop,” where was this aggressiveness before?

He doesn’t stop though. I have to push him back in order to keep him from killing me. He falls back and hits his temple against the head of the head. The flesh there parts and oozes out blood as thick as maple syrup. Upon impact, he ejaculates—the milky fluid swimming on the comforters. “Eros,” I move towards him. He pulls himself up with inhuman speed and grabs my shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Eros,” I cry. He’s disoriented for a moment and then falls into me. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad.” I lift his head up and kiss him. The blood he took from my neck and the blood pouring from his scalp mix together and interchange between our mouths, and mix with our saliva.

“Why are we doing this?” he mumbles. “Why are we doing this to each other?” hot tears pour from his eyes. He’s been crying since we got here (and I thought that I was the cry baby). “We’re hurting them.”

“You told me a little while ago that this is what we have to do. This is just us sharing each other’s plain.” I don’t feel at all hurt by what he said. In fact more than anything I’d like to go back to my utterly fake relationship with Mikhail. “Why are you hesitant now?”

“I’m not hesitant, I’m absolutely sure that I can’t do this again. No, not to Caim and Azazel,” he pushes himself of my arms and grabs my clothes. “Go to take shower and get dressed. Everything you need is in my bathroom.”

“Are you kicking me out?!” okay now I feel hurt.

“No,” he breathes out loudly, and forcibly. “We’re friends, I suppose,”oh, I suppose. “I just can’t look you in the eye right now,” it’s true, heisn’tlooking me in the eye at all.

I do as he says and get in and out the bathroom in around twenty minutes. When I come back in, his bed has new sheets, the knives are gone and he’s bandaged up. He dresses my wounds (which hurt like hell in the shower). “I’m sorry,” he says for the hundredth time. Before I leave he kisses my cheek. “Say hi to Mikhail for me,” he tells me, his eyes showing me that he is indeed in love with him still. Pathetically enough I don’t even have the energy or the will to act jealous. I want them to be together. Hopefully I can break away from Mikhail when that happens and move onward.

So long in my life have I been consumed on the idea of having a partner that I’ve forgotten to actually live. Perhaps being alone won’t seem that bad. I haven’t been alone in a long time. Being single isn’t that hard. After years of heartache it will be wonderful.

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