Toxic (boyxboy)

Chapter 1

Warning: This story contains rape, abuse, self harm, cheating, and excessive amounts of sex. Read at your own risk!

I.

"Do you remember when we first met? I thought I had wandered into a blissful dream."

William arrived home at three in the morning, smelling of booze and sex and another man's colone.

"You're late," I tell him from the living room couch, hoping he doesn't hear the waver in my voice. I try to force my excessive beating heart still while mindlessly flipping through the channels. "Where have you been?"

I ask him the same question every time he stumbles into our apartment drunk. I already know where he's been. And every time he answers the same; a simple and vague, "Out."

He wanders into the kitchen, managing to make his movements appear graceful even in his inebriated state. I follow him silently, watching him open the fridge and take out a bottle of orange juice and down half, not bothering to return it inside after he's done.

"Are you hungry?" I ask. I wasn't able to sleep, like I haven't been the last few months, eyes rimmed red with worry heavily coarsing through my veins. I knew he was fine, that he was out having the time of his life with his own set of friends and unlimited supply of food and drinks, but I still can't accept this as true. I called him seven times and he never answered once.

"No," he says, leaning against the kitchen island. He has bags under his eyes, his hair messy and his black shirt wrinkled. He still looks so, so beautiful. "Why are you still awake, Charlie?"

I want to tell him I was waiting for you but I resist. Instead I say, "I can't sleep." because it was the truth anyway; I can't ever sleep without him by my side.

William stares at me and I know he's looking right through the layer of pretense I built up. But he doesn't mention it, doesn't say anything, doesn't tell me he knows I'm lying. He runs a hand through his hair, mutters whatever and pushes himself off the counter, walking right past me. The scent that clings to his skin makes me want to retch but at the same time fill me with the desire to pull him flush against me and claim his as my own, marking him with my own scent.

But.

We've been together for three years and I'm still scared he'll call me desperate.

I follow him, watching every move he makes. Memorizing his every antic, the way he yawns and scratches his arm, the way he rubs his face wearily. And just when he removes his shirt, preparing for a long night of sleep, I approach him. And I know I shouldn't, but I'm unable to control myself. I lean in before William can fully grasp what I'm doing and press my lips against his. He tastes of smoke and someone's cum but the hint of orange juice makes it bearable, and I try not to think of how he cheats on me behind my back, keeping the ugly flare of jealously inside me locked away, hiding it in the depths of my soul because I know William doesn't like it when I get jealous.

William doesn't move but I'm still overwhelmed by wild, insane hope – he's here now, with me, and every night he comes back home to me and he loves me, and maybe, oh please just maybe –don't push me away don't push me away don't push me away—he'll consider me tonight, and hold me down and kiss me and tell me that he's sorry. That all those other men he's been fucking were only that—pointless one night stands that don't mean anything to him. That I'm different and I'll always be his special lover.

He raises his hand and rests it on the back of my neck and I feel electrified but in a good way, and we kiss for a while. I run my hand inside his shirt, shaking from exhilaration. We fall into a rhythm and the knowledge that William wants me—only me he loves me and no one else—makes my heart swell and pulse wildly. A minute flies by, then two, then three, and I dare myself to unzip his jeans and he doesn't stop me and I'm soaring above the clouds, into the outer reaches of the universe–

And then William places his hands on either side of my face and pulls away.

Air touches my lips and my eyes finds William's, breathtakingly cerulean, I've always feared rejection but when it came from William it hurts me a million times worse, like razor blades scraping against skin over and over until bone marrow appears and veins spill out like disgusting worms.

He just stares at me, emotionless and hard. I feel weak to my knees and I want to cry, tears already stinging my eyes.

"I'm gonna sleep." he says, turning away from me. The lump in my throat grows and threatens to choke me.

William proceeds to remove his jeans, stains of dirt and dust and god knows what else covering the fabric, and leaves it on the floor. I don't mind cleaning after him, washing his clothes and ironing his shirts and cooking for him. I love taking care of him, even if he doesn't do the same to me.

He lies on the bed like a Gregorian god, his muscles relaxing under the bed covers, sprawling himself carelessly in front of me. I want to kiss every part of his skin, worship his very being, but he was tired and I know he doesn't want any sex tonight so maybe he'll give me the chance to do it tomorrow.

I am exhausted but sleep is far from my reach. I lay beside him nonetheless, curling myself up against his side and hesitantly draping my arms around his waist. He runs a hand down my arm and I feel goosebumps on my skin. He's warm and I can't refrain the smile that appears on my lips.

It's very rare when he's gentle and I plan to preserve every memory he will leave on me.

When I wake up in the morning, he's already gone.