Love Is Ǝvil

31 I Don't Want to Be Alone in the Darkness, Anymore

The alarm clock was ringing and Marshall groaned into his pillow. He reached out with a heavy arm, but didn't find the device. He pulled the pillow from under his head and threw it onto the nightstand. The alarm clock was still ringing but muffled now. He groaned once more and struggled to the edge of his bed. Just about every part of his body complained vehemently as he sat up and even worse stood up. In the dark gray of a rainy day he walked to the adjoined bathroom, his feet barely lifting up from the floor. As he turned on the light there, all the curse he could muster was "Ugh!" and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for them to adjust. Half blind but knowing the way, he turned the shower on and let the cold water hit his body. He gasped out, muscles contracting and his body shivering awake. Slowly the water warmed up and he wiped some of it from his eyes. As he poured body wash on his hands, he noticed the stark red marks and thin scabby lines on his wrists.

Memories from the night before hit him hard. The belt, the collar, the toy - the picture. A kaleidoscope of feelings welled up inside him from pleasure to pain, from desire to disgust, from satisfaction to shame. The bottle fell out of his hands and only his reflexes moved his feet out of the way in time.

He cursed under his breath about the memory of the picture, the evidence of him losing control so fully. There was one thing to be said about having sex with people you weren't attracted to: You didn't lose yourself in the moment. Only because he had started to feel comfortable with Nicolas, and with himself oddly enough but that exactly was his undoing now. Marshall leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, water flowing over him but it couldn't wash away his actions, much less his being. A person without restraints but with ... cravings, some of which he had successfully channelled into a career but it wasn't enough. It never was enough.

The tears he hadn't allowed to manifest the night before now mixed with the water from the shower. Not because he deserved to cry but because he couldn't fight against it any longer. He was weak. He was despicable. He was wrong deep inside of him. Slowly Marshall slid down the wall and came down on his knees, a sob escaped him, a fist meekly hit against the wall. He wanted too much. He wanted too bad. He wanted the wrong things in the wrong way. Another sob.

He didn't want to hurt anybody.

But she had been hurt by everything he wanted. The same would happen with Nicolas, even worse with him it seemed possible but it wasn't. Starving was worse when you had something to eat.

A nameless hook-up didn't ask questions. There wasn't time to be thorough or to go deep, only enough to scratch the itch. But Nicolas asked questions and Nicolas went deep with his answers. The man didn't want to scratch an itch, he wanted to fulfill a desire.

But Marshall's couldn't be fulfilled. It shouldn't exist. How broken was a person who thrived on being consumed? That needed to be fixed not satisfied. To serve himself to millions with his music should be enough but it never was enough.

Inevitably he became too much.

A low groan as he stood up again. He shut the water off and on weak legs he walked back to his bed. Wet, hurting and desolate he climbed back under the covers.

But he couldn't allow himself to fall, he had too much to lose. So he grabbed for his phone and realized it hadn't been his alarm that had rung earlier. There was a message, from Nicolas of all people. It read: morning ice princess, had a dream of you last night, hot and sexy and admittedly a little corny

This man sometimes texted strange things. Agree. Sounds like he can't get enough of your needy ass, little gay looking boy. Maybe at least once you're in luck and that kinky bastard'll give it to you good. Marshall replied: good for you, I'm in a nightmare Nicolas wasn't the person he wanted to speak to but he also didn't know who else he could call. This wasn't really something you talked with your friends about. Why not? I'm sure they'll be happy to lend a hand, well, dick. He wouldn't even know where to start, just that he shouldn't be in his head right now.