2. Abandoned Doll (II) by Sarae

Chapter 8

Bill's P.O.V.

It took me a little more time than necessary to try to comb my hair with my fingers in the restroom. I couldn't step outside with my hair all messy like a crazy who just got out of an asylum after having a screw. Although ruining my reputation a bit more wouldn't kill me, it would obviously be not good for Derek.

"Hey..." I called him. He was already perfectly dressed – his clothes in the right place and his hair messy as always. Damn, why was I so demanding when it came to my long hair when I could have it short and walk down the streets without even needing to comb it instead? Of course, it would turn me into an ordinary boy and... No, over my dead body. Besides... I adored my hair.

Sparky's eyes met mine through the mirror.

"What?"

"What if I shouted to the whole world what just happened here? Because I'm really feeling like it."

He laughed, though there was still some tension on his face.

"I would take revenge by copying your and your brother's files a million times and tossing them from the rooftop so that everyone would know how deep your relationship was."

"How extremist."

"Not much has happened anyways." He rolled his eyes, faking a pout.

"Have you ever been to a family planning? You shouldn't make love without a condom, or you could get a disease. Specially if you're a man. And specially me, since I'm a bottom."

"I'll think about it the next time. I'll always have an emergency condom for such cases."

I frowned, stepping back from the mirror, somewhat decent.

"Who says there will be a next time?"

Sparky's jaw dropped.

"Don't you like me as a... boyfriend?"

"Ha! You don't wanna be my boyfriend! Being in a relationship means respecting each other, liking each other in a special way, wanting to be with that person every day. When you're not with them, wishing that they were with you. Texting them only to tell them something, although it might not be important and the only thing you want to know is that they're okay and thinking about you. Wanting that person exclusively for yourself. Feeling happy just by hearing their voice. Noticing a nice warmth in the pit of your stomach, barely containing your nerves, willing to do anything for that person... and knowing that they would do anything for you, too."

I lowered my head and sighed. I had just remembered why I was in such an unpleasant situation.

"That's not a relationship. That's being in love."

"What do you know about it? Have you ever been in love?"

Sparky tilted his head. His teeth screeched as he gritted them.

"I met a girl once... She couldn't speak German too well. She was French; no, in fact, she was adopted by a French family. Her real family was Chinese and that's why she had these Asian features. She was beautiful, smart, kind, cute. Her hair was black, long, and smooth, like yours..." His dreamy eyes dug into my neck. I saw him through the mirror. "But that wasn't enough. She was never enough for my parents, nor for the German people, I guess. I don't know if it was because she was Chinese or French, but she wasn't a German girl, for sure."

"Germans are not bastards... like the rest of the world seems to think sometimes."

"Oh, we are. We're full of prejudices that we've inherited from all those fucking... Nazis."

"No." I stopped looking at myself in the mirror and turned around so that I wouldn't keep seeing my face and remembering Tom's, painted in my own reflection. It was interesting, though. I had never seen any resemblance when we were together, but now, every time I looked at myself in the mirror, it hurt me to see how much I looked like him; it hurt me to see Tom on the other side of the reflection and being unable to touch him. "Any person who blames their own family for the hatred they feel towards immigrant, homosexual, mentally disturbed, black or poor people... can only be called irresponsible and stupid. The education our parents give us affects us, but... we can always choose." Derek nodded with his head weakly with regret. Then he shrugged. I could see clearly the unconformity painted on his face. "You don't believe in it, do you?"