Consume Me Whole

Appetite for Destruction (and Love)

Monty awoke in a cold sweat, heart racing, the remnants of the dream still clinging to him like a nightmare he couldn't quite shake off. His skin felt clammy, and he rubbed his hands against the sheets as if trying to erase the vivid images still dancing around his mind.

In his dream, he'd been devouring Winston, piece by piece, tearing into his flesh with a hunger that felt primal, almost desperate. And Winston-Winston had let him, had smiled through the pain, eyes sparkling with a mix of trust and something darker, something that sent shivers down Monty's spine. It was both a thrill and a horror, and the guilt that washed over him afterward was almost unbearable.

Sitting up, Monty buried his face in his hands. Why does love feel so violent? It was a question he couldn't escape, the edges of his mind fraying under the weight of it. He'd always known there was something dark within him, something that yearned to consume rather than nurture. He glanced at the clock-3:17 AM.

He got up, moving quietly through the apartment he was still trying to call home, but it felt alien, just as it had when they first arrived. Estela was asleep down the hall, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. Monty moved toward the kitchen, the silence pressing against him like a suffocating blanket.

He opened the fridge, staring blankly at its contents, but it wasn't food he was after. It was clarity, something to anchor him to reality and away from the twisted fantasy of his dreams. But all he felt was that gnawing hunger, that insatiable craving for something he couldn't name.

As he poured himself a glass of water, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. The boy staring back looked haunted, hollowed out by grief and rage. Monty couldn't help but wonder if this was what love was supposed to feel like-devouring someone until they were part of you, until the lines between "you" and "me" blurred and faded.

But love shouldn't be violent. It shouldn't leave scars or teeth marks.

The next evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Monty found himself sitting on the roof again, where he'd spent many hours lost in thought since moving in with his mother. Winston joined him, settling down beside him, close enough that their arms brushed.

"Hey," Winston said softly, offering a granola bar. Monty took it but didn't eat, instead picking at the wrapper like it held some deep, dark secret.

"Not hungry?"

Monty shrugged, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him. It wasn't just the dreams; it was everything-the anger, the grief, the realization that he was still trying to figure out how to love without hurting.

"Monty?"

Winston's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, a gentle nudge that brought him back to the moment. "What are you afraid of?"

Monty's heart raced, the question echoing in his mind. He'd never been asked that directly before, not by anyone who genuinely cared. He hesitated, staring out at the fading light as he struggled to find the words.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "That I'll ruin you."

Winston's brow furrowed, the warmth in his expression shifting to concern. "Ruin me?"

"Yeah. Like...I'm a fuckin' mess, Winston. I'm angry, I'm..sad, and I can't stop thinking about how I feel like I'm always on the edge of losing control. I don't want to hurt you."

Winston shifted closer, their shoulders pressing together. "Then ruin me." His words were steady, filled with an unwavering strength that pierced through Monty's turmoil. "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."

Monty's breath caught in his throat, and he turned to look at Winston, really look at him. The boy beside him was a lifeline, steadfast and unyielding, even in the face of Monty's inner demons.

"Why?" Monty asked, voice trembling. "Why would you want that?"

Winston shrugged, a small, knowing smile on his lips. "Because I want to understand you. I want to be part of the mess, the anger, the love-whatever it is. I'd rather be here for the chaos than be apart from you."

Monty's heart swelled with conflicting emotions-fear, gratitude, and an overwhelming sense of longing. "It's not that simple."

"It is," Winston insisted, his eyes fierce. "It's as simple as you letting me in, Monty. We'll figure it out together. I promise."

Monty felt the walls he'd built around himself begin to crack, his breath coming in quick bursts as the weight of Winston's words settled in. "I don't want to hurt you," he repeated, feeling the tremor of vulnerability in his voice.

"Then don't," Winston replied, his tone resolute. "Just be honest. Let me see you-every piece of you, even the ugly bits. I'm not afraid of that."

Monty swallowed hard, the fight in him beginning to wane. "It's not just anger. It's..." He hesitated, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. "It's like I want to eat you alive, Winston. It's like I can't get enough of you, and it scares me."

Winston's expression softened, and Monty felt something shift between them, a tether forming in the raw honesty of the moment. "Well.. sounds like love to me," Winston said quietly. "It doesn't have to be gentle or pure. It can be hungry, ravenous even. But it can also be beautiful."

Monty felt the weight of those words settle in his chest, a mixture of warmth and fear battling for dominance. "I don't want to be another monster," he confessed, the tremor in his voice betraying his fear.

"Then don't be," Winston said firmly. "You're not your father, Monty. You're so much more than that."

Monty looked away, his heart racing. He wanted to believe it, wanted to believe that he could be better, that he could love without devouring. But the shadows of his past loomed large, their claws digging into his mind.

"Just promise me," Monty said, looking back at Winston, his voice barely a whisper, "that if I get too close to that edge, you'll pull me back."

Winston nodded, his eyes steady and filled with unwavering conviction. "Always."

And for the first time in a long time, Monty felt the gnawing hunger inside him settle into something warmer, something that felt almost like hope.