Love Is Ǝvil

63 Gangsta. #04

A single stray beam of sunlight weaseled through the dark teal curtains, a straight line across the end of the bed. A light with sharp edges and with substance, Nicolas felt its warmth on his ankles and relief was growing from it. A new day had begun.

He rubbed fatigue and sleep from his eyes, and felt a little cracking in his neck. Then he looked over to the sleeping body next to him. A tattooed arm curled around the face he found too beautiful, the strong biceps accentuated how delicate Marshall's features were. How fragile of a creature he was. A little girl smiled back, her happiness stung like a rusty nail. Nicolas pressed a light kiss on the shoulder.

It was too late to leave, and he didn't see this end well.

A sweet peach scent unfurled, a preview of the bright and light-hearted person that lay next to him, or an echo of the joyful, unburdened person he could've been but never was. Nicolas pulled the covers high up and over the shoulder, a useless attempt to protect Marshall from the ill he was befallen with.

It wasn't only hurt living in this body, as gorgeous as he was, but something more sinister. What Nicolas could see was more pain than he wanted to allow, more pain that he couldn't name it all. Of a lost friend, of a broken family, of self-doubt and self-hate, of lost courage and lost self, of regretting the past and of fearing the future, of changing too much but not enough, of a broken heart, of a broken soul, of a broken mind, of being loved and hated and cared for and neglected, of being wrong not only in actions but as a person, of not giving enough, of giving too much, of being misunderstood and of not understanding himself, of fighting to be free and of being unable to let go, of making it work regardless, of digging his own grave ...

Not all of this pain needed to be eradicated since it grew out of the love that came before. You couldn't love without hurt. Yet, not all of this pain needed to be suffered since it grew out of the nothingness inside of you. Darkness was a part of life.

He reached out to interlace their fingers with each other. Nicolas wasn't a light. For his life this fact had no impact, actually he often found it the better way to go through his days. His own little world was exhausting enough, he didn't need to carry someone else's. Softly his thumb caressed the back of Marshall's hand, felt the metacarpal bones underneath the skin and how easily breakable they were. It was only the second time that Nicolas wished differently. He was yearning to see Marshall happy, to see the little smile he often suppressed, to see him live with joy.

Before, Nicolas had wished for his life to not stain this beautiful, wondrous creature, that all the blood he had shed wouldn't pour down onto the dream Marshall had built for himself out of frustration and talent. Now, Nicolas wished that shedding more blood could help, that he could fight this darkness with his sword, that there was somebody to kill.

His glance lay on the sleeping face, it resting on a bed of teal. The expression calm but this was probably a lie. A few tiny lost freckles peppered the cheeks, around the eyes shallow wrinkles betrayed his age, the light painted the little dimple of his chin stronger. Nicolas was tempted to kiss him, to feel the soft, slightly rosy lips on his own again. His eyes told him that they were calling out to him.

Marshall was losing his fight.

Instead of helping, instead of lending his strength and his pugnaciousness and his blood thirst, Nicolas was aiding the troubles. He had chased his own satisfaction and used Marshall for it. If Nicolas couldn't be of service, he shouldn't be here. But it was too late to leave.

Did Marshall want him here? Nicolas didn't know anymore.

Right now his hope was that the beginning of a new day meant something - anything. He wasn't well acquainted with hope, it was a silly thing that always let you down. Did he need to pray for it to work? He tightly squeezed the hand he was holding. He would. What other option did he have? If the beginning of a new day had no meaning anymore then the next hours were the last hours were every hour. One more pain added to the list: the pain of being trapped in a nightmare.