Dangerous Confessions

I Have Something I Want To Give You

Okay I'll be honest, I didn't know whether it would be bad taste to post this today due to recent events, but maybe we could use this to cheer us all up. I hope Ant, Dec and everyone involved are okay - as okay as I suppose they could be - and I hope Ant gets all the help he needs and deserves to recover from all of this and put it behind him. I know the love between the two of them and their friends and family will pull them all through this. Anyway, on a lighter note, here is the final chapter. Enjoy...

The heavy curtains of my bedroom window were conveniently open, offering us both a romantic view of the sunset. Light rain had started to fall, and I watched delightedly as tiny, crystalline droplets of water splashed against the glass before silently rushing downwards.

The entire scene looked pretty much like an epic dream to me, the kind you are bound to read only in literature, except this one was real. But maybe it wasn't; after all, the sensations stirred in me by such a scene could only compare to those you get when you're under the influence of some kind of hard drug, and let me tell you something, this specific drug named Declan Donnelly caused some real powerful, hallucinating effects that were more than capable of erasing all trace of reality from my weakened mind. Hence, I knew I could not trust my eyes, nor my senses anymore.

There was something hidden within my previous analogy that would inevitably make me smile: that something was irony, evident irony. If I recalled correctly, right before our first kiss, Dec told me I was more addicting than any razor he'd had in his hands before; yet, like many other aspects in this relationship, this situation had managed to turn upside down. In other words, roles have managed to reverse once again.

It was then that I looked down and contemplated the gorgeous vision placed beside me on the bed: Declan was lying comfortably on his side while calmly smoking a cigarette. I snuggled close behind him, unconsciously running my hand all along his body. He didn't say anything; the only audible sound that could be heard in the bedroom was a tiny gasp, or a muffled moan trying hard to escape his throat every time I pressed my lips to the back of his neck.

The smell of nicotine flying in the air soon filled my nostrils and reminded me of the very first time we had been alone in my studio. Back then, things had gone on smoothly, and I marvelled at how effortlessly Dec had managed to seduce me with that sweet, delicate innocence of his. Certainly, the very first time I actually paid some attention to him, it was mere lust that he had aroused in me, and I never planned on coming closer to any other feeling, but what can I say? I guess it just happened. Was it that somewhere along the line that the lust I had initially experienced morphed into something far more complicated and dangerous? Was it love?

In spite of knowing how ridiculous it's going to sound from where you're standing, I just have to admit that I was scared. I'm not lying when I say I had hardly felt like this about anyone before, and I wasn't lying to Dec either when I told him I had been in love before, but this was certainly different. The real problem was I had no idea how to explain this new kind of different.

There was, however, one thing I could tell for sure: we were moving forward; this relationship was moving forward, regardless of whether we wanted it to or not. Maybe it wasn't quite defined yet in what I considered to be the most awfully cheesy terms of "boyfriend and boyfriend" but that didn't really matter anyway, for it was completely unnecessary. At that point, I consider we were more than that.

I wondered if he knew about it, if he had a clue about what was really going on between the two of us, and my first impression was that he did, but there was no way on earth he was aware of the actual implications of our being together. I knew for a fact that Dec had deep, strong feelings for me, but what somehow managed to create havoc in the course of my thoughts was if the only reason he thought he loved me was that I was functioning as an outlet from his home life and complicated world in general. I still hadn't forgotten about the medical diagnosis I had read about in his private file, or the talk I'd had with his father and other teachers, and I figured that if I was really going to go through this, I needed to help him in any way I could. I was strong and positively sure I wanted to do everything in my power and beyond to help him crawl out of that damn whole in which God or whatever other force had dumped him in. I felt like I owed it to him.