Kai decided that the blood on his hands (literally) was oddly pretty. He also decided that is was prettier on the psycho next to him. They had walked back to Kai’s apartment bloody hand in bloody hand, and the flower boy decided that he liked this feeling. He wanted more of it.
“You wanna stay at my place?” Kai’s voice was quiet and pretty, chiming like the clink clink clinking of metal sugar spoons in china teacups.
“Sure, Dolly, I’d love to.” Sami’s voice was quiet as well, but not as pretty. His voice was deep and scratchy, not unlike a stick of charcoal gliding across a sheet of paper. The cotton candy boy squeezed the hand clasped in his own tightly in response. He was content and happy, sated and calm. His other hand absentmindedly played with the crucifix still around his throat and they climbed the stairs in his ratty apartment building, bloody shoes in the bag the psycho had brought.
He noticed that the silver was coated in red.
“Please, don’t do this! I’ve got a family! Please, no, please."
But he didn’t mind at all.
YOU ARE READING
SUGAR AND STEEL
Ficção AdolescenteIn which a boy as sweet and sickly as cough syrup and cotton candy meets a boy that tastes like Juicy Fruit and cigarettes (and is best friends with a butterfly knife)
