Rose

Cults suck. That has to be the first life lesson that Rose, a twenty-four-year-old artist, learned. He learned this through his first eighteen years spent locked in a psycho's basement, wearing a robe and speaking in tongues like Hitchcock started directing his life. He got out, though. And the second life lesson that Rose learned was how to stay out, no matter how much he lost or how much pain it took. He'd admit, being on the run was...lonely.

Fate sucks. That was the eighth or ninth life lesson that Alec, a twenty-four-year-old musician, learned. He learned it when he was about fifteen, the day he lied in bed, watching Johnny Depp movies for the fortieth time in his standard, southern American home, realizing that he had no attraction to girls yet every want to screw Wade Walker until he tasted blood. The same day, he realized that if he told anyone, his life of popularity and JV football would end.

The one thing that the two had in common was, well, nothing. Alec, tightly locked away in his closet, fell for Rose after he arrived in the middle of nowhere, even though Rose made it very clear that his life wasn't something worth getting wrapped up in. His life, after all, had quite the body count. But Alec didn't care.

Whoops.