FicWad

Sick



You’re a sick bastard, aren’t you?

That’s the first thing you said to me, the first time one of my stupid jokes made you giggle that adorably childlike high note of joy, the first time that the light in your eyes blinded my heart and made it stop beating in admiration of your flawlessly perfect face. It wasn’t said in a snide, mean way like many others have said it; it was meant in a joking, friendly way that warmed my soul.

I can’t even remember what I said to make you laugh, to make you smile, to make you do everything that made me fall in love with you. All I know is that it was enough to make us instantly bond like two asteroids colliding together to make a stunning shooting star of hope.

I’d replied with a simple, smirk-topped nod and you laughed more. Which in turn made my smile spread, spread like the tattooist’s ink over your ivory skin, spread like my hands would spread over you that same night. The night that made me understand what love meant; an unbridled and overwhelming sense of belonging, of knowing the only thing that I’ll have to fear again is losing you because as long as I have you nothing else matters.

Sick tattoos, bro!

That’s the first thing that my little brother said to you when I introduced you to him, the first time that I saw you blush for someone other than myself, the first time that I had to squeeze your hand to remind you to answer him amidst your near-gawping state. The first time since knowing you that my smile fell from my face like the halo from a fallen angel; I didn’t want to lose you to my little brother, that really would make me sick.

I can’t even remember what you said in reply to make Mikey laugh, to make him laugh like I made you laugh that first day of endless bliss, to make him laugh like I’ve never heard him laugh before. All I know is that it was enough to make me unsure of myself, unsure of us, unsure of him.

We sat and watched some horror flick, all of us spread out on the couch like a group of restless teenagers. I held you closely as monsters jumped out at us from the screen, monsters that didn’t scare me because a much greater fear was crippling my soul by that point; fear of losing you. A fear only intensified by the fact that you kept stealing glances at my brother, at my brother who kept snatching stares at you in return; you didn’t think that I saw you getting to know each other with your eyes. Eyes that I want to always be mine.

You make me sick.

That’s the first thing I said when I confronted my brother about what you mean to him, about whether you really were just the best friends that our love had caused you two to become, whether all of the time you started spending together was really as innocent as it no longer seemed to be. That was the first time that I’ve ever yelled at my baby brother with honest fury at the lies he was trying to make me swallow; I knew that he was lying, that he was trying to steal you away from me.

I can’t even remember at what point he started crying, started crying like I was the one trying to steal away the love of his life and not the over way around, started crying like I always tried to prevent him from doing. All I know is that it was almost enough to make me believe that he was just your friend, to blind me from the truth that you still deny like the demon that your angel wings hide from view.

He told me that I was drunk and to come back when I was sober, told me like our parents did when they kicked me out. When I shoved him up against the living room wall, making the plaster crumble beneath his frail weight, he looked like he was scared, screamed like he was scared. Almost as scared as I was of losing you to my traitor of a brother. It was the only way to make him see that I can’t lose you, to make him be a good brother again; I didn’t mean to hurt him as bad as I did, to the point where he was all bloody and bruised. I only did it because I was scared of losing you, the person that I need to always be mine. I was fighting for you, Baby, for us and for everything that I live for.

You’re a sick bastard, aren’t you?

That’s the last thing you said to me before you ran from me, ran from me to my brother’s apartment as though being in my presence was physically excruciating, as though his injuries were more important to you than my unbridled fear of losing our love. The last time I saw your face and it is the time that I can remember the clearest; you looked absolutely disgusted with me, as though I was the cheater and not you. I know that you cheated. Why else would you run to him?

I can’t even remember when you collected your boxes of stuff from our flat, cleaned away every trace of the one thing that I didn’t ever want to lose. I just got in from work to find all of your stuff gone and a note saying that it was over, that I was lucky Mikey didn’t want to press charges for grievous bodily harm, lucky that Mikes was alright. I was lucky for those things, I never meant to hurt him as badly as he hurt me; what kind of big brother would I be then?

I haven’t heard from you or Mikey since and it really is just as bad as my fears told me it would be. Just as bad but a million times worse. It’s like I’ve lost everything that ever gave me a purpose to live for. I have lost everything worth living for; my lover, my brother, myself. I heard from a friend that you’re living with him now, that you’re constantly with him as though you think I’ll hurt him again, that you still refuse to admit you’re screwing each other like I know you are. I’m not mad at you, I never could be mad with someone as perfect as you, I just don’t want to lose you. I have lost you, haven’t I? Lost you to my own nature as much as to my brother. I’ve lost you.

I'm a sick bastard.




A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I hope that it was halfway decent and made some sort of sick, twisted sense. Sorry if it was crappy, I was trying to do something different to what I normally write, so I hope that it worked alright and wasn’t too boring. Thank you very much for reading and please review! :)