::thankfulness::& TEMPERANCE [luke]

[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

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What I Say
Exclamations

I’d been pretty badly bruised from my days out of district eight. I’m still smarting from the fight

[/color], but the water has helped clean my wounds, and for the first time in ages, I feel as though I’ve washed all the grime that had collected on my body off. It had been easy enough crossing the borders and down into the district without fuss. The scattered scraps of wall—porous as usual—let me get up and over the barbed wire without incident. A small gash on my thigh had been easily cleaned from the salt water. I’d come along the dirt road with the hot sun burning down into my back. I had gotten used to the cotton mouth that took over when I’d been going for some time without water. It wasn’t too long, however, before a few houses started to dart the roads, with white walls and handsome shutters. I catch myself gagging as I round a corner, and there on ice are heads of fish in plain view.

There was rain the first few days, and I spent my time dodging down alleyways and finding places with awnings to stay dry. Passersby here didn’t contribute much to the sad looking urchin[/color] fund, so I took to eating the few supplies I’d collected along the way. I’d trained myself not to get too hungry. My exposed rib bones and lack of stomach growling were a good indication of my success. There was one hunger I couldn’t shake, though—one that needed to be fed. It didn’t take me too long to figure out the one that would give it to me, an older guy that wanted a good time for him and his friend. They’d been careers, so their bodies were only as worn as the work they’d been forced to endure for the twenty years after their last reaping. It wasn’t so bad. They were gentler with me than others have been, wanting me to enjoy myself as though it were something I truly wanted.[/color] They’d even let me stay in their bed until morning, in their tiny little room with blue curtains.

I spent the morning finding my way to the beach, down toward the docks where the ships came in and men were in a constant state of motion. They hurried up to load and unload things from the decks, yelling to one another, and me inching my way around and down toward where the sand met the waves below the boardwalk. It was mostly rock and brown dirty sand—not the white that had been in your games. The water was dirty, too, a much darker color than the blue that had made the kraken’s teeth so clear. The water that had let your blood pool so clearly.[/color] Suddenly I want to get away from here, away from the boats, and away from people. I set out along the beach, walking, walking, walking until I’m under another set of tall wooden legs, a group of pillars that hold up a boardwalk above.

I slip between the rocks and dive into the ocean, letting my whole body get swallowed up in the surf. The salt splashes into my mouth and I cough it out before diving down underneath again. And I brush against the sand; I feel the sand between my toes and grab the wet grains in my hands before rushing out of the surface again. I shiver and shake at the briskness of the water, the sun catching my eyes as it sets, the wind picking up, and another day comes to the end. I watch the colors swirl around my face, the voices in my head humming a familiar childhood tune. The morphling swishes through my veins and lifts me up toward the sun, it lets me fly through the water and see the horizon. I’m up so high now, no heaviness, no emptiness, just the vastness of the ocean where I can be insignificant.

It’s about now that I expect you. You come back to me so frequently now, if only in instants. Sometimes to speak to me, sometimes to touch me, sometimes to help me fall asleep. But you’re not here, you’re not here and I dive below the waves to search for you there. My eyes burn and I find nothing, only coming to the surface again to cough out another fit of salt water. And I walk along the rocks, cutting up my feet, as I search for you along the shore. It’s been such a perfect little day I want to end it with you. I want to share it with you, if only for just a second. I laugh as I hear you whisper my name, Na…,[/color] the pet name you have for me. I rush along and wind around the wooden beams, only to stop dead in my tracks. And there you are, Cyrus. There you f—king are. Cheeks slashed, welts all over your skin, blood pouring out of your mouth. And I cry out, pushing away from you, running back toward the water, tripping over the rocks and crashing down hard. The sky swirls overhead, and a bit of salt water splashes back into my face.

“Is anyone here? Does anyone need help?” I cradle my arm against my chest and reach up with the other to feel my head. The blood is still coming down from an inch or so above my eye, and I let out a little murmur. More of it has dried on the side of my face, and when I try to roll onto my side I cry out again in pain. My vision blurs and I hunch forward again. I’m going to f—king die because of my own clumsiness.[/color] But it’s not that, really that would have killed me. It’s the shakes I have coming down, the freezing cold I begin to feel as my wet clothes cling to my body. I give it one last try before rolling over onto my back, letting out another yelp.

“Here… I’m here… please…” I don’t know if I’m loud enough, with the waves crashing so close by, but I look over to see the boy getting closer. It’s darker now, and I reach to grab a rock, both for protection and to make noise. I clack it against the others, my hand slow and shaky. But it could be enough. “Please… I’m over here…” I mutter again before throwing the rock in his direction. I’d do anything to get away from here, right now, anything he wanted.[/color]
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[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

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I think that it’s starting to get a bit colder, with the water lapping up against my body as I struggle to remain on my back on top of the sharp rocks. I can feel the prick of the salt water on my head, and again on my hands—there must be cuts there, too—and feel the chill coming through my body. It’s a painful, tugging motion that comes to my chest next, and I can feel a throbbing in my temples. I’m not sure how long it’s been that I’ve been out—how long was I bleeding, face inches from the waves—though I suppose it’s not so important now. Not when I was awake, when I wasn’t lying face down and so close to water. And there’s nothing else here, either. The sun has gone away, leaving me in darkness underneath the old wooden pier.

But the waves part and I can hear someone coming, the same boy that called out to me before. The sounds get closer and I close my eyes. Let him find me… please…

[/color] It’s a dark moment for me, for certain. Wishing to someone—wishing to some kind of higher power, anyone—what a foolish, stupid idea. It made me ashamed, thinking, when I opened my eyes that I’d done anything so desperate. Death wasn’t… it wasn’t coming, it wasn’t. I was a fighter. I was someone that would see a thousand more days because—because unlike my brother, I looked out for myself. I looked out for what was truly important, and didn’t get bogged in the details of life. There just wasn’t enough time for that. Not for me.

“Hey there…my name is Gage, okay? I live around here. I can get you out, but I need to carry you, okay? Just walk right into my arms. Getting out will be a bit bumpy, and you’ll think you’re falling, but I promise, I won’t drop you. I’m here to help, okay? You can tell me your name, if you’d like.” I like his voice. I really do, if only because he seems so certain of what he wants me to do. It gives me a little more strength, even though my limbs feel as though they’re on fire, and my hands are tightened up like claws, since I’ve been clenching them for however long I’ve been asleep. But I know that if I don’t listen to him—if I don’t head towards him than I’m as good as dead. I’m as good as you,[/color] the way that I saw you underneath the pier. I want to know why of all places you would be here,[/color] a place you’ve never been, looking as you did when you’d passed. Why would you frighten me, when I was having such a good day?[/color]

It’s easy enough for me to trust him when I have no other options. Quick decisions are a specialty of mine, whether or not they are always positive results. But I’d survived this long, so I figured I’d had a pretty strong case with my choices. I lean onto my side and press one of my arms onto the rocks shakily before flexing one of my legs. I can feel a pain in my left knee and let out a hiss. F—k. F—k. F—kity F—k f—k.[/color] But I bite my tongue and push off into the water. “Oh… oh… f—k, f—k, f—k, f—k me in the ass!” I cry out as I slosh toward him. My limbs are heavy and the water is so cold it feels like glass is cutting across my skin. At last I see his figure and launch myself onto him. My arms wrap across his frame and I let out another moan. I rest my head against his chest and let out a little sob.

“Naif…” I whisper to him. And this feeling, me wrapping my arms around his body, it flips a switch in me and I’m a sobbing mess. Not from the pain or the bump on my head, although this could be a good reason,[/color] but from something deep inside. I bury my head in the nape of his neck and let out another sob. I want to thank him, I want to do anything, whatever he wants. Why is he doing this for me? Why would anyone ever do something like this for me?[/color] “Malloc… my name… is Naif Malloc… thank you… thank you…” I mutter as I press my face against his neck. Water drips down into my cut and I flinch before gripping onto him tighter.
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[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

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What I Say
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The only thing I want to do now is cry. I can feel a terrible heaviness through my whole body as I shake in his arms, and I’m weeping hard into his shoulder. It’s unexplainable; I can’t seem to get my mind out of it, and thick tears drips down to mix with the mucus I’m getting all over. I just want to curl up an die. I just want everything to be over, and I want all of it to be done with.

[/color] I’ve never felt so damn depressed—like the whole world is caving in on me at once—and I try and grab onto his body tighter. He’s a handsome boy, a boy that wants to help me. And so I rub my head along his shoulder, trying to give him the little affection that I have strength for at this point.

I dip in and out of consciousness as we move along the streets. I can see the names of shops and blurred faces as we rush along. He says something to me but it’s muffled and my eyes grow heavy again. A quick turn of my head sends a shower of stars across my vision line, and I let out a hiss. I rest gently on his neck, wondering just what stroke of luck I had to find someone that wanted to help rather than hurt me. When we come to a stop, I manage to turn my head enough to see that we’re at some sort of estate—one much bigger than anything I’ve ever seen in my whole life—and I wonder if I’ve dropped out of consciousness again. But he says something to the woman near us and we proceed inside.

Everything is beautiful, better than anything that I’ve never had in my life. And the darkness mixes with the heaviness, and I wonder what of this I’ll be able to take. What can I have of this that might fetch me a good price if I took it?[/color] And I look at him, too, wondering if he’s as innocent and gullible as any young rich boy. Or maybe he has other plans for me?[/color] But from his steadfast demeanor it almost seems as though there is some general care for my well-being. As though there’s some odd command for him to help me. Which is lucky enough for me, I guess, considering I should’ve been left to die under the docks.[/color] My chest shakes again and I cry, thinking that I should’ve laid down next to Cyrus’ body—the vision of his body—and just been left to rot or carried out to see. Or pecked at by birds and ripped apart by the dogs that wandered the beach. Any of those endings was good enough for me.

I’m shaking and shivering when he puts me on his bed and wraps me up. I mutter for him not to leave by my voice is scratchy and hoarse. I bite my lip some, wanting to stop my teeth from chattering, and I hold it until I suck in that copper taste. More than anything I want morphling—I think I still have a tab or two or four left—but my whole body hurts and I wonder when I can get enough time to do it without him watching. Because that will take the pain away, at least, for a little while.[/color] And at once he’s up again, in a hurry, and I hear it. The same as the rest of them. The same as the careers I’d first met.

“Naif. If you can, I need you to take your clothes off and meet me in the bathroom, okay?” He wanted to fix me, all right. He wanted me to take my clothes off so he could play doctor. It’s all they ever wanted to do. And I’m angry and ashamed, wrapped up in these blankets. I’m a fool as always, thinking that he could possibly be good to me. But he has to see me naked, to clean me. To heal me. But it’s my mind—they always wanted to see me naked, they always wanted to touch me—and I have a visceral shake to the thought. But if he wants to help me… it’s… it’s the least I can do.[/color] It’s all I can ever do, is give them what they want.

I wriggle out of the blankets and manage to stand. The throb in my head causes everything to twinge yellow, but after a moment, it’s gone. I start to undress slowly, and I can feel the cuts and scrapes come alive on my body. My shirt is off and in another second my trousers come clanking down onto the ground. I rip one shoe off after another and stand naked in front of the mirror in this room for a moment. My body has shed most of anything that could’ve been considered fat before. I’m left with exposed ribs and a gaunt face, covered in splotches of mud, cuts, and scrapes. I'm a twisted looking creature, ugly inside and out. I dig into the pockets of my pants on the floor and retrieve my prize. My hand shakes as I move to get one more piece—one more taste for me, to get through whatever it is I want to… have to do with this boy—and I slip a tab onto my tongue.

The walk down the hall is slow and agonizing as shapes move back and forth in front of me. I hear the running water, though, and manage to find my way to where he’s drawing a bath. I stand in the doorway with a stupid grin on my face. If he wants it, he can have it. He can have all of it. Just help me… just fix me…[/color] I take a few steps forward and in another instant I move to wrap my arms around his neck and press my body up against his. “Thank you…” The words drip out of my mouth as I move close to his ear. My hands move up and down his back slowly. “Thank you… for helping me…”
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[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

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What I Say
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I was so close to him, I just want wrap my arms around him until we’re together. Just for tonight, just for now… don’t you want me?

[/color] I try to stroke underneath of his shirt as I clumsily press harder into him, unashamed of what he is to find down below. He pushes back, though, and brings my hands in front of me by my wrists. Does he want to be rough? He can be rough with me. I like it rough…[/color] I stare at his with a grin, pursing my lips together. You can have it, just don’t be too hard… not too fast…[/color] But I’m flexible. I’m flexible and used to be tossed around like I don’t matter much. Because in the grand scheme of things, there’s nothing that he can do that would really hurt me much worse than I am now, unless he was one of those freaks that wanted to cut me with a blade or something. And I’ve always been up for trying new things.[/color]

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I’m sorry if this seems intrusive…but I need you to get in there, Naif. I don’t know where you’ve been or what’s been in your cuts, and we need to keep you as clean as possible so nothing gets infected. If it makes you feel better, I’ll stay here and keep my hands to myself. I’ll only help if you ask.” But I’m a thousand miles away from him. I can see myself wrapped up around him, I can see myself with him and in this beautiful place, splashing around in this water and just mixing together with it as though we could become a part of it.[/color] And the morphling raises me up higher. The emptiness is gone, and I only want to feel him. I only want him to touch me more, to feel his hands against my damaged and battered skin. Because that’s what’s going to make me feel better, right this instant. Someone has to love me, someone has to.[/color] It’s what that means—if I can get him to touch me, anyway. And then he squeezes my shoulder.

I throw my head to the side and stare him up and down. The hot water has collected in the bath and some steam fogs up the mirror not far from us. He will want you. He is unsure if you want him.[/color] They’re back again, the ones that drift up and out of me when I reach this space—the inbetween of complete unconsciousness and sober—popping up to help convince me of what needs to be done. They say it to me as though I’ll have to work for it— because love does not come naturally[/color]—and I realize that I must try harder. He is giving me so much, he expects so much in return. I will make it so that he regrets nothing, and that the two of us will know—he will know—just exactly how much I appreciate his love. Just let him touch me…[/color]

“Just let me help you in…” I take his hand and try lifting one of my legs. My right foot hurts, and I’m not sure if it’s from a sprain or the myriad of cuts that are on the bottom of my feet. I dip into the hot water, the first fresh water that I have seen in some time, and let out a gentle hiss. I close my eyes and can feel the tears of pain drip down—but I don’t want him to see it—and my hand grips onto his with all of my strength. I let out a few grunts as I slip down into the water, letting out a splash as I lean back against the porcelain. I’m breathing heavily now as I turn to look over at Gage.

“Please don’t go… I… I want you to help me…” I say as I move my other hand to grasp onto his. I link the two of them together and bring it up to my mouth for a gentle kiss. See, it’s okay. You’re okay. You can be here. I want you here.[/color] My head buzzes as I try and twist my body toward him. There is a shower of colors again—perhaps from the bump on my head or the morphling—and I have to bite my lip again to stop myself from falling backwards and slipping away from all of this. The moment passes, but not before I can feel myself spinning, and the whole room sways. I hunch over the side of the tub and let out a little moan. “Please… please…”

My hand squeezes his and I shift up some, attempting to move his hand close to my chest. Just touch me. Make me better. Make me feel better. You’re strong… you can take me, you can make me feel so good…[/color] I stare up at him. “I need you... to help me…” [/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

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What I Say
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I watch his hands move in slow motion down between my legs to cup the water. I want him to go further, I want to shudder at his touch,

[/color] but he brings the water back up again to my head. It catches the light and for a moment I turn to look at him, seeing stars and splotches of yellow again. But it’s not dizzying, it’s intoxicating; the drip of water along my greasy hair, the smoothness of his hands against my scalp. It dances on my skin and enlivens me. I think of you[/color] for a moment, in the darkness of the night when we’d bathed together—but there’s no tears that spring my eyes this time. It’s a memory that melds into the present, with this boy that I hardly know. I want the water to nourish me—I want it to clean away all the hate and grime that I’ve traveled with, because I’m so tired[/color] of it all piling up inside of me.

He pushes into my scalp and I can feel the hair on the nape of my neck stand. There’s a stirring inside of me, and I look to see the colors all swirling around him. The blues, the reds, the greens—all of it a cacophony and strangely beautiful, like him—and I let out a sigh. I can get him to love me… he can love me, if he wants to…[/color] He presses gently with his thumbs and I chew my bottom lip. And he will want to… if you’re good enough…[/color] It’s a fear that grips me again, it makes me shiver as he finishes splashing water onto my forehead. It’s what makes me scared to close my eyes at night. Because for as strong as I am, I don’t have you, [/color]and so I have to depend upon myself.

I’m afraid of the in-between.[/color] It’s that moment when you feel your eyelids getting heavy, and you’re about to drift off into the beyond. And each night without you—without anyone—it gets harder to close my eyes. For all those nights when I sat watching you in the games to those that I shrugged underneath gnarled pines and in alleyways—nights when it was better to be kept awake by the hunger that ravaged my stomach—I thought that I would die in the in-between. Not a strong and noble death, not even one filled with spite and rage. But one that was meaningless, empty. One where people shrugged their shoulders and went about their business. Because they would find my mangled, shriveled body and not know my name. And they would say a few words about me being a poor bastard[/color] before burning me and scattering me to the wind. Because I have no one to care for me, not even myself.[/color]

And I want this boy so badly, for his touch, for his beauty… just for the words that spring from his lips. “I’m not going anywhere, Naif. I’m right here. I’ll help you in any way I can. Just trust me, okay?” And gold comes from his lips, out into the air, and settles around me. Because he cares about me.[/color] It’s a truth that I don’t understand. He doesn’t have a reason to, I’d never given him a reason. I was weak and nothing more than a burden. And there was the lust[/color] he gave me, one that even in my condition made me want to kiss his neck and reach into his pants never let him go. I do trust you. Let me trust you…[/color] It’s a peak I’ve yet to reach—trusting anyone—but I’m high above and away from here now, enough to nod my head and give him a smile. I can trust you.[/color]


But just as high and wonderful as it all is, my stomach turns and can feel myself shake again. I let out a growl and clench my hands over the side of the tub as he moves to hand me a towel. I close my eyes and shake, my whole body thrashing as I feel the bile come up to the tip of my throat. And just like that, I’m horrifically ugly, unlovable.[/color] My body is saying no[/color] as I grasp the sides of the tub so hard I feel as though my fingers are going to snap off. He says something about carrying me—how much sweeter can he be[/color] but before I can even so much as thank him, I’m coughing and hacking, and whatever bile I’ve pressed down finds its way back up again.

I wish I was used to the vomiting by now. I wish I could say that it got easier each time, but every time I felt the burn against the back of my throat and my whole body seized, it was though it was the first time. And I cried out as I gagged onto the floor, spilling the few contents I’d had in my stomach onto the beautiful tile. And I hung down over his tub for another moment, only to sputter out another wave of vomit. I cried as I sat there against the side of his tub. I tried to wipe away the crust on my lips, but it wasn’t the pain that had bothered me. It was as ugly I was, how much I probably repulsed him that he would never want to touch me now… all of it made me want to curl up into a hole and disappear.[/color]

I lay back against the side of the tub and could feel myself grow heavier. I struggled to get up on my own and let out another grunt, looking to Gage. I looked down in shame and threw an arm over the side of the tub. “Just…” I get out a word, my chest rising and falling, heavy now, harder to breath. “Just put me wherever you want… do whatever… you want…” I was always so tired after a bad trip. But I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to fall in-between. “But… don’t leave me…? Please don’t leave me… not if I fall asleep…” And I know I sound foolish and all of it is silly—but I don’t want to die alone, not without someone to at least see me go.
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[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

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What I Say
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I could feel my heart thumping, ready to come out of my chest. I blink a few times as I look over at Gage, and it’s harder for me to stay awake, now. I want to concentrate on the pretty way that his hair falls into his face, but it’s all I can do to not want to hunch over and fall asleep. And he doesn’t run—he doesn’t push me away or complain about the mess that I’ve made, either. He comes closer to me—yes, come closer

[/color]—and I turn my head to watch him. He’s got such a curious way about him, one that reminds me of you,[/color] of how much you would look something over so that you could be completely certain. And you’d ask so many questions, questions that should’ve been easy enough to answer for anyone, just out of fear of sounding stupid in front of anyone else. And Gage was… he wanted to know about me, he wanted to help me in a way that made me want so desperately for him to ask the questions.

“I said I wouldn’t leave you, didn’t I? I don’t break my promises, Naif. But you can do me one favor…” I listen to his voice as his arms wrap around me. I stand, shakily, and begin to move out of the tub. I hiss as I feel the pain on my foot, and I ease into his strong arms, grasping onto the towel to hide my shame. It’s a silly thing, a matter of pride, but I don’t want him to see what he’s already seen. Not the cuts on my back, or the scrapes that run up my thigh. Not the tracks on my arm or the bruises on my knees. And I don’t want him to see me[/color] because… there’s something there, there’s something to Gage, something that… I want him to have it, to take it if he wants… but I don’t want the mystery to be gone. I don’t want him to think that I’m plain or boring or anything that would make him go away from me. “You can do me a favor and stay awake.”

I nod to him as our bodies press closer together. He’s warm to the touch, and I give a little shiver. I want him to hold me in his arms longer, I want to feel his strength with mine—I want to feel the safety that he provides. It makes me smile, even if it feels as though I’ve swallowed glass. And as we travel down the hallway I look only to him, taking in his face. He’s gentle with me, a fragile little thing—at least physically—and I curl up closer to his chest. It all ends too soon when he places me on the bed. I can feel the heaviness return as soon as he’s let go of me, and I let out a little murmur. “I can try… for you…”

The smell of food gets me to turn toward the tray, and I stare from it to Gage. Why would he offer me anything like this… there’s so much to go around…[/color] And at first I ignore his warnings and start to shove the crackers into my mouth, then the cheese and other little bits of food. And in another instant I can feel my stomach lurch and begin to hack. It presses up to the tip of my throat and at last I swallow again, pushing all of it back down into my stomach. My eyes water as I clutch the side of the bed, and let out a little groan. It was too much, too fast. I needed to slow down so that I didn’t overwhelm myself. As I reached for the broth he spoke again, and I turned, mid-suck, to listen.

“Would you mind if I check your foot, Naif?” I shook my head, wondering what he intended to do. The rocks had done a nasty number on me, but some of it was from the dirty water and floppy footwear I’d had over the past month. I pressed the bowl up, my face completely obstructed by it, and at last I brought it back down to the table. I wiped a hand across my face and gave Gage a grin. You can do whatever you want to me.[/color] I want to tell him, but the words don’t come out. Instead I lay back in the bed and let out a sigh. My eyes grow heavy and I can feel myself starting to drift.

“Yeah… yeah that’d… that’d be nice…” [/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

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What I Say
Exclamations

He presses the cuts on my foot and I shift, grunting at the tiny pricks of pain that come with fixing me up. I know it’s bad—I know that there are spots where I’ve dug a needle into—but I try staring up at the ceiling to ignore it. He’s so gentle with me—is that how he is with everyone

[/color]—and my head still swims. It might be from the last of the morphling, that feeling of coming down after all of it is used up inside of me, or the tiredness of everything starting to weigh down upon me. I shudder some and rub my hands across my arms trying to get some warmth. It’s getting harder to move at all, the whole world heavier and the shapes around me growing more faded. I know it’s sleep coming, and I try and fight it off. I’m not ready yet, I’m not ready to go in between.[/color] I hear his voice again and it rouses me awake.

“Finished, Naif. I know you’re tired… but I need to know where else you’re hurt. And permission to continue, of course…” I know I’ll have to tell him everything—lest he find out on his own—but how much of it will he judge me for? It’s the biggest fear I have now, even with my head drifting in and out of this world, that somehow, some way he’ll think less of me. That he won’t love me because I tell him the truth, that I’ve been beaten black and blue, that I’ve been used up and turned every which way… that I’ve put myself into positions that led me down this road… all of them bad, all of them dangerous, and none of them admirable. But would he leave me then… will he fix me and go, if I tell him the truth?[/color] I try looking up at him, his gentle face, and I give a small smile. I move to take the towel off of me, and to let him see what’s hidden underneath.

“My chest… some cuts there…” I wheeze as so clearly there are a few gashes along my side but nothing too major. I turn over and show him my back, which is littered in bruises, especially down below. A jagged cut sits near my shoulder blade and I wince as I move my arm. “There’s… I’ve… I’ve done some… I’ve…” I pause as I try and think of the best words for it. I’ve let other people do this to me, because I needed morphling. Because I didn’t want to be alone. Because it was easier than taking a stand and living free… or building a life in my own district.[/color] And I look to him, and I can feel in this darkness, that for the first time—I can’t hide behind the death of my brother. I can’t hide from this boy so earnestly cleaning me up, not if I want to get better. And I do want to get better… I really do.[/color]

“I let some men f—k me… I…” I stop as I turn over on the bed and look back at him. My heart is beating as fast as it can, and my face is flushed again. I start to shake again, I can feel myself ready to cry and my chest heaves again. “I let people do things… I… it’s been so hard out there, it’s been bad… I just… after Cyrus died, I…” And it comes out of my mouth—the admission of his death—and the rest follows, like the vomit I’d left on his bathroom floor, the words flow out of me. “I thought… because I wasn’t the first one to lose a brother in the Hunger Games… but my parents… they already… they were dead before he was…”

I’m gasping then. I can’t breathe… why can’t I breathe?[/color] In another moment I’ve curled up into a ball and bring my hands up over my eyes. I’m never going to be as strong as he was.[/color] It was why I was so weak—I let everything affect me so much. It’s why my father had gone after me and not Cyrus. Because in my experience it wasn’t the beauty that they went after—the ones that did dark, dreadful, unnamable things—it was the damaged that they went after. For it was easier to pick apart one already hurt than to start with something fresh and beautiful, like Cyrus had been. And I would always be damaged then—I would always be ugly. I shook again as I put a hand to my mouth to muffle my own sobbing.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” I rasp out because I want to apologize for dragging him into this. I want to let him know that he doesn’t have to worry about me even though that’s what I want more than anything, for someone to worry about me.[/color] He’s just another one of them that will do their best, but what did that ever really mean anyway?[/color] We’d done our best with Cyrus, and look how well that had turned out.[/color] “You must think I’m pretty stupid, telling you anything… you don’t care… you don’t even know me…” I wipe away the tears from my eyes and laugh at myself. I lean over on my side, and let my left arm hang out. There are a few splotches from where the needles have gone in and I reach over to scratch them. “I’m sorry…”
[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

-----
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
-----

I can feel his hands upon me and I let out a few whimpers. There’s the disinfectant with its bitter pain against my wounds, and I close my eyes tight. He presses against me again and I flinch. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that he wants to help me, but knowing that I am vulnerable. I am all his, whatever he wants to do with me, and he is choosing to fix me. But his touch isn’t tender, not the way that I want it to be. It’s methodical, and he focuses on mending my wounds and wrapping me in towels. There was no passion in his hands… there was no gentle cajoling to let me know he wants me too.

[/color] Instead, just a focus on what needs to be done. And I’ve failed again—failed at this connection that I so desperately desire. And I turn to vomit into the bucket next to us. I wipe my arm across my mouth and let out another cry.

The slow sounds of rocking, the creak of the bed, they’re replaced by his soft voice. “There’s nothing shameful, Naif, mourning the ones you love.” He begins and I crane my neck to get a good look at him. What did he know about mourning? What did anyone know about the pain that I had in my own heart. Cyrus was more than a brother… he was more than just someone I watched on the television screen. He was an idol. I worshipped him. And I loved him. And he loved me.[/color] But he continued, even though I could feel the twist of anger building in my stomach. “I…well. My father died when I was eight. We don’t have a body. He went out for a fishing expedition and never came back. But I never had a choice, per say. My mother had a nervous breakdown, and she’s still not better. Mourning was short-term for me. She needed me. But Naif…there’s nothing ‘stupid’ about sharing it. If anything…if it makes everything better, just a little…you can tell me.”

Everyone opened up to me, however they knew. They would tell me stories of what misfortunes their lives had wrought: lost siblings, family members, addiction, pain. They would mix it together and tell me just how I could fix myself. That there was an easy solution to all of it, if only I could find the way. Because they had been through something like I had, wasn’t that it? That they could ever imagine what twisted in the back of my mind, late at night, when I had no food and was letting some man f—k me so I could get another taste of morphling. Or when I’d hid underneath in the sewer to escape the footsteps of a peacekeeper, one that was intent not on turning me over to the law but killing me an stringing me up for his friends to see.

Oh you all knew just how I was supposed to feel, how I was supposed to think. You all could poke and prod and study me for a hundred years, but you’ll never know just what makes me tick. Because I am not like anyone that has ever been—and it is a pride, one that was given to me by my father—I am nothing like this boy from district four, and I am nothing like them. They all in their perfect little homes by the sea, they know nothing of what my father did to me. What was stripped of me with the death of my brother. And the weight, the horrible weight that I tried to sustain… the one that I failed to hold onto… it just… it slipped[/color]… out of my grasp and onto the ground. And in an instant there was the fantastic implosion, the one that rendered me from the boy that had loved his brother, that had been good at sports, that made good enough marks to be second in his class… to wandering vagrant, sucking off anyone that would give me what I needed…

“I haven’t talked about my dad for a long time…so if it’s selfish of me, this helps me a little, too.” Selfish.[/color] What did I care about his father. About his f—king dead father, someone I didn’t know, someone that meant nothing to me. My father was nothing—he was f—king an abomination—and this boy thought that he could pry into my head, into my soul by bringing up his own dead father. Because mothers and fathers were supposed to be protectors, they were supposed to be sources of joy. They weren’t supposed to ruin lives or hurt good little girls and boys.[/color] I chewed my lip as I stared back at Gage, and I start to heave again. “As rude as it might sound, Naif…I think you have too much drive to stay like this. I think you’d want something more meaningful in the end.”

It’s darkness that creeps in and swallows up the whole room. It’s back behind the house, where the door was padlocked and the only light hung from above. But he doesn’t turn it on when we go inside. He wants to teach me how to fix the water heater. I’m nine years old, and I’ve never delighted in anything more than being with him. He’s a gruff man, tall with a sturdy frame. An engineer by trade, he’s smart… but very rarely ever talked to me, if only to correct me or keep me from going wild. He speaks even less to Cyrus. He was the mistake,[/color] even then I know that he was ashamed of Cyrus. But I was his boy… I was the one that made up for all that Cyrus lacked. And the door closes behind us, and there’s nothing left to see. I can feel his hand wrapped in mine, and the two of us sweat. Daddy?[/color]

“Daddy…” It comes out of my mouth as I sit there, thinking of the terrifying memory, the one that gives me chills at night. The first—but not the last—of those moments when I am damaged, when there is no coming back from the darkness of that room. And it makes me sick. It makes me angry that anyone could ever think that I was loved by my father—a man that Gage could never know—that there is any meaning to a life like my own. He doesn’t know me. He can NEVER know what it’s like.[/color] And my body trembles again as I turn up to look at him. “You don’t… you don’t f—king know anything…”

He took the chance away from me… he left me, just like the rest of them. When I’d gone into that room, and I’d seen him, noose on his neck, legs swinging… it wasn’t that I was weeping because he was dead. No, my hands didn’t beat at his chest because I wanted him to come back, to still be breathing. It was because he had taken my chance for revenge. He had taken my chances for closure.[/color] And now this boy thought that we could share. Did he want to know? Could he handle anything, even this? But I was too weary to hold anything back now. You wanted to look down into the abyss.[/color] My eyes lock onto his and I stare. You wanted to look into the abyss, and now, this is what you’re going to get.[/color]

“My father was a bastard! My father was a f—king bastard! You don’t know what he did! You don’t… you don’t!” I fling my arms up at him weakly, threatening to tear off the bandages he’s so painstakingly attached. “I’m glad he’s f—king dead! I’m glad he f—king killed himself! I… I wish I’d done it myself!”

-----
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
-----

[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

I want to scream again as I struggle against him. His body is warm as he presses closes, and I find it hard to breath. I start coughing, hacking up phlegm as his arms move to capture me. There’s only a moment when I put up a real fight, but the fire within me is dull and burning thin, and in another instant I settle. “Why? Why? I just want to… I just want to…” I close my eyes and try and throw my weight against his, but I’m too weak. Instead I let out another whimper. “No please… please… don’t… please… I’m sorry…” It’s harder to breathe then and the rise and fall of my chest is an effort, one that has never been so real before. F—king asshole, f—king prick, f—king c—t, never, you don’t know, you can’t explain, you don’t know… don’t try to know…

[/color] I want to hiss all of it at him, I want him to hurt, not to just stare at me blankly and measure me like a wild animal.

I’m not there anymore. Instead it’s the room behind the house, padlocked and secret, shrouded in a thick haze of smoke and darkness. It’s late and hot and sweaty, and there are so many things that I want to say, so much strength that I wish I had, I wish I had known I could have. It is because the fear grips me, that I can’t do anything because I am weak and broken, and all of it is my fault. It’s always my fault—from my mother getting sick after giving birth to me to Cyrus running away because we didn’t love him enough—this too, then, this was my fault[/color]. And I whimper and cower; I don’t fight hard enough because it’s my fault. I deserve to be alone, then, I deserve to pay for all of it.[/color]

He moves me back against the bed then, his hands gentler. He dabs at my wounds and it’s not the mechanical motions before. I stare up at his face and I want to turn away again, but I force myself to look at this boy that is my savior. The one that wants to fix me, that just like all the others was willing to place a value, was willing to try and figure out something that maybe didn’t have an easy explanation.[/color] But I can’t turn away from his face, his handsome form. The warmth of his touch excites me again and I concentrate on controlling my breathing, on settling. [/color]

“I’m sorry, it was…wrong of me to presume…” His voice is soft and I wince. You’re f—king right, you’re f—king right… you have no idea…[/color] The dull rage burns out then, it sputters and coughs inside of me and all at once it seems gone. There’s a numbness that replaces it, one that makes me shiver as I look at Gage again. He’s apologizing to me?[/color] It’s dizzying. I was so used to scrapping and fighting others, I had never thought that he would be so ready to give in to me. And before it would’ve made me swell with pride, even though I was held down by his hands and under his watch. But I only feel numb. I feel cold and unsettled by this hollow victory. “You don’t have my pity. But you have my kindness, if you want it.”

He moves back and his hands slide down to my knees. There have been too many times when this motion signaled something awful, an animalistic want in a man that saw me as something to be taken. His rough hands would rub there, gesturing, it was time to get started[/color]. It made my stomach turn some and I let out a little gasp as Gage presses against me. But it’s not the same, not in the way that his eyes don’t meet my own. And at once I’m ashamed that I’ve yelled at him. His kindness is more than I’ve seen in some time, but I’ve been so tired and terrible I didn’t see it.[/color] I lean forwards, and the weight is still too much for me. I wind up with my head on his shoulder, down near his chest, and give his hand another squeeze. I bring my other arm around his back and I sigh.

“I just…” I stop to try and get the words to come out right. “I’m kind of messed up right now… I shouldn’t be yelling at you but… you act like you know me, and you don’t at all… I don’t want you to try to think you do…” I just want you to stay long enough to figure it out.[/color] I rub my hand down against his back and enjoy the feeling of his body against my own. It’s all I want, if just for a little while.[/color] “I want you to be nice… I want…” I pause. “I don’t know… I don’t know…” [/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[cyrus]

Naif Malloc

Narration
Thoughts
Other’s speech
What I Say
Exclamations

“What do you need, Naif?” His voice is soft, almost hard for me to hear above the beating of my own heart. I wrap my hand around where his hip meets his side, grabbing at the flesh in my hands and giving it a squeeze. All of me wants

[/color] this, now. I’m ready for the two of us to be together and for him to take control of me. I can feel his forehead against my own and I bring my other hand up behind his neck. I press my lips against his collarbone, but it’s not in a kiss. Instead I let them sit there, the warm heat from my nostrils brushing down onto his shoulder. Was this magic? Was this what had been missing, fireflies and all, for so long?[/color] I grip his hand in mine, as tight as it will go. Fingers thread together and I shake again, wishing that I could envelope myself around him then.

But that wasn’t what I needed.

No, it was all desire[/color] that fueled me, not a need. I could have done without his body against my own, couldn’t I? I could’ve been alone then, to rest, recuperate, and disappear into the dawn of the next morning. Like the shadows we cast on the wall, I was just a temporary thing. There were men and women outside the door that would whisper about the two of us—did he care about what kind of trouble he could get into with a wanderer?[/color] And all at once I can feel the jagged stab of pain in my stomach, like razors slicing up my insides. What is any of this worth? Am I really worth it?[/color] I rub my face against his and let out a murmur. It just feels so nice, for a little while, just to have this.

“I…” The words stuck in my throat, lodged there as though too cumbersome to pull out. Could I ever get all of what I needed from him? What about answers? What about retribution? What about a way to go to sleep at night without thinking that it was still my fault[/color]. I opened my mouth again but still the words didn’t come. But maybe…[/color] They were just distractions from what I needed. I pressed my head against his chest and let out another sigh. I’m not magnificent, I’m not wonderful, and I’m not anything that deserves you.[/color]

“I just need someone to listen to me…” It’s barely a whisper that breaks the silence, shattering the gentle hum that’s settled into the room. And I press tighter against him, not wanting to cry like the weakling that I am. “I just need you to promise you’ll listen to me… that you won’t judge me, until I’ve told you what I have to… I can’t… I can’t promise that you’ll even want to hear but please just…” I look up at his face then, retreating back some. I trust him. I trust this boy that I’ve known for all of a few hours. It’s silly and stupid but I do.[/color]

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this… you really don’t.” My naked body presses closer against his, and I let out a yawn. I want to stay away for hours, but my body isn’t going to let me press much further. I trace a hand onto his chest once again, and give a smile. “But I need you to listen… and hear me, not… don’t just act like you understand all the time… or like you know what’s best…” Even if you do. [/color] “And I’ll… I’ll do my best, too. To… to tell the truth… to… trust you.” [/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]