Title: Chrome release.

Rating: R(Some sexual preferences and dark themes)

Summary: I haven't figured out why this is wrong but [he] said it is… [Standalone, m/m, dark themes]

Disclaimer: I own the characters and I own the story line however that makes this F I CT I O N in every respect. Please read with an open mind and realise that this is something serious I am writing about.

Please note: No characters were hurt in the making of this story, how ever by all legal rights the author will not take responsibility for the actions of some members. The actors in this story are professionals and have been trained to perform these stunts. Please do not attempt to re-enact anything you have seen today.

Enjoy the show.

Another moment passes by and I feel my chest tighten, I feel something eating me from inside and my vision becoming blurry. I choke and stumble for the stairs, ignoring the questions and the words of concern as I run all the way up the thirteen steps, tripping and stumbling as I try to breathe. I can hear another following me, their steps more steady and determined but I have learnt to be so much faster and I slam the door shut, locking it tightly and sinking to the cold wooden floor. I can hear the other moving around by the door probably hoping that I have forgotten to lock it this time.

This is has become a regular ritual.

Slowly I feel air returning to my lungs and everything becomes crystal clear. I can feel some sense of normality seeping back into my tired bones. But still I stay where I am, almost too afraid to move. I draw my knees close, wrapping my bony hands around them and humming to myself nervously whilst my gaze darts around the room and my mind tries to remember where I left my precious friend.

Outside the other is waiting for me to slip up.

But I won't. I never do, I'm too clever for this, I have played this game for so long. I have been in the field of desperation and anguish for a long time, I know all the signs of what's to come but I don't stop myself. I still crawl across the floor quickly, like a wild child who had found food, towards my bed where I have a secret box full of even more secret boxes. But in one of these secret boxes is my friend, my saviour.

The one thing that makes it all okay for a while.

I can here the other talking to someone else in a quiet hushed voice. I can hear them but I can't hear their words but I know they're talking about me- they always are because I am such a big disappointment nowadays. But I refuse to listen in on them or even think about them.

They have no clue what is like being me.

But my friend knows all the answers; it knows how to take away the pain. I grab the box and open it with shaky hands, not caring if I am making a lot of noise. I grab another box and tear the lid off, my breathing coming as short sharp gasps as my heart starts to hammer and my skin crawls from past experience about what I am going to do. The fading light of day glints of the chrome face, begging me to take it between my fingers and feel the coolness of the metal and the sharpness of it's edge. I obey like always, falling back onto my knees and staring at the small object as I hold it out in front of me like it holds all the answers. But of course it does, it knows how to make it better, it makes it easier to get through another day.

I have the desire to smile but don't. Outside it has gone silent leaving me in peace even though I know he hasn't left. But I don't care. With sacred care I sit myself up on my comfortable bed and pulled down the hem of my jeans and boxers slightly, revealing all the other times I have had to confide in my friend.

The pink scars stare up at me through the older white scars and the deep purple ones that are much more recent. Amongst the carefully placed lines there are new lines, some slightly red and swollen and others becoming flaking scabs as they age. Still humming to myself a song of safety, I place my friend onto the skin of my hip and press down hard before dragging the sharp edge over the creamy white skin.

The pain swells up along with the first few beads of red blood, bubbling up from the thin slice and over my pale skin. The colour contrast intrigue me- they look so beautiful.

The physical pain consumes me but it is far better than the metal pain that accompanies all my insecurities and problems. It pushes away every problem that consumes my body and forces me to push away the people who I care about. This pain feels real and satisfying, it doesn't eat me from the inside and I can forget about it much easier than the mental anguish that's inside.

Finally I feel some peace inside of me, like the euphoria of Colombia's finest. I find it easier to move and breathe and think and I carefully replace my chrome friend back in the secret boxes and hide them away before anyone finds out about them. But just as I rise from the floor, the lock clicks open and the door is thrown open making me jump. I see the thunderous look on his face causing me to shy away as he enters my bedroom. But amongst the fire in his eyes I can see the sadness and the disappointment- all meant for me.

"Please…" I bed feebly as he approaches me. "Please… I haven't…"

"I don't believe you." He murmurs blankly and crouches down in front of me.

I can only cry as he draws up the sleeves of my jersey, checking my wrists and forearms roughly before drawing my sleeves down. I can only cry as he pulls the hem of my jersey and t-shirt up and examines my pale stomach, running one of his smooth hands over my skin like he always does. I can only cry as he undoes my jeans and tug them down enough to expose what he is looking for.

The fresh cut has been smudge, orange- red blood smeared over my skin like body paint. I can see the disappointment in him as he sighs and runs a finger over it tenderly. But still the slightest touch is painful and I whimper from the contact, wanting nothing more than to curl up and cry myself to sleep.

"Oh Robbie." He sighs and looks at me with his sad eyes. "Why did you do it?"

"I…." I trail off and look away, pulling myself into a ball where I have fallen.

"You know you shouldn't do this." He murmurs and picks me up with ease. "You know you have to stop."

He says I have to- but do I really?

He lays me down on my bed and pulls my socks and shoes off, before heading into my bathroom. I know he has gone for the cleaning materials and I know I should run but I just lay there sniffling and whimpering like a pathetic child whilst he tugs at my clothes until I am down to my boxers. I find some comfort in his touch, letting him hold me and caress me as I sob bitterly.

"Please don't." I cry as he pours some cleaning solution onto a piece of cotton wool. "Please, don't, I don't want it."

"Shh." He purrs and kisses my stomach gently. "It'll be okay."

The softness of his lips is enough to calm me. His lips are so soft and caring, slightly damp from when he licks them and incredibly warm. Too many times for me to count had his lips warmed my cold body with just a single kiss so light that it is like butterflies are dancing on my skin.

But because I trust him so much I don't fight when he presses the offending material down onto my wounded skin, causing the most unbearable burning sensation to rise up making me cry out. It's weird how the pain of my friend is so much better than this, but this only seems to leave my skin aching an aching that seeps into my bones.

"It's for your own good." He murmurs and throws the cotton wool away. "It'll stop it from becoming infected."

"I don't care." I cry and writhe on the bed from the unbearable pain.

"Shh." He soothes me and pulls me into his arms. "Come on now, calm down. It's all over now."

Of course I believe him- give me one good reason why I shouldn't believe the person I love so much? He has never lied to me- it is I who has lied to him about my cuts and scratches. But he forgives me every time and every time I feel like I deserve him even less than the time before.

"You're hurting me you know?" He whispers as his hands run over the bare expanse of my stomach and down to my boxers. "You hurt me every time you do this to yourself, precious."

I can only stare up into his sad eyes as he speaks, his voice so soft and angelic but full of so much pain. I let him press his lips to mine in a soft loving kiss, his soft skin caressing mine whilst his hot wet tongue runs over my lips, soft, tender and loving with no intentions of hurting me. Out of habit I wrap my arms around his clothed body, running my fingers under the material of his shirt and stroking the soft skin of his back. The touch of his skin warms me through and I sigh into our kiss, moving my hips up as his hands tug my boxers down and grab my ass.

I can never understand how we end up like this after every time. But still I go with it, longing to have his skin against mine and to feel his warmth. I slide his shirt over his head and throw it away, his own hands undoing his pants and pushing them down with along with his boxers until they too are forgotten to the floor. I allow him to pull me onto his lap, his erection pressing into my thigh as the kiss deepens, our tongues battling for space in each other's mouth.

His hands urge my hips up, I complying willingly as I feel the heat of his skin against mine, our skin around becoming clammy with sweat already.

In silence I drive myself down onto his erection, my breathing hitching as my body protests from the new stinging sensation but this is another pain I can bear merely because I know pleasure follows and that it's with him that I'm experiencing it. His hands grip my hips tightly, his nails almost digging into my skin. But I slowly move, drawing out long moans from his precious lips and tilt my head back, letting the euphoria of pleasure wash through me.

This unity of our bodies shows me how much I love him and that I would try anything for him. The way his lips brush over the nape of my neck as I build up a steady rhythm, his body shaking under mine and beads of sweat rolling down his creamy skin is like heaven to me and I savour these moments of bliss as our bodies writhe in the pleasure.

I feel his hot wet tongue lapping at the skin of my chest as he leaves wet kisses over my skin, his breath hitting the wet patches and sending chills down my spine. I shiver as I feel one of his hands slide down my damp skin to my erection and grip it firmly. Suddenly my field of pleasure is elevated and I feel my body screaming in desire as a burning ache grows in my lower abdomen begging for release.

But these moments of pleasure and love can’t live on forever and soon we both shudder from the power of our orgasm before we collapse into a heap of legs and arms on the mattress, our bodies numb from euphoria of release.

“I love you Rob.” He murmurs quietly. “But you have to stop doing this.”

His words stay in my mind long after he has fallen asleep beside me, his arm wrapped around my waist and his chin resting on my head. He asks for so little but when he does ask, he asks for things I feel I cannot accomplish. I lie by his side, listening to his words echo in my mind whilst my thoughts disagree with what he has asked of me.

I cannot stop- even when he begs I cannot, this is my release from a pain far stronger than any physical torture.

But the days slip by carefully; life in my home is the same way it always is. Him watching my every move as I walk around in a cloud of numbness, unhearing to anything he has to say.

Here I feel like I am floating above the rest waiting for the time I will crash down and seek out more release.

He says this is wrong.

I shouldn’t do this to myself.

But I can’t figure out what’s so wrong about this.

My mind argues that it isn’t wrong whilst I dumbly listen to his pleads. He begs me to stops, tears cascading down his face as I sit on a seat before him, my hips bloody once again, red liquid drying under my stubby nails. He threatens to take me away from my home. He threatens to take me to a place where there won’t be any chrome release, he says that they’ll lock me away and feed me on drugs, he asks if this is what I want. In truth it is.

To be locked away from society and hidden away.

It is exactly what I want.

But I tell him no anyway and watch as he goes off to get the cleaning materials again.

This has become our weekly ritual.

His tears.

My tears.

My blood.

But even though I regret seeing the sadness in his eyes, I am comforted by the numbness that has always followed my chrome release and I am starting to believe this is the reason I have not made a promise to him to stop.

“I’m not leaving you Robbie.” He murmurs as he pins me against the chair and presses the wet cotton to my skin. “I’ll never leave you so if you’re doing this to push me away then stop.”

“It’s not because of you.” I whisper and look up into his eyes. “It’s because of me.”

Then one day he demands I go out with James and Akio.

I can’t say no so I let them take me away from my refuge even when I feel my lungs shutting down and the insecurity of people watching me possesses my body. They take me to a park like I am some sort of little child wrapped up in a big grey jersey that smells of him and dusty blue jeans that cover over every inch of my legs.

James says that he has a surprise install for me but Akio quickly silences him and changes the subject onto the album.

The hours drag out as the grey clouds grow darker and the air becomes cooler as the first droplets of warm summer rain begin to fall. I watch as they splash against the pavement and stain my jeans and hoodie. Something about the rain calms my senses and I watch as more and more droplets fall onto my skin and clothes until Akio pulls me back towards his car telling me it’s time to go.

But we don’t go back to my home where I am safe. Instead they drive me to another part of this large city where the trees are palms and not sycamores and the air is fragrant with citrus and jasmine.

His home looms at the end of the long gravel drive hidden by redwoods and palm trees and I know what his surprise now is.

“We’re home.” Akio smiles at me kindly.

“No we’re not.” I answer blankly. “This isn’t my house.”

“I know.” Akio nods once slowly. “But you’re living here now.”

I try to fight when He comes out the front door and Akio and James try to pull me from the car. I know why he has done this- to keep me away from my friend so that I can’t find release. He tells me it’s for my own good as I struggle against him.

But somehow he is stronger than me and manages to pull my into the house where Akio and James leave us so I can settle in.

“Why?” I scream at him. “Why can’t I go home?”

“Because it’s not good for you there.” He answers too calmly for my liking. “Here you are safe and here I can make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

And he is right.

He has hidden all the knifes and scissors and even pins. He has locked all the medicine cabinets and gotten rid of all the alcohol and chemicals. His home is dry and safe in his eyes.

So I become my own prisoner in his home as I wander through days of silence and careful words waiting until I can go home and find some release from this pain that grows with every second I am trapped here. He says that he’ll take me home once he knows I am getting better. He also says I am showing no signs of improving and I have been here over two weeks now.

“Just take me home.” I cry as he wraps his arms around me and rocks me gently. “Please?”

“I can’t do that precious.” He murmurs.

So one day I decide to take matters into my own hands.

I walk around the maze of rooms in his large expensive home making sure he hasn’t left anything out that I can use. Finally I come to his studio where he has all of his instruments. I have been in here many times before, watching as he worked and staring at all the photos of him and his family. Now though I have come in for a different reason, one that isn’t so casual and social.

My search takes me a while but I stumble across a pair of scissors he uses to tidy up his strings no doubt. I feel some triumph rise in me and I take my newfound friend down outside into the large, professionally crafted garden.

Today it is raining, the droplets of rain bringing the water in the large pool to life. I stare down at it feeling the warm rain hit the back of my neck and run down my back. Then I slowly raise my wrist and open up the scissors until the sharpest edge is expose to the rain.

Feeling my heart hammering in my chest and my mind screaming me to hurry up, I press the edge to my wrist and drag it along slowly, feeling my skin tear and my muscles spasm in protest.

The blade comes away bloody, the blood bubbling up from my cut angrily, quickly rolling off my skin and falling onto the wet pavement and mixing with the water. The pain roars through my arm, the torn skin reddening with pain. The steady flow of blood fascinates me so I do the same thing to my other wrist, the skin once against tearing and more angry red blood bubbling up.

Then something happens that has never happened before.

A wave of nausea hits me, causing my vision to become blurry and my head to feel light like it is full of nothing but air. The blood feels hot against my skin as it dribbles off my fingertips and onto the pavement or into the pool water turning it a pinkish colour. I feel my body swaying as my muscles go flaccid and shaky. Somewhere inside my head, a warning bell is going off and my heart is pumping faster than ever before.

Then my legs give out completely and I fall into the cold water of the pool, hitting the bottom roughly before slowly floating back to the surface. Around me the water is turning a reddish colour and my wounds look like raw cuts in the flesh whenever the blood isn’t running out of them. I feel the lightness in my head spreading to the rest of my body and the blurriness in my eyes becoming darker…

Before the darkness consumes me.

---

The blackness is thick and numbing.

Here I feel or see nothing but soon that fades away and dim light fills my view. Slowly I feel the rest of my body, aches and pains especially in my arms. I hear beeping and the distant ring of a telephone. For sometime I lay where I am listening to all the strange sounds and battling the strange feeling of numbness in my head as I try to figure out where I am.

I know this isn’t heaven because I am feeling too much and it looks too real.

Plus his face confirms that.

The tears stain his face as sadness makes his eyes dark and cold. He grips my hand and tells me that I nearly died. He asks if I am happy now that I have nearly died but I don’t answer.

Then he starts yelling, telling me that I’m killing him, that I am breaking his heart by doing this.

He says it’s wrong.

I shouldn’t do it.

And I feel bad because I am putting him through this.

I tell him that I’m sorry but this just seems to make him cry even more.

“If you’re so sorry then why do you keep doing it?” He asks.

“Because I can’t stop.” I answer quietly and stare down at my bandaged wrists. “Because I don’t want to stop.”

“But I want you to stop.” He retorts. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

I manage to find some will to look at him. “It means everything.”

Days pass and he takes me home. The others come and go talking to him mainly, talking to me occasionally like I am some small child. Joe is the only one who talks to me normally. He smiles and talks about normal things like the weather and TV shows. The others talk about when I get better and when I’ve had some rest.

It sickens me.

But soon they stop visiting so much. He has told them I’ll be better soon once I have gone to a special doctor and taken some proper medication. He says I’ll be better when I admit what I am doing is wrong.

Now there is no chrome release in his home and he won’t even acknowledge me when I ask about going back to my own house. It upsets me but eventually I see no point in asking anymore and I stay in his home and in this fragile silence.

Some days he forces me to go out, telling me that staying inside can’t good for me.

He takes me to the parks where we used to love walking. He holds my bony hand and whispers sweet nothing in my ear making the warmth run through my veins. His lips sometimes brush against my skin when we walk and he whispers and I feel my need to have him near me growing again.

Then sometimes he just drives around for hours, whilst I sit in the passenger seat listening to the music and staring at the world outside this temporary haven. When he does talk he asks me what’s on my mind but not even I know that answer so I make things up and tell him that I think about him and the band.

Then three weeks after I have come home from the hospital he takes me to see a doctor even when I beg him not to do so.

The doctor listens as he explains what is happening to me, the doctor gives me the occasional glance but he never once looks at me not even when the doctor says she will give me something to help me feel better and even suggests some counselling.

So the battle begins.

Every morning he hands me two white pills and a glass of water and refuses to leave me be until I have swallowed them both down. Our struggle isn’t physical, more like mentally as he makes promises that I know he’ll keep. He knows every way of breaking me; from the way he speaks to the words he says and the way his eyes reflect his true emotions.

And he makes no effort to hide it from me simply because he knows it’s what breaks me in the end.

Then the cloud of numbness falls and I feel an invisible wall being built up around me making me immune to what happens outside my body. I barely notice time pass by whilst inside the thoughts run a million miles an hour searching for escape. It is like I have been forced to live inside my head, watching through misted eyes as time ticks away slowly and the day bleeds away until night falls and I find refuge in my sleep.

Two months pass like this, every day a waste seeming I am unable to function properly.

He talks to me even when he’s not sure I can hear him. He has long since expected no answer but keeps talking anyway maybe in hope of bringing me back from the pits of my desolation.

But day after day it seems to him he is failing when really he is succeeding. Inside I feel some control coming back with the words he speaks, he doesn’t talk about when I get better but about the good old days and about things we used to talk about before I became this lost soul. Still he never gives up and while I listen to him my thoughts start to fall away one by one until only one is left inside my head.

I need release.

So one day I wait until the initial affects of the drugs wear off and sit in my usual seat by the large bay windows in his Lounge listening to him clearing up in the kitchen. He comes through as usual and sits beside me, this time resting his chin on my shoulder. Then he begins to talk about the weather and where Akio took Anna on holiday this year.

“He took her to Tokyo.” I correct him when he says Hong Kong instead. “Tokyo, not Hong Kong. He had family in Tokyo who couldn’t make it to the wedding.”

I feel him sit up beside me and I slowly turn my head to look at him, instantly being greeted by a large grin upon his angelic face.

“I was starting to forget what your voice sounded like, precious.” He breathes and run a hand along my cheek gently.

“But I heard every word you said.” I answer, staring into his dark eyes.

Another smile graces his face and he hugs me tightly telling me how glad he is that I am talking again. What he doesn’t know is I have carefully selected this day for one reason.

Every Wednesday he goes to visit his mother leaving James to look after me.

But James always turns up half an hour after he leaves giving me time to do what I need to escape this bugging thought.

So he leaves as usual promising not to be gone for long and leave me at the mercy of the forever-hyper James. I watch him go feeling the old urge to smile but never following through. Then when I hear his car pulling out of the drive I raise from my seat and head into the garage where he has hidden everything he thinks will harm me.

I learnt a while ago where he put everything, mainly because he’d always go into the garage before preparing dinner and let’s face it, you can’t prepare dinner without a knife every night.

So I head out there and over to the draws he has hidden every knife he owns. I pull it open and search through the sharp objects until I find one that faintly resembles my razor friend.

Why not use any knife?

Because I only want to find release not kill myself.

So I head back inside and up into the bathroom where I close and lock the door. I undo my belt and pull my boxers and jeans down like I used to and look down at the pink and white scars.

It has been a long time.

But I feel routine coming to me.

And routines never fail.

He said this was wrong.

That I needed to stop…

I haven't figured out why this is wrong but Adam said it is…

And I love Adam…

But I can’t stop.