Yes. I know. I shouldn't be writing anymore freakin one-shots and that I should be working on LoTU. I know. Shame on me. But call this sudden inspiration. I couldn't help but be compelled to write this. Also, probably my favorite parts of the story are where I put in random French phrases.

Well, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed, but no "you suck" or "that was stupid."Flames will be used to heat my bath. Yadda yadda. And so on and so forth. Enjoy!!

I bang my head against the wall, a small spurt of red gushing forth from the tiny insision.

People might call me crazy for wanting to do this to myself, but I tell them I could care less what they think.

Mom... Dad... Everyone... they all hated me for what I am.

Maybe this time, I can cut deep enough to never feel again...

Perhaps, I should take the time to back up and give you the reason why I'm here now in the floor, cutting into my wrist.

My name isn't important. But from the way Mom named me, you'd think she had wanted a girl instead of me.

A boy who looks like a girl.

Je suis une beauté de chose... Pourtant je suis hideux...

My hair is long and blonde and I take pride in the fact that no pair of scissors controlled by another has been given the chance to graze my head and it still look this good. In fact, the only time I cut it is when I can't see through my bangs and have to cut it myself.

I don't trust other people with my hair or blades.

Also, I have the longest and sootiest lashes of anyone who went to my high school. Even the girls who took the time to cake truckloads of eyeliner and mascara around their eyes don't look as good as me.

Sure, I'm being arrogant. But it's the truth.

The truth he told me. The one I love.

Même si c'était un mensonge... Je l'aime tout de même...

I pant a few times before digging out the silvery blade and looking over the crimson liquid issuing forth from my arm.

I might be dead in a few moments, so I'll make it quick.

Sure, Mom and Dad may hated me, but I know a few people I love.

Genevieve. My little sister.

I may be six years older than her, but I felt like I could talk to her as my equal. Like I could talk to her about anything at all and she'd understand in an instant.

Like, the time I was mistaken for a girl (yet again) and was felt up by some random guy from my Geometry class, or the time I got a black eye from Dad when he came home drunk that night (as he usually does.) She just... listened. And when I was done crying, she hugged me and told me it was all alright.

I'm sixteen, and a ten-year-old acted as my mother.

How sad.

But still, she means everything to me.

Better yet, meant everything to me.

Vous étiez le seul l'un qui a compris... et maintenant je suis perdu dans l'obscurité...

Yet another night, Dad came home, but he wasn't drunk. No, something much worse happened. He was strangely somber, and looked at us as if he wasn't sure who we were. His eyes were glazed, and his breathing became shallower and shallower by the passing minute.

Then it happened.

All I remember is screaming and howling as Mom and Genevieve were ripped apart, and after I had almost been mauled to death, Dad ran off, growling and snarling and carrying off what was left of the only person that meant anything to me.

I grind the razor back into my arm, tears beginning to come to my eyes. Burning, hot, stinging tears.

Je pleure ces déchirures d'honte... Je ne pourrais pas vous épargner... Je ne peux pas m'épargner...

I remember running, and running. I remember tripping and falling.

I remember darkness.

And then I remember waking up.

There I saw him, his sheet ice blue eyes burning through me. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. But for that instant, I didn't care. All I wanted to know was who this guy was, and what he wanted from me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he placed a finger to my lips. He told me softly that he didn't intend to hurt me; that he had found me passed out on the street and wanted to lend a hand.

He called himself "Diablo", and that he was, as they call them, an "amoroso." But there was something in his eyes that told me he wasn't human.

Perhaps he could tell the same by looking into mine.

We were both inhuman in this human world.

Le diable demeure dans nous tous a déformé...

And then something sparked in both of us that caused... things.. to happen. Call it hormones, call it loneliness, or whatever you may.

I look at my scar of his name, carved on my right wrist, and I think of him, and what he did to me that night.

There was something sensual about the way he touched me, and at first I was reluctant. He made the first moves, and I panicked and tried to escape. But I knew I was too deep (or he was, if you really think about it) and there was no way to turn back. It became consensual halfway through, and this kind of pain was something I wasn't used to, but I still came to enjoy it partially, I must admit.

I hate to say it. I really do. I liked it.

J'ai aimé la façon vous m'avez aimé... M'a tué...

It was that night I became his, and he titled me "Sol Amarillo."

Yes, a Spaniard. A sexy one at that. I hate to admit that too.

He lived in an apartment nearby, and he had a tendency of packing up every few weeks and moving across half the world to fill his tastes.

I met several others who weren't human like me, and a few that were human unlike me.

"Margarita", or Daisy as her real name was, was immediately likeable, and still to this day we're friends, even if she is a human. She reminds me of an older, much more capable Genevieve. "Silincio" (I never learned his name, unfortunately), another human, was always close to Margarita, and he spoke seldom, if at all. Really, I don't recall ever hearing his voice.

Then there were those like me, "Dolor", "Pánico", and "Camellia."

I could care less about the other two girls (yeah, I know that's cruel), but Camellia, or Mukan as he wished to be called, and I became inseparable.

Vous remercier mon meilleur ami... Ne jamais m'oublier...

His hair was short and violet, and his eyes glistened a bright tangerine shade that seemed to light up everything. He had a tendency to wear black lipstick, and still to this day refuses to go anywhere without it. He also did everything Diablo said, and I'm still convinced they’d be cute together.

It took me a while to settle in, but everyone was kind to me, and eventually, I began to traffic my body as if it was always the way life was.

My left arm is going numb, and the floor has gone from its usual chestnut polish to a deep burgundy finish.

Un beau sonnet rouge... A fait la mise en page de pour vous...

A few days later, I met the one other person I ever allowed my heart to open up to.

It was raining that evening, and the streets were wet and the sky was grey, so that no light could penetrate the dark sky. After a while, I began to shiver profusely and I started to think my feet were going to freeze off. I was thinking of going back to Diablo when I saw him. The one who would tell me all those things.

He stood there, a black umbrella over his head, his tawny yellow eyes glancing every-so-often at his watch. In his other hand, he held a grocery bag that looked as if the handles were on the edge of snapping.

Then suddenly, his eyes caught mine, and he jogged over the street, despite the oncoming traffic, and asked me softly if I was lost.

Vous m'avez aimé de ce moment... J'ai su que je vous aimerais aussi...

Yet another Spanish accent. Ah, I melt at that.

I told him I was fine, but he insisted that we share his umbrella. I blushed, of course, being the little girly-boy I am.

We walked a few blocks and came across a coffee shop, and he baited me into grabbing a drink with him.

The store was warm, and we got quite a few looks. Mainly me. I wasn't wearing the most... publicly... acceptable clothes. Let's just say about eighty percent of my body (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating) was showing. But you know, not a lot of guys have the guts or the shape to show it off, and if I had it, I wasn't going to hide it.

I asked for a light mocha latte while he asked for nothing.

We took our seats and I sipped slowly at the latte, the feeling in my toes slowly beginning to return.

He watched me intently as I partook of the delicious drink.

Vous êtes sous mon charme... il n'y a pas d'évasion...

Let's be honest. Anyone would be freaked out if someone was watching them the way he was watching me. But... it was kind of nice. It was as if I was a magician and he was deep under my trance.

I finished my drink and threw the empty Styrofoam cup away. Out of necessity, I asked him if he wanted anything, and he said he was sure that what I had drunk was enough between the both of us.

I smiled, the first time in a long time.

And when he smiled, I saw his fangs and furrowed my brow. So, he wasn't human like me. But he wasn't human... in a different way. And at this, I was a little scared. Diablo had told me that those of his kind were a danger to those of my kind, and that a bite from the former could kill the latter and vice-versa.

Yet, I had also been told of those who might become both of those kinds, with the powers combined of both races.

He told me it was rare.

But at that moment, I wanted him.

And so he invited me back to his place.

Je suivrai... Parce que vous êtes mon espoir à jamais perdu...

I feel tears come to my eyes at the thought. Oh, it was unlike that time with Diablo. Very unlike that night.

It was awkward at first, and he asked me my name. "Sol Amarillo", I told him. But he said he wanted my real name.

Now I know Diablo told me not to share my name, but really, this man was someone I felt I could trust. So I told him my real name and he told me his.

"Arquele." How I love that name.

Well, one thing led to another, and I found myself in his arms, crying my eyes out and telling him everything I hated about myself.

That's probably why I'm doing this to myself now. I've always hated myself. Everything about me is imperfect, and I have nothing to make up for it.

Je me déteste... Il n'y a pas d'évasion de me...

It was then that I looked up into his eyes and heard all those things I needed to hear. Even Genevieve never said anything so sweet as what he told me. He told me of my beauty, and how he would take his life for my smile.

He told me it was love at first sight, and I was drunk on his champagne eyes.

Prendre mon corps... Mon âme... Me faire votre poupée corrompue...

I didn't fear him; I took it all in. I sighed and I moaned, I panted and I screamed all I wanted and loved every minute of it. Every touch, every feel, every kiss... It was my own heaven.

And when I felt his fangs sink deeply into the tender flesh of my neck, I let out a silent scream of pleasure and bit him instinctively back, drawing out some of his blood in turn.

His blood tasted strange, almost metallic. And I suddenly realized that if I was like any norm of my kind, I would've been dead by now.

I knew I wasn't to die... That I was one of the ones that Diablo had told me of... and that my body would change to that of both races...

I remember feeling pain, slightly, like one of my usual transformations, and I saw my own blood dark against the pale pillow. And time went by, and soon the pain ebbed away, and I was a new being, panting against the manila sheets stained with blood.

And then I remember falling asleep in his arms, cuddled close, happy for the first time in a long time...

Vous êtes la lumière à la fin du tunnel... Me livrer de cet Enfer...

I lean against the window again, my breath growing short. I didn't really plan on killing myself... I just wanted one last cut before I quit this addiction for good.

I was sad when I saw that he had left, but I found a note stacked on top of my clothes that was a short "I love you." It made me smile, I remember, and as I left I memorized the address so that I might see him again.

I reported to Diablo, and he said we were moving to America tomorrow.

My heart sunk, and I knew I would never see Arquele again.

And now I'm here, and we're going to leave in two more hours. I wish I didn't pity myself as much as I do now. It's disgusting.

I wish I could see him... one last time...

I reach over and open the cabinet beneath the sink and wrap a few bandages around my arm. Though I can still feel the blood seeping through, I throw on a shirt, fly down the stairs, and out into the fading evening.

My legs hurt, I can barely breathe, but I want to see him... I must see him...

Bien que je suis faible... Je traînerai la Terre juste pour embrasser vos lèvres...

Just when I feel I'm about to collapse, I see him on the street corner, as if he had been waiting for me the whole time.

I fall into his arms, and he holds me tight.

I say I never want to let him go, and he whispers that we would meet again... He promises.

Our last kiss is beautiful, and I tell him that I promise too... I'll find him again someday. Even if it takes an eternity...

And then he leaves my arms, leaving his taste on my lips...

I love you...

Mon éternité est pour vous... Nous rencontrerons encore...

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