Author: Limited Edition PM
He was tucked away like an X-rated film in the bottom of the collection box. Beauty; his name was Nemo. -Vampires, slash-Rated: Fiction M - English - Horror - Chapters: 6 - Words: 10,623 - Reviews: 53 - Favs: 18 - Follows: 21 - Updated: 02-11-09 - Published: 06-12-08 - id: 2530883
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Warnings: Slash, vampires, graphic descriptions, explicit content (including sex, necrophilia, gore)
Summary: Nemo has suffered from mental illness half of his life, and suddenly finds himself caught in the internal struggle of jealousy between two vampires. His feelings are becoming more and more disturbed, he doesn't know if he should hate it although it feels so good. Without warning he is made into a slave by the vampire that captured him, unknowing that there are others out to knock him out of the game.
Author's Note: It feels awesome to be back! Chapters will be posted…whenever I feel like it bwahahahaha
I've got a slight problem with the chapter division, but for the sake of simplicity, they're all about the same length, no matter content.
Ehum, I have a certain trick up my sleeve for writing, which means that you won't get much if you skim. Evil much?
Yes, I chose the name Nemo because it means no one, and because I know a heck of a hot boy with that name haha. You've got a problem with that?! :D
Now please enjoy and don't forget to review. Just a sentence or a word will make my day.
Hold you in pages
These words they have
This power over me
I've dreamed of Your Majesty"
By Claire Voyant
He had been tucked away like an adult rated film in the bottom of the collection box.
It was because It was happening more often. He just wished he knew what It was, but they avoided telling him. They just looked at him with those sad, furrowed eyebrows and shook their heads. It was taboo to speak about It in clear words, it seemed, but there was something wrong. He was sick, but he was "going to get better now, with these medications, and people around who know something". He had his suspicions though. The garden where his Mom had planted the roses together with him that spring was ruined, and the wounds on his hands were proof of his guilt.
But he was going to get better now. Nothing was going to hurt him anymore. He just didn't know how he would be able to escape from somebody who wanted to hurt him if he was drugged all the time. But the drugs became his best friends; like soma they guided him away from guilt and into a thoughtless bliss where he didn't need to think about his mother, how he had hurt her; his friends, how they had tried so hard to make him smile. He had wanted to smile, he had wanted to feel like one of them, but he just couldn't. There was something wrong with him all right; he just didn't know what, so he couldn't fix it.
Clementine had once told him that he looked like a china doll. If he had been a broken doll, he could've glued himself together again. He could've always smiled. He felt sorry that he was human after all.
Humanity isn't something you can fix.
He sucked it up and took his medications every day so they wouldn't put him away, but they still did. He "proved a danger to himself and his environment," the paper from the school told his parents. They were called into a meeting. His grades were fine - above average actually - but it was his "eccentric behaviour that worried" them.
So now he had a new room with a window toward a new rose garden to plaster his face to when he sat on the pillow in his bed.
The chill, in contrast to the warm rays of the summer sun, made him shiver. His fingers crawled up beside his cheek to enjoy it, too. He opened his eyes and saw things through a reddish lens from the strong light. His hands were delicate and thin, with long fingers and smooth skin, but they weren't much to look at, mostly because of the scars. They were still scarred badly, but the smarting wounds under his nails were healed. Some of his fingernails were badly damaged, because he had cut his nails too far a few times, especially his thumb. So he tried to hide them when he met a new person. He never voluntarily picked something up in front of others.
He felt quite bad for his whole body. It didn't deserve the treatment his brain gave it. He didn't like to touch his body, or see it in the mirror, and he definitely didn't like anybody else seeing it. Doctors were fine though, it was kind of as if they weren't human. They couldn't judge. He could do it for them reluctantly, because they wouldn't furrow their eyebrows with sympathy and touch him as if he would break.
He closed his eyes again and the red spread behind his eyelids. He could see the tiny veins in them stretched across in a complicated network. He marvelled at the air conditioning that was keeping his clammy feet dry, and made his hair dance in the wind. His hand reached up to the handle of the window, with his face still pressed against it, and pulled it open, to reveal a new morning beginning with the brilliant rosy shafts of sunlight illuminating the sky.
A light drizzle of rain filled the night air with humidity. The illumination of the streetlamps created halos, drifting with the flickering lightning bolts far beyond the city borders. A thick vapour clouded before Ash's mouth with every measured breath. It was a strange night, an unknown situation. Something was going to happen, but no one could say what. It was one of those beginnings; one of those you would prevent if you could, but wouldn't regret if you survived.
"There's a kid in there," Nico said. He stood with his dark back towards Ash, scrutinizing the building across the garden with a penetrating stare. Short lamps lined the small promenade paths through it and high fences surrounded the place. Nowadays, when fences are set, it's not to keep enemies out, it's to keep them in, Ash mused.
"Aren't murderers enough for your sophisticated taste? You prefer fried brain now?"
Nico chuckled, turning his gaze slightly over his shoulder, his pitch black eyes lost in the darkness. "They get boring, don't you think? It's so easy to…" he felt for the right word, "…categorize them." Nico was a tactical man. Nobody could know what went through his mind deciding to come here. That very same quality was also what kept him in such high regard with others. You didn't need eyes to feel his authority infusing presence. He turned his attention to the building again, the raindrops glistening on his black, wavy hair just below the collar of the coat. He was handsome, no doubt.
"Your cruelty knows no boundaries," Ash panted between clenched teeth. If this had been a prison of criminals, it would perhaps have felt better. There was something ominous resting over this place, a quiet mood, a silence. It was too much to bear.
"I could kill you right now," Nico whispered.
Ash flinched. It was true. It could be reversed just as easily as it had been done, and he would no longer have to bear this grudge towards Nico. Although, that didn't mean that he would get his life back as it had been thirty years ago, when he had been human. Nico had changed it, Nico, his master. Cold, tactical Nico, who let nothing get in the way of his love for beauty, not even love itself. Nico had quenched Ash's humanity with the promise of ending misery. But the misery didn't end. The misery was his humanity, and he had come to understand that he needed to hold on to it, or he would become a monster, unable to see the difference between life and death.
The line between hate and love is thin though, and seemed to grow thinner with each passing year. After all, anger is an emotion that wears off with time. What was left now but loneliness? It wasn't worth it to arouse Nico's anger. Ash took a hesitant step forward and gently placed his fingers into Nico's relaxed hand, clutching a finger. He looked at the wet ground, bowing his head to the side. "Why are you so cruel to me?"
No answer. Nico clenched his jaw and persistently stared at the building. Ash clutched the finger harder, rested his forehead against the back of Nico's shoulder, his silver hair draping across the black wool. "Am I wrong?"
"He's beautiful," Nico ignored him, although he was feeling Ash's warm breath against the back of his ear and neck.
Ash concentrated too, searching for the face Nico envisioned so clearly. A boy, sitting on the floor, his side to the wall, his cheek tasting the cold cement, his hands were lifeless. Suddenly, Nico wasn't there. Ash didn't bother to run after; he would let Nico enjoy his meal alone.
Nico's steps reverberated against the hollow walls of the corridor inside the building. His shoes scrunched against the floor when he came to a halt in front of a white room. Empty, naked walls - the silence was only broken by the echoing sound of a loose tap dripping far away. Drip…drip…drip. It was impossible to locate it.
Nico closed his eyes. The boy sat there staring into nothing with filmed over honey eyes. Breathtaking. Nico swallowed. His limbs suddenly felt stiff and feeble. He watched the bitten chapped lips, slightly parted, trembling with inconspicuous breaths passing between them; the pale, almost grey skin; and the wavy golden blonde hair kissing his throat; the naked feet against the floor.
The boy didn't seem to notice him. There was only one thought swimming in his mind: "Death. Death has come to get me. Death."
A suppressed moan escaped Nico's throat.
Beauty - his name was Nemo.