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Title: Silver Savior
Author: Aurelia
Warnings: Slash (m/m), self-mutilation, dark ideas, gothic themes. Rated PG-13.
Notes: My story. My poem. Don't steal. Ask before posting anywhere. I'll say yes.
Dedication: To William. Thank god it isn't in loving memory.

Date Began: January 2, 2002
Date Ended: incomplete
Poem: November 29, 2001

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Midnight lover of my dreams,
So much more than it may seem.
Silver savior, my escape.
Thin red line, the perfect shape.
Slash the skin, slice the vein,
Prove to them that I'm insane.
Let the blood flow freely down,
Hear my body hit the ground,
Feel the pleasure of my sin,
Watch the razor pierce again.

He let the flame graze his finger, washing his body with sweet pain. A simple distraction, pain. One that many teenagers use at some point or another, unless they do drugs. But he would never touch those. This was something he could control, his hand running above the candle. He could control the razor cutting into his skin. But foreign material in his body he had no power over.

He stared into the flame, mesmerized by its ever-changing form. But things nagged at the back of his mind. Memories, realities, fears. Too many thoughts to bear, too many decisions, too many shattered dreams.

The blade glinted in the dim candlelight, calling to the desperate boy. He pulled his sleeve up, revealing countless reminders of his sacred sin. Some of the slashes had long ago become scars, while others were new, fresh. He was aware the sight was echoed in the bathroom mirror, but he didn't dare to look up. Instead, he grabbed the razor, pressing down before any doubts could make themselves known.

Oh pain, sweet pain. Such intoxicating pain. An overwhelming sensation that decimates all thought, destroying the memories for a few fleeting seconds. A perverse ecstasy where all is lost, an enticing mixture of pleasure and physical torment.

It was useless to try to calculate the time it took, for the world seemed to stop when that cold blade dug into his skin. All he knew was that there were new marks covering his arm, cuts deeper than any of the others. The sink was smeared with red, the hard floor streaked with his life.

He shivered suddenly, feeling cold and dizzy. The bathroom was freezing, and he'd drawn more blood than he'd meant to. Wrapping his arms around himself, he let the crimson-stained blade drop to the counter. He would clean it up before his parents returned.

The overhead light came on suddenly, and he squinted in the glare, eyes unaccustomed to such brightness.

"Wes!"

The boy turned towards the door, dreading who he would find. He glanced up only briefly, but it was long enough to see the look of horror on his boyfriend's face.

"M-Michael," he stammered; his teeth were chattering. Why was it so cold?

"What have you done? Wesley! Why did you do this?!" Michael asked, looking frantically around the bathroom, and then grabbing a handful of toilet paper. He tried to press it to his lover's arm, but Wesley pulled away.

"Leave them be," he murmured. "They'll be alright. God, but it's so cold..."

Michael stared at him for a moment, fighting back tears. Then he threw aside his rejected means of aid and drew Wesley into his embrace.

"So cold..." mumbled Wesley, but Michael's eyes were fixed to the floor.

Red. All he could see was red. So much blood from such a small source. Wesley had always been short and thin, with feminine grace and a lithe body, but never had he looked so frail. His face, his arms, his entire body was far too pale.

"Cold..." Wesley breathed, and Michael pulled away from him.

"Wes, we need to..."

Colors danced before Wesley's eyes, and Michael's voice grew faint.

/Red, red, such pretty red. All the world is bathed in red./

The bathroom began to fade from view, yet he was more aware than he had ever been. He could feel the blood on his arms, from the small drop that slowly rolled down his wrist to the dried evidence of guilty pleasures.

/Happily bleeding...but I'm still breathing...happily bleeding...but I'm still breathing.../

He stumbled, bare feet slipping on his own blood, causing him to fall to the floor. The last thing he heard was Michael screaming his name, and then everything went black.

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TBC -

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