Destructive Nature

Third Part To Comforting Lie

Taichi K. Hakubi

(You just can't see the beauty in blood like I do, but I know you want to)

*

            I roughly close my hand around his wrist and press my lips against his pulse.

            But it still isn't you. Your pulse was much more seductive.

            I brush away his dark brown hair with my free hand while I continue to kiss and nip at his wrist. He moans pitifully.

            You were much better at moaning.

            I slowly sink my teeth in harder, drawing his coppery blood into my mouth.

It's not as warm as yours was. It's not as delicious as yours was.

I draw my attentions away from his wrist and slowly place my face close to his. His brown eyes widen in fear.

But it doesn't turn me on as much as you did.

His eyes aren't as gorgeous as your amber gaze was.

Nothing this boy was could compare to what you were.


            You were my everything. You were always my consort when I was needy. You never asked questions, just let me take you as though you were nothing. You were everything.

But of course, that was because you were my willing yet unwilling plaything. You'd bend to my will because you belonged to me. You didn't dare leave me because you didn't know the option was there. You didn't know that you could leave me. You only knew that I was there, and that I needed you. You only had your sense of obligation to serve me. You bent backwards for me. You let me break you. You let me destroy your will with my sensuous affections. You let me take your will away until it was as though it never existed. You had no will. You only knew of my will.

I just didn't expect you to grow a will of your own again and run away from me.

The boy's back arches and I find myself already losing interest. His body is sleek and shiny with sweat as I slowly push myself in and out. It's become boring so fast and it's all I can do not to cry out in frustration and anguish.

He'll never look as good as you did.

Even the most painful expressions on your face could look so beautiful. I wanted to make you sweat and cry for as long as possible. You were gorgeous.

I finally find release and pull out quickly. Instead of taking the boy into my arms, I move over to sit at the foot of the bed, already reached for my jacket for a cigarette. I hear the boy whimper but I don't spare him a single glance as I flick open my lighter with a sinister click.

"Kojiro-sama…" The boy whispers meekly, and I can feel him tugging at the sheet, trying to cover himself. I snort in disgust.

You never tried to cover yourself. You knew that modesty between us no longer mattered. I knew you inside and out and vise versa. There was nothing to hide… like that attractive mole you have on your inner right thigh…

I groan aloud and clasp my head in my hands, trying to shake away the image of you.

You're gone now.

You've left me.

I'm empty.

I'm alone.

Who are you comforting now?

Who is holding you right now?

Who is lucky enough to be loved by you now?

"What is it?" I say after many moments pass. I can feel hot tears stinging at my eyes and I hate my body's betrayal.

"I… are you… you finished?" He asks. I hold down the urge to slap him.

You'd never ask if I was finished. You always let me sit in my silence until I finally left.

What do you do after I leave the room? I sometimes wonder…

Do you cry? Do you bleed? Do you just go back to sleep and pretend I wasn't there?

"Yes. I'm finished." I say coldly, standing up and dropping the lighter onto the bed. Don't worry, I closed it first.

You always told me I was destructive and had a pyromaniac side.

I suppose a part of me wants to prove you wrong.

But I can't.

Because destruction is in my blood.

It is my nature. 

It is what I was born with.

It is my reality.

            …And a twisted, sick, perverted side of me wanted me to share that reality with you, no matter how much you didn't want it.

The boy gets out of the bed, shuffling clumsily around the room for his clothes. Instead of turning on a light to help him, I settle myself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with my hands supporting behind me.

"Uh… goodnight Kojiro-sama." He whispers nervously, after pulling his shirt over his head. I snort and nod my head toward the nightstand.

The boy stumbles towards the nightstand and fidgets nervously when he spots the silver knife glinting in the moonlight. Sending me a quick, fearful, yet perversely aroused glance, he picks up the small pouch of money beside it; his payment.  

You never expected me to pay you.

I snort as he closes the door and close my eyes.

You never liked that knife.

I open my eyes and stare at it for many moments. I smile, aware that I must look like a total maniac. You hated that knife. I used to love it. I hate it now too.

The morning you left, I found that knife lying on your bed, looking out of place on that neatly made bed with no creases or folds.

That was always how you were. The bed was always made perfectly, you always used the right spoon for soup, and you always said 'please' and 'thank you', even if you didn't appreciate it at all. You were always so perfect and sweet and bloody fucking polite.

… I had always enjoyed that about you.

The only indication that you had really run away from me was that knife. The knife I had forced upon you as a 'gift'. The knife that I said would remove your pain. The knife that bonded you to me. The knife you took everywhere with you. The knife that you cherished no matter how much you hated it. You still loved it when I loved it. You were always out to please me, yet never giving me anything at the same time.

…And you gave the knife back to me.

That was your sign of freedom.

That was your heart and tears and blood given back to me tenfold.

And I hate that knife.

I hate it because I made you do bad things with it.

I hate it because it signifies all the horrible things you were forced to do just for my pleasure.

I hate it because it's all I have left of you.

I hate it because now it's my punishment for hurting you.

I hate it because now it is my solace and comfort.

I hate it because it is stained with my blood now.

I hate it because it reminds me not of the wonderful things in you, but the wonderful things you'll be doing in someone else's arms.

I hate that knife.

That night at the pub, I really did sing for you. I know you know that, too. I sang my song for you, but it wasn't enough to bring you back. Nothing I do will ever be enough to bring you back now.

I made you an offer and you turned it down.

You must hate me.

I hate myself.

But I could never hate you.

I could never hate you.

            I could never hate you.

            I love you.

            I love you.

            …I love you.

            I bloody fucking love you.

            …I hurt you because I loved you, Ian. But you just couldn't understand my destructive nature enough to stay.

~Owari~