You're a perfect human being if there ever was one. You're elegant in the way you move, the way you speak, hold yourself, full of such eloquence, such confidence. You're a know-it-all with your head up your ass, and I love you.
We grew up together—from diapers to graduation, we've been best friends, and I couldn't have asked for anyone better to grow up with. And while I never really fit in with your cool show choir buddies or fellow tennis players, I know I have a special place, somewhere, in your heart.
At least, I think so…most of the time.
You don't need me. You don't even seem to want me sometimes. I'm just an ugly blemish on otherwise smooth and perfect skin. A block of mass you keep around. But why?
Maybe I'm some kind of entertainment to you; three or four nosebleeds a day, awkward sputtering, dorky posture. You tease me. You flirt. You either hate me or genuinely care about me, and I can't tell which.
I mean, it's not like I can say to myself, "Well, Aiden, he keeps you around, doesn't he? He must like you, at least as a friend," because you don't necessarily keep around people you like; you keep around people who fucking worship you.
And let's be honest…that's pretty much everyone we know.
You're incredibly attractive and intelligent, charismatic; you can charm anyone into flattering you, and that's enough to keep you interested.
I have to delve into a psychological rant. Excuse me.
I have this theory that you really hate half the people you surround yourself with. You were diagnosed as autistic when you were about seven, I guess, but you were silent before that. You were silent most of your life, actually; you would speak for a few months, remain silent for a few years. You received a lot of negative attention from cruel kids at Catholic school, so you weren't near as popular as you became at the start of your junior year in high school.
I think you discovered your new talent (singing) and realized how cute you are, smart, too, and since you may've felt a bit deprived of positive attention as a child, you take what you can get of it now.
Maybe I'm right; maybe I'm wrong. All I know is you have a very strong reaction to rejection, as a lot of people with autism do and definitely should. You were unfairly made an outcast your whole life. But you want everyone to love you, and how someone couldn't, I don't know. But if you have one, tiny, negative reaction from anyone…you fall off the edge.
So, you'll take anyone who gives you any sort of positive attention, and I don't understand.
I know you'll probably end up with someone inconsiderate, like John, who doesn't appreciate you or pay attention to you like I do. And you'll whine to me.
Not that I'll turn you away. Just gladly listen. Feel blessed that I was chosen to be your shoulder to cry on. Wipe those tears from your freckled face and kiss your freckled lips even if I shouldn't.
Your immorality and rebellious attitude have such a strong effect on me. You make me feel things I never even knew existed until I heard you sing or had to stare at you suck on the tip of your pen as you think something over, battling your indecisiveness.
I have never wanted to be so completely engulfed in anyone, take care of them, and protect them. And you're so different and intriguing, and I never do anything just to impress you or get in your pants. I've never been with anyone romantically. Never loved anyone else. Never touched anyone else or had anyone touch me. I don't even like people, Kai.
But I want you.
It's snowing, and you look cuter than usual (but especially Spanish), all wrapped up in your coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. I beam, knowing my cheeks are chafed by the wind; I don't really care, though. You lean in, and my arms coil around your middle, you lips on my cheek.
"Did you honestly wait as long as you could to come see me?"
"Busy," you claim, teeth chattering. "Inside. Please."
Cute is such a disjointed, inappropriate word to describe you, but right now, that's what you are. You're cute, cheeks tinged pink, freckled nose crinkled, brows, heavy and dark, knitted together. You laugh again, your breath visible. You take my hand.
I take you inside, and you immediately ask for hot chocolate.
"I have tea."
You pull a face, taking off your gloves.
"Not even the same thing; don't announce your tea ownership like it's half as good as some marshmallows and hot chocolate, okay?" you grumble, hanging up your coat and scarf.
I can't help but notice how thin you've gotten since I graduated. I haven't seen you in almost six months, and we've only gotten on Skype a couple of times. Texting has been our main form of communication.
I bite my lip.
"Sorry, Kai-pie. Just tea. And water."
"Water, then," you say. You sit on the couch and tug at the sleeves of you grey, hooded pullover, under which you wear a white t-shirt.
I hate it when you're clothed.
I hope I didn't say that aloud.
"Water it is," I say, disappearing into the kitchen. I want to ask you about Keira because I know you two had a falling out in the summer, but I haven't heard anything else. I come back with two bottles of water; you're still fidgeting with the cuffs of your sleeves. You seem more anxious than usual; I know something's bothering you, but you won't tell me what it is unless I ask.
So. Lacking tact, I do.
Your full lips press into a flat line. "Yeeeeeeup…," you trail off, running a hand through your hair.
I seem to have struck a nerve.
"Well...can't be for long, I'm sure."
"I haven't dated anyone since Keira dumped me," you counter.
I shrug. "That was only in…June."
"Look, I don't really wanna talk about Keira, if that's okay," you tell me, shaking your head. You set your bottle of water on the coffee table.
I look off, taking a sip of water. "Oh. Sorry. You just don't seem to be over her yet."
You shoot me a weak glare which is more like a plea.
"Just stop." Your softening sneer held the unspoken word, "Please." I wonder if she's really the problem or what's going on with you; this isn't normal you. This is a side of you I haven't seen in years.
"How's school then?"
You groan, putting your forehead to your knees. Obviously, school was a worse topic than Keira, though I can't imagine why. You always have perfect grades, despite the ten clubs your president of, along with tennis, show choir, and, this year, theatre. I frown, setting my bottle of water aside before pulling you up until you're back in a normal sitting position. You're rigid, though, eyes closed but focused. I nudge you.
I raise my brows. "Oh…"
You look off, looking angry almost, but I can't place the exact emotion on your face. You swallow rather thickly and sigh, looking back at me.
"So, what aren't you telling me?" I ask hesitantly.
Screwing your eyes shut, you shake your head. I'm worried you've just slipped into silence, and I take your hand.
"Please, talk to me…."
"I was sick," you manage to gasp out. You're on the verge of silence; I can tell. You're hardly audible, and your throat sounds tight, strained. I squeeze your hand and bite my lip.
"Sick how?" I frown, scooting closer. Your face crumbles, and you let out a sharp sigh. I immediately pull you into a hug and feel the cool tip of your nose nuzzle the hollow of my throat. You swallow again, shaking your head.
"I was sure I couldn't make it," you mumble. My arms tighten around you, and I close my eyes, rather alarmed.
What the fuck had been going on in Connecticut?
You try to pull back, your breath quickening.
"No," you gasp. I pull back, taking you by the shoulders; you duck your head, covering your face with your hands.
You shake your head and look up, standing. "I'm just hot," you claim, tugging off your pullover as he sat again.
My eyes widen as I see that your arms are wrapped in blood-stained gauze, from your wrists to your forearms. I take your wrists gently and look up at you.
Your breaths were gradually beginning to calm. "I couldn't…."
You tried to kill yourself?
My eyes keep jumping from your eyes to the gauze that covered your forearms, and I feel a well of tears building up, teetering on the brink. I blink, tears dripping down my cheeks.
"You tried to kill yourself?" I ask quietly. I can't believe this.
You shake your head. "Like, twenty times."
My jaw drops. "No…." I tug at the gauze.
"They're rather…gruesome, Aiden," you tell me, pulling your arms away.
"They've got me in some…institutional school, Aiden. Liboiron. It's in northern New York," you sniff. "It's for mentally or emotionally unstable kids, and it sucks. I hate it there. So much."
I bite my lip; this is the first I've heard of any of this. "The school's not helping any?"
You start ripping off the gauze that coils around your arms. Scoffing, you reply, "Obviously not!"
I watch as you pick the sticky gauze away from your wounds as you reveal scar after scar, some old, pink and flat now, some new, still raw and red, still oozing, still sore. I feel my face contort in remorse, my brows furrowing, mouth falling slightly agape as my eyes widen in horror.
"My God, Kai…."
It looks like you took a machete to your left inner elbow, and I can't hold back a sob because I can't believe you hurt yourself like this. I can't believe you're not happy. I can't believe you haven't been happy and you had the nerve to keep it from me.
And because I'm overwhelmed and thankful that you're here, I can't stop myself and I lean forward and hesitantly press my lips to yours, your trembling hands in mine. You gasp softly against my lips and pressed back, squeezing my hands.
"Kai," I say again, my voice barely a whisper, but you heard me and responded with an audible moan. I deepen the kiss as your lips part.
"Fuck," you gasp. You pull your hands away and tug at my shirt as I weave my fingers through your hair. "Aiden…." You crawl into my lap, straddling me. I can hardly think, let alone breathe, but I let you take off my shirt, though I can hardly stand to pull away from you for even a second. Our movements are fluid, smooth, like this is a dance you practiced for hours and hours in the studio and you know exactly what to do next and what to expect from me. My arms tighten around your middle, and you let out a quiet, breathy moan.
"Fuck...," you mumble as my lips slip down to your neck. My hands pull forward, cupping your ribcage so you moan again; I love that sound. "Aiden, please…." I slip my hands under your t-shirt, my fingers raking over scars old and new. I swallow, pulling back slightly.
"God, Kai, where else?"
You shake your head. "Anywhere I could."
I pull off your shirt and proceed to gently touch the scars that adorn your chest. I push you onto your back and hover over you, kissing your neck, collarbone, moving down to your chest, where I press my lips sweetly to every scar I could. Your breath has quickened, your back arching as my lips reach your hipbones and I unbutton your jeans. Your jut your hips upward shamelessly as I tug your jeans off. You take a fistful of my hair, my lips kissing just above the waistband of your boxer briefs.
"Please," you moan again. I tug your underwear down slightly as my lips travel down to kiss the scars that you made on your inner thighs. Your breath hitches, grip on my hair tightening as you spread your legs. You laugh softly, arching your hips again as you whine impatiently. "C'mon…"
I pull off your underwear and wrap my hand around you, pumping you as I kiss the base. You moan again, panting as I lick up the length of your shaft and kiss the head.
"Aiden, bedroom," you say, biting your lip. I sit up on my knees and lick my lips nervously.
"Fine. Yeah," I reply, taking your hand. I lead you to my bedroom, where I immediately undress. We get on the bed, and you straddle my hips again, shamelessly rubbing against me. Biting my lip to silence a moan, I grip your hips and arch upward, my breath catching. "Kai…"
You lean down and kiss me again. My heart pounds against my chest.
"You're straight, I thought," you say softly.
"You're you, Kai," I scoff, pressing my lips back to yours. "I want you."
You nip my bottom lip. "Take me, then."
My eyes open slightly, and I smirk slightly, pushing you onto your back.
I act like the know-it-all now, but I'm a virgin. I have no fucking clue what I'm supposed to be doing.
"I don't know what to…." I trail off, annoyed with myself.
You bite your lip. "Well. Use spit."
Rolling your eyes, you pull my hand closer, sucking two fingers into your mouth. I swallow thickly as I watch you erotically swirl your tongue around each digit, soaking them with spit.
"Finger me," you say simply, pushing my hand away. I feel so out of the loop, afraid that I may fuck something up, and that's just not what I want to do. Hesitantly, I slip a finger into you, but your reaction is good so I try to relax, adding the second before moving them in and out. I stretch you, and you rut against my hand as you beg for more. I add a third and lean down to kiss you again. You swiftly ease your tongue into my mouth and weave your fingers though my hair again.
I've got to be dreaming. This would never actually happen to me. Not even in a perfect world would I find you gasping and writhing beneath me, muttering my name in your ragged breaths.
"Fuck me…," you whine. "Please."
I pull my fingers out slowly with a quiet pop and position myself with shaky hands. You wrap your legs around my middle as I slowly start to push in, my breath heavy and snagged. You arch off the bed, pressing our chests together as you grip at my shoulders.
"Fuck, these cuts sting," you mumbled, pushing me deeper into you. God, you're hot and tight and you literally feel more incredible than anything I've ever felt, so I keep sinking in until I can't anymore and you're begging me to move. I hug you close, my hands closing over a cluster of cuts along your spine as I start moving.
"Kai," I moan, trembling. I keep moving, my pace gradually quickening.
You grip the headboard and arch your hips, you entire body shaking as you beg, "Harder…." I comply, of course, hoping, praying to fucking God I don't get a nosebleed as I'm fucking you; I feel one coming on, but I forget it all in the sound of skin slapping skin and you crying my name as you come. Just seeing that blissful look on your face sends me over the edge, and I relax, collapsing on top of you.
I roll off reluctantly, but I know you're probably in pain, what with your oozing cuts and whatnot. I bite my lip and kiss your cheek.
"Are your cuts well taken care of?"
"They look infected," I comment. You shoot me a glare.
"Just shut up. They're fine."
I sigh, weaving our fingers together. You rest your head in the crook of my neck and there, you fall asleep.
You stay for a few days, and your cuts get a little better because I'm forcing you to take care of them. Since you are on winter break, you left for Connecticut last night. I told you to keep me posted on how you're feeling, and you gave me a soft kiss, mumbled goodbye, and left.
The past few days seem so unreal. I expect to wake up from a dream at any moment.
Until your winter break ends, we talk every day. The night before you left to go back to Liboiron, we talk on Skype for a couple of hours before I insist you get some rest.
Days go by; I don't hear anything from you. I talk to your brothers, your sisters, but they haven't talked to you either.
Maybe you just can't have your phone with you at school. That's what I decide.
I hear from you finally toward the end of January. You don't sound good at all; your voice is quiet, strained, weak. Of course, I can't help but wonder what's wrong, though I'm scared to ask.
"It was just really nice to be home," you say after a minute of silence. "See everyone…and you."
I smile softly. "Are you feeling okay? Just homesick?"
You cough into the receiver. "Uhm. I mean, I'm doing about the same, honestly, Aiden. I felt a thousand times better at home."
"You'll be out soon enough, yeah?"
"Once they think I'm better."
I scratch the tip of my nose and close my eyes, moving my phone to my other ear. "I…well. You'll get better."
"I don't think so."
I cringe, shaking my head. "You will. Give yourself time."
"I've felt this bad for almost a year. I've been here since November; I'm on four different pills now, Aiden; I've gone from feeling like death to feeling like nothing, and…." You trail off and exhale slowly. "I'm just sick of it."
I don't really know how to respond because the tone in your voice and what you said just makes me want to pull you into a hug and hide you from everything bad in the world. But you're far away; you're just on the phone, and I can't hold you or kiss you or any of that.
"I love you," I blurt out.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I hear you sniff on the other end and laugh softly.
"I love you, too, dork."
this isn't done, but i'm not sure when/if i'll finish it, since Vision is the priority. :)
Let me know what you think!
and there's been a dispute. Kai's name is pronounced "ky" not "kay." :D