Idée fixe

      So hard to breathe.       Throughout the years, these walls had heard many things.       Take, for example, relaxed and somewhat scant conversations between co-workers minutes before performance — these would always be without much meaning, sprinkled with strong language for which, should they have said anything of that sort outside the room, they would’ve definitely received a reprimand.       Or bright and cheery laughter, that would alongside naive childish trust be broken, replaced with a helpless squeal full of terror and will to live.       Even just once, they heard a strained, trembling voice speaking to a nine-one-one operator on the other side of the phone, begging to call the ambulance as soon as possible. And at the same time, in the background — coughs and wheezes of a man on the verge of his death.       Seemingly, there was only one thing they had never witnessed.       “Henry…”       Afton snorted quietly. The dust hanging in the air couldn’t let him breathe properly, filling his nostrils and tickling his nose. He tensed his jaw even more, clenching the frail satin fabric with his teeth mercilessly. Did he realise that after that his shirt would be absolutely ruined? Yes, he definitely did, but couldn’t care less at the moment.       Besides, it was time for him to forget that frilly outfit. He had to be careful with how he looked and how much attention he attracted.       Slightly shaky from both arousal and neurological disorder, his fingers ran over the outline of his member showing through the thin fabric of his trousers, and William couldn’t hold back a gasp. He felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning; well, at least that meant he still had some understanding of what he was doing, and that, in fact, he was doing that while still at work. But, wasn’t that just what he needed? A small jolt, that was.       Sure enough, that just wasn’t it. It was nowhere near that rush of adrenalin that he had been getting mercilessly working his way through innocent ones’ bodies with his loyal hunting knife, just to continue playing his little game of chase right after, or that sweet, sweet release he could’ve gotten if he only had a chance to have some closure with his desired one.       For a moment, he squinted, and an image came to him. Henry Emily, always so shy and gloomy, standing somewhere to the side awkwardly… After everything that had happened, he turned especially quiet and alienated.       He was so frail and tender, and almost seemed innocent, and William just couldn’t stand that. He wanted to spoil, to break him. And he just knew, had he ever felt enough freedom to finally give in to his egotistical desires, he would’ve done it without second thought. He would’ve fooled Henry with his masterful sweet talk, make him come close, just to burn him; sink his teeth deep into his soft skin, crawl his way underneath it, take control. Make him obey.       Gut his soul like a fish once it’s within reach and fill it with his own venom. A gift, so to say, just for his special one.       Through the stream of those thoughts he felt a strong pulsation coming all the way down to his cock. He couldn’t hold back a snicker; being once a religious man, he could guess that God, if he ever existed, would’ve hated such an irredeemable bastard as himself.       “I really wish you were here, with me.”       With a quiet and soft clinking noise of the buckle he unfastened his belt, and his trousers, once pulled tightly at his waist and which, in fact, had long been too large for him, fell lower. They would’ve fallen to the floor completely if they hadn’t caught on his protruding pelvic bones. His body, abhorrently thin, looking wrong and mangled, looked even more discoloured and disturbing in the dull lighting of the safe room. But, one way or another, there was no one to witness this but William himself.       He ran his fingertips over the scars crisscrossing his skin. This off-putting, revolting pattern was a constant reminder to him, one of a mistake that almost became fatal. These were both his pride and disgrace. They still were tender and pretty much sensitive, even though it’d been a couple of years by that moment. He could’ve said with an hour accuracy how much time exactly had passed since that, but what would be the point?       He was living a moment he genuinely enjoyed.       This very hand went lower, going past his underwear, all so that he could finally touch himself. Groaning impatiently, he moved his jaw in a little too sharp manner, and the fabric of his shirt, still in his mouth, made a tearing sound, getting caught on the sharp edge of his chipped fang. Well, that was it; this shirt belonged in the trash since then.       Afton moved his hand sharply, unclenching his jaw at last, and a hoarse moan escaped his mouth. He suddenly had a moment of clarity right after the back of his head, as soon as he raised it a bit, touched the metal door behind his back, the cold of which he felt even through his mop of thin hair. Only for a split second, however, as soon he returned to his dark, disturbed fantasies, not even having enough time to look back at just what he was doing.       “There we go,” he murmured, and for a second his sick mind painted an image of Henry before him; as if it wasn’t William himself, but his desired one touching him, caressing his member sloppily. Too bad his delusion shattered immediately.       If only that very Henry could see him there. There was no need for taking guesses on what his reaction could’ve been. Always so clean and righteous, he would’ve felt nothing but disdain; would’ve turned away, yelling at him something about morals and his disgust, could’ve commanded him to stop right there. Maybe he would’ve started trembling again — he had been so sensitive lately that even a soft embrace could’ve sent him into shaking.       “Fuck it,” Afton whispered as he thrust himself into his own fist.       He always had to take desperate measures, had he not? And all for what — for a tiny bit of attention? Henry had always been around, but he had barely ever looked his way; well, not before they started what became the work of their life. Therefore, William always had to give him a little nudge to finally notice him.       How pitiful. Too bad that, deep in his stupid little tragedy, he had completely forgotten his friend. The one who had done everything for him, one, for whom it had always been about Henry and no one else. He even gave him a chance to take a break, freed him of his heaviest of burdens. He did everything to, at last, get the attention he rightfully deserved.       Then, everything had gone off the plan. More than that, it was nothing he had ever wanted.       There still was a chance for him, though.       William chuckled gently. The more he thought of him, the stronger that dark feeling grew inside him. He finally pulled his clothes off completely, letting cold stale air touch his flesh, as his whole body shook from the deranged pleasure.       He stroked it again, slower this time, and bit his own lip so hard he drew some blood. With that familiar metallic taste on his tongue, he growled, as if he was nothing but an animal, and widened his eyes.       “More.”       With every movement of his hand, he was sinking deeper and deeper into his own little maelstrom of madness.       Maybe he never needed Henry to give him any approval of his actions… the consent was unnecessary, too. William could’ve taken him as he was. Break him down completely, tear his will into pieces, and force him into obedience. He could’ve shown his true colours and instilled fear.       Inflicting pain onto others was one of the many things he was especially good at. In addition, he genuinely enjoyed it. It made him feel alive and even more. Through torture of others, he was able to fulfil his need for, as he preferred to call it, creative self-expression. In such moments, he was none other than a true artist to himself.       The suffering of the innocent were a special form of art to him.       Something trickled down his chin and dripped on his shirt. First taking it for sweat, William sniffled, and only after feeling his own blood streaming down his throat he realised what it was. His own blood, once again — hot, with a heavy smell.       Oh, shit. No. He had no time for such things… He covered his nose with his other hand, trying to hold it all back, feeling the hot liquid running down his palm. Soon, he choked on it.       He couldn’t stop. Not in this moment, not when he was so close. Continuing his assault on himself, he pressed the hand against his nose even harder, ignoring the growing headache, trying to stop the bleeding. All in vain.       He looked down on himself.       His once beautiful shirt of soft creamy colour was completely ruined, now not only by a tear he had made with his teeth, but from now on with blood. How in the hell was he going to explain all of that, having to walk around in it the rest of the day!?       With one last thrust, he shut his eyes and let out a muffled groan.       Nothing. No facilitation, no sense of completion. All that was left was the foul mess he had made, coloured in thick red and translucent white.       With a dissatisfied sigh he reached for the handkerchief in the chest pocket of his unbuttoned vest.

***

      “Will, are ya alright?”       Henry’s eyes shone with concern. Of course, he was worried; if anything, he couldn’t take losing yet another person close to him. He had already lost enough in a span of just two months.       “You’re tremblin’. An’, goodness, what happened to your shirt?”       William looked at him with tiredness in his eyes. He indeed must’ve looked horrible, and, to his own displeasure, he had to admit to it even to himself.       “Just a nosebleed. Don’t worry, I’m only a bit tired. Moreover, you know,” he smirked, “age and stuff.”       “Yea, you’re funny as all get out. Cut that crap,” Henry laughed in response to that. The joke seemed to brighten his mood a little. “You’re jus’ a couple years older, an’ you’re already tryna tell me you’re oh so old? C’mon, ‘m not buyin’ that.”       Afton chuckled forcedly and looked away.       He had to collect himself. It was rather hard to do so, as his friend was acting so open and nonchalant, even though it was only for a moment.       He lacked the sense of control.       ”…Hey,” he spoke, looking at his friend with something completely new in his eyes, “I know it’s been tough lately. Still cannot wrap my head around everything that’s going on here. And I see how it affects you; you seem to distance yourself more and more. I miss you sometimes, you know…”       He gave his friend a gentle smile.       “Why don’t you come over to my place this weekend? You need to ease up a bit. I imagine it’s hard for you, but I think I could try and help.”