Asymptote (bxb)

Chapter 4: Thank You

           possible trigger warning

         When I got to 85 Turcet Street, and stood on the unlit porch, I already knew something was wrong. There were shards of glass in the flower bed, and the front door was wide open to the brisk air and fallen leaves. I could see the end of the dimly lit hallway, and the stairs.

It was the figure at the bottom of those stairs that caught me. He shielded his bruised face with his hands, his bangs fallen. He looked like a young boy.

I continued to stand on the porch for a moment, unsure of whether I should turn around or not, but then he looked up. His smooth brown eyes met mine, and I was trapped again.

His face was covered in blood, and I found myself stumbling towards him with a queasy stomach, glass crunching beneath my feet.

"Mi, what-"

He cut me off, showing me his hands- the source of the blood. They had little shards of crystal still jammed into the skin, and he looked as broken as the glass.

I pulled him up by his wrist, kicking a clear path for us down the narrow, white walled hallway to the white, ceramic tiled kitchen. His blood fell all over the white, in perfect red droplets. I winced.

Mi was dead in the eyes as I held his palms under the tap, inspecting the wounds. He was in another place, in the depths of his mind. A place where I didn't exist, where he was flying, and his mom married his dad and they kissed his forehead before they tucked him in. A place it had taken me too long to come to terms with the fact I'd never see.

"Mi?"

He didn't even look at me. I wasn't sure if he was blinking. He was so helpless and there was nothing I could do.

"Mi, what happened? Where's your mom?"

"It just fell," he whispered, staring down at his hands. Blood spilled off into the sink, revealing small gashes. He was trying to clean up the glass.

I poured rubbing alcohol over his hand, and he didn't flinch although it must have hurt. I sat him down on a rounded wooden chair by the kitchen table while I cleaned up the glass with the broom and dust pan kept behind the radiator.

I found myself at the door after a half hour, again torn between turning and staying. My decision was made for me when I reached out towards the handle.

"Don't go." His voice was disconnected and soft, innocently juvenile. His eyes were locked with mine, watching my hand draw closer to the door only to close it.

"Okay," I whispered back.

He took unsure steps towards me. I watched him, completely enchanted. Seeing him so broken broke off little pieces me. And I would do anything to fix him, which was why I knew exactly what was about to happen. Every step was a calculated, repeated action. His eyes faded to that hazel colour like they always did, and his face hardened.

His bare feet padded down the hall towards me, his fingers skimming the textured walls. I didn't move. His hand reached out towards my face, his eyes locked on my lips. I leaned. He froze. I pulled back. He leaned.

I closed my eyes as his lips touched mine and I felt his stubble on my chin and his fingers behind my ear. I slowly lifted my hand to his elbow. He didn't shy away so I let it trail up his arm and neck into his soft hair. The kiss was soft and delicate, almost loving. The pad of his thumb rubbed circles in my cheek and his lips were like ribbons on mine.

Suddenly, his hand was on my chest and I was being pushed back into the wall. I gasped and he took it as an invitation. His soft tongue caressed mine and his fingers pushed harder into my skin so I pulled his hair gently. Mi pushed his body against mine until there was no room between us and I could feel every part of him. He grabbed a handful of my loose waves of hair and pulled hard, making me wince.

He was always rough with me; sometimes he left me with bruises. But I loved him, so it was okay. And some naïve part of me thought that if I let him than he would learn to love me. I wanted to show him what love was like, even if it was at my own expense. I needed to show him it was real. No one should have to live a loveless life.

His nails were digging into my hips like tiny pins as he lifted my shirt. He tugged on my belt loops to pull me even closer to him, adding friction. He moaned and I made an embarrassing noise that resembled a mewl, blushing as red as my hair.

Mi let out a warm laugh and started to tug me up the stairs by his damaged hands, but he didn't seem to notice. At least he was taking me to the bedroom this time. I'd become far too acquainted with that white wall in the hallway. It had seven nail holes in it, and the plaster was uneven where it reached the ceiling.

He pressed me onto his bed, and when I tried to sit up his hand came down so hard on my chest I was momentarily winded. This wasn't a democracy; Mi held all the control and I merely caved to his every demand. He treated me the same way he had been treated his whole life and could I blame him? I would probably treat myself the same way.

His fingers unbuttoned my pants while fumbling with the zipper. Then he flipped me over and I closed my eyes, withholding a breath.

And when it was over, he said, "Thank you," and I cried silently.

a/n: I know it's VERY short, but tbh I'm just happy I got back into writing.

And you probably noticed I didn't put a subject in my trigger warning, it's pretty much because I didn't know what to call it. 

also, I wrote this listening to the entire (1 hr 16 min) soundtrack of The Nutcracker and eating M&M's, so I'm officially an awful person.