From The Other Side

Chapter Four: Avenger

Zack threw himself into the closest bathroom and locked the door behind him. He paced around, running his hands through his messy hair and wiping off some petulant tears that dared to roll down his cheeks. Pieces of that day arose in his consciousness in blinding camera flashes, one brighter than the other.

He was a cornered animal, already surrendered to a hunter that existed nowhere else, just in his brain.

Soon, he was leaning against the sink. His knuckles were white as his fingers wrapped around tufts of his dark hair. His eyes were wide open, but he couldn't see a single thing. The world around him was pitch-black.

Slowly, blurred images came into focus. Dark trees. Tall grass. Soft white sand. A green lake. The strong moonlight, shining right upon him, like God's own inquisitory spotlight. No one to be seen. Only Oliver.

He felt that same thought that crossed his head like a quiet buzzing. No matter how many times he suffocated that impulse, it always came back stronger. He watched his approach, his hesitating drunk steps that grew a confidence no sobriety could ever provide.

He felt an intense hate flow through his body. He didn't know where it came from, but it powered something inside him, that violent instinct, the one trace shared by all animals and that never fails to drown out every bit of reason inside someone's head. His intoxicated mind was no match.

He felt the thrashing wrists against one hand and the muffled whimpers watered by desperate tears against the other.

He clenched his fists tighter and tighter. The sound of the shattering mirror dragged him back to reality. He blinked a few times, trying to recover his sight. He took deep breaths, staring at his reflection on the irregular shards laying in the sink. It almost seemed to be smirking at him.

Suddenly, Oliver pulled himself up, sitting on the marble surface of the sink beside him. Zack raised his head immediately, thinking he was hallucinating. He wished he was. In his leather jacket, Oliver was casually biting his black nails, gazing at nothing at all with a thoughtful look on his face.

His pale skin made the dark circles under his black, piercing eyes appear even darker than they were as their gazes locked together.

Zack nearly fell back against the toilet while running towards the door. He threw all his weight on the doorknob. It broke in his hands. Oliver giggled softly, rolling his eyes.

"Come on I'm not that scary."

"How did you get in here?"

"It doesn't matter. People sneak up on others all the time. I tried to be more civilized than you were that night."

Zack turned his back on Oliver, leaning his head against the cold beige wall in front of him. He heard the buzzing cross his mind, a dark prelude. Oliver got up on his feet and walked closer to him until his own body was pressed against Zack's.

"What are you doing to people?" Zack asked, doing his best to keep his voice low. "What are you doing to me?"

With a gentle hand, Oliver turned Zack's head, making them face each other.

"To you? Darling, I'm not doing anything to you. I don't have that power. One can only corrupt that which is not yet corrupted. And you're already more than corrupted, aren't you?" Oliver stated in a whisper, running a finger through Zack's reddened cheek. He took Zack's necklace in his free hand, holding the small wooden cross hanging from it between them. "Such a good Christian. Were you wearing this when you covered my mouth and made me your little rag doll? I remember every detail, every touch, every-"

Zack's rough grip on his neck silenced him. He spun them around, pushing Oliver against the wall. It was that instinct, that same urge again. Oliver watched as it suppressed every bit of rationality in his being. They were inches apart. Oliver could feel his heat, his shaky breaths, and the anger shifting beneath his skin.

"I knew you'd come out sooner or later," Oliver said, struggling to get the words past his aching throat. He grinned like a devil as he added: "I've missed you."

With that, he ended the gap between their lips. It was violent, eager, desperate. They moved as if they were in a fight, aggressively pushing and pulling each other, though never breaking the kiss.

Zack carried Oliver in his arms, sitting him down on the sink. Their hands travelled across their bodies, never finding a single destiny. Oliver slowly scratched his muscular back. Their lips parted only for Zack to start kissing Oliver's neck.

"You know," Oliver said between a moan and another, "I've been dreaming about this moment since that night, three years ago. Or more specifically, about what comes after."

Zack stumbled away almost immediately when he felt one of the sharp shards of the mirror painfully digging its way in his flesh, but still, his warm blood soaked Oliver's clothes. They were both covered in his blood. Oliver licked his fingers, enjoying the warm, metallic flavour on his tongue.

Zack quickly felt his legs wobble beneath him and fell on the floor. The shard scratched the inside of his throat, making the pain worse every time he grunted or gasped for air, or choked on the blood that fled his arteries in torrents.

Oliver stared at him with a smile on his face, resting his chin on his hands. Then, he got on the floor, crawling his way to Zack's choking figure. Their faces were inches apart again.

"Have a safe trip to hell," he whispered, showing his fangs.

That was the last thing Zack saw in his life.