Devil's Fate

CHOP!

Mark's voice was the first thing Chester heard.

"I'm not sure what you're so confused about, Chaz. You're a good lay. A damn good lay. It's a compliment."

Chop!

Chester jumped, the vision of Mark becoming suddenly clear. His former boss was standing behind the counter in the massive kitchen of the YRS mansion. Mark had his normal dress shirt on - a pale blue number that Chester had never liked - along with a white butcher's apron. It looped around his neck and waist, and had red splattered stains from top to bottom.

Chop! went the giant cleaver Mark was using to divide up the piles of raw meat that were scattered over Brad's precious white granite countertops. Chester could see everything from legs of lamb, to full-bodied pigs. There were small cuts of red meat and bits of chicken.

It was overwhelming to look at it. Everytime the cleaver hit the cutting board, Chester jumped and flinched from his place on the bed. Bed? He looked around, his eyes wide. He was planted directly in the middle of his and Mike's bed, the black and red flannel blankets under him as he stayed crouched on his knees. He had no idea why their bed was in the YRS kitchen, but it was, and it was a safe distance from Mark and the meat cleaver, which was a good thing.

Chop!

"I know sex, Chaz," Mark continued as he manhandled the meat in front of him. What was chopped, sliced, or simply ripped apart by his hands. "And I know you. I know what you're capable of. Sex is your talent. It's what you're good at. Don't fault the men in your life for wanting it from you."

Chop!

Chester jumped, his fingers clawing into the bed. He looked from Mark, down at himself, and he was relieved to see he was fully dressed - jeans, a white v-neck shirt, and his rose gold bracelet. He was barefoot, but it didn't bother him as he said, "I'm good at other stuff, Mark. You don't know. You're not here anymore."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Please, Chaz. Do you really think I'm not here? That I'm not with you? I'm always going to be with you. I can't say the same for your artsy boyfriend."

Chop!

Chester flinched, but stayed where he was, safe on the bed. "What does that mean? Me and Mike are fine."

"Fine? What's your definition of fine, Chaz?"

Chester stopped, his mouth already open to give an answer in his relationship's defense, but he suddenly wasn't sure what to say.

"See?" Mark said, pointing his cleaver at Chester. "You can't even say something positive about it. And it's not fine. Do you honestly think that smart-mouthed punk would still be with you if you weren't putting out?"

"Well -"

Chop!

"No, he wouldn't," Mark interrupted. "And don't even look shocked, Chaz. I'm no stranger to Mike Shinoda. He's a sex addict, and if he couldn't get it from you, he'd get it from some other hot young man. There's no lack of them on that college campus he's got you living on. Ever wonder why that is?"

"Because he's on a scholarship and -"

"Because he likes being surrounded by sexy men, Chaz." Mark slammed the cleaver down. "I don't know how you can even deny that I'm right. Have you forgotten already what happened last time?"

Chester sank back a little on the bed. "Last time?"

Mark looked up sharply, his gray eyes cutting through Chester's heart. "When you started on those happy pills. The ones that make you numb." Mark left the comment hanging in the air, and Chester felt every second of it.