The Night

Chapter VIII: Nymphatic

The Night

Chapter VIII: Nymphatic

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When Roxas' tired eyes finally crack open to greet the day, it's past noon. He must have shut his alarm off earlier while he was still mostly asleep, as he has no memory of it ever going off in the morning. He awakens feeling groggier and more tired than usual; not quite the familiar sensation of a hangover, but something that makes his brain feel like it's been sunbathing all night. His body buzzes with residual effects from the ecstasy, and when his skin brushes anything, the sensations leave him feeling warm and enticed.

He remembers reading or hearing somewhere that having an orgasm on certain drugs is next to impossible, but he's pretty certain the chemicals have dissipated enough that he could if he tried. Roxas' mind drifts into what he considers the abyss of shame: a place where he often found himself fantasizing of what could have been.

The cunning face of Hayner enters his mind, looking down at him with that goofy, lovable face he came to adore; saying stupid one-liners before Roxas would shut him up with his lips. What might've happened if Olette never called, or if Hayner never picked up his phone? He pictures how they might've snuck back into Roxas' room to spend the whole day riding their desire until the last ounce of energy was spent and they were left in a sweaty heap on Roxas' bed. He also fantasizes about Pence, the tall form kneeling over him, glistening face twisted in pleasure. He'd bet anything that Pence would have been a looker during sex: maintaining eye contact so he can see the blond's expression as they make love. A little jab of pain pokes at his heart, as he tried to bury the sorrow deep inside.

Then, like always, it starts to happen again. As if his fantasies are corrupted data, Roxas' mind guiltily goes back to Seifer. Would he have been a gentle lover under different circumstances? Would he still have been just as rough and power-hungry? For years now, he pictured that lean body melding into his, wanted to be pinned down by those strong arms and kissed like the world was ending in a day. He wanted to hear Seifer moan his name as they shared moment after moment of pure weakness. Roxas' hand slows down, stroking more intimately as he shamefully loves the sensations that the fantasy brings. Maybe that day he lost the love-letter, instead of Seifer shoving him into the bathroom to mercilessly beat him, he instead would have locked the door and kissed him breathless. Maybe they would have been pinned up in there as the bell rang, moaning amidst the sounds of their classmates roaming the halls while Seifer's hands roamed Roxas' body.

Roxas hates that fantasy so much, but it did the trick almost every single time... and he would loathe himself afterwards for imagining the horrible person that ruined his life in such a way. It made him want to throw himself out the window for giving that monster never-ending power over his life. His trauma had somehow become his lust, and he hated himself for it.

But this time, something else happens: his mind drifts elsewhere, a new place. There are lights, and music, and bodies, and heat... hands slide across his body, touching him with desperation.

"Let's take this downstairs."

And with the efficiency of a dream, they are suddenly there in the bathroom stall; the music above is muffled, but the bass is still vibrating them. They're facing each other, lips are on Roxas' neck, fangs in his flesh, his blood dripping down and staining his clothes—

It's over almost as quick as it began, and he allows himself to lay in a daze beneath the covers. He's quite satisfied with this new scenario that's now available for him to picture. He's just about to fall back asleep when he realizes he didn't grab a towel or tissue to catch the mess, cursing himself for ruining a perfect opportunity to snooze some more. Going quiet, he listens carefully to hear if his roomates are up and about. After a long silence reaches his ears, he goes to clean up.