These fickle fascinations. Like the morbid curiosity of a child who pulls the wings from butterflies only to later regret the beauty ruined; red drops on red locks on white, crisp sheets. Feverish fingertips exploring dewy skin, flush with the heat of the moment. But that's all they ever really were. Moments. Ellipses of time hidden in the folds of night, black cloak draped on the floor as forgotten as that rose colored uniform beside it. The fragrance of his hair was nothing in comparison to the smell of his excitement and I couldn't keep my mouth from tasting. Sucking it down, swallowing it whole. There was never enough to satiate me. Some backward thought in the recesses of my mind made it the excuse as to why I kept coming, slipping through that open window on a particularly quiet night. A silhouette studying in the guise of a boy when all I wanted was the beast beneath.
That passion; that raw aggression. Can't believe it would be you. How dare it be you that I'm doing these dirty things with. These animals things. How dare it be you who brings my guard down with a mere whisper of breath against the back of my neck. Why are your eyes so bright? Why is your touch so flawless? You're all I've ever known and I can't help but wonder how many those skillful fingers have felt in the past. It angers me. Enrages me.
You're mine. I'll brand you with every inch of this body and everyone will know.
But the moon will fall and the sun will rise and in the morning I'll leave you lying there in the wake of our carnage, quietly admiring the peaceful expression you make as you sleep. You look happy, even as you cling to the empty sheets where I laid. No words of goodbye need be said when I slip out that window, because I know it will be open and waiting for me again.