They call love a candy. The swirls of strawberry and the bitting of lips. Someone always chips their tooth and fUCKING DIES! No matter what happens, everyone always has a great time until it's over. I remember how I'd watch him smirk in the sunset, how I hoped his body would fly off into the burning sun and he could melt away into a large pile of flesh.

We met when we were kids. He was never really nice, always kind of a dickhead. Never really a pervert, more of a horny bastard. You, know? That's mainly why I fell in love with him.

He called me "little red riding hood". Him reading stories he jokingly wrote about me made my heart flutter. I mean, not every day someone comes into your life just to be an asshole... A sweet asshole.

I always knew he was attracted to me. When we were around nine years old, he had a fucking alien probe up his ass, right? He let no one else but me put my fingers up there. Now that's true love.

I know what you think, I'm just a stupid kid in love with a bear. But he's more than that. There's more beneath the clothes, beneath the skin, beneath the body. There's more that no one sees, but him in me.

There's more.

In our eternal winter, he coves his arms. He wears a red jacket to cover up the stains. But underneath the sleeves and the crimson, blood runs out from his veins in cuts he slit on his own wrists. I wish I could be lying, but I've seen them. I see the way he smiles through tears while he watches his blood run out of his body. It's a painful thing to see, but it's the only time he lets down his famous facade.

They make fun of him for being a fatass. They say he's lazy, a future alcoholic, a glutton. But they could not have been farther from the truth.

He's lost in food. I sometimes watch as his eating disorders battle against each other. One moment he's indulging in way too much food, the next he's starving himself.

Help him.

I love him, but I wish for this asshole to stop hurting.

I wish for the blood to clear.

His sleeves to be rolled.

His smirk to be washed.

His binge to be cured.

For him to be happy.

"Why don't you leave him?" Is a question I get all the time. "Why don't you flush that piece of shit?" I normally just shrug, but I could talk endlessly.

Because no doubt that I hate him, his lips will always feel good against mine. My hands fit perfectly in his. The way his tears stain my fingers gives me life in the power of love. I see right through him, and no matter how hard he tries, he can never get rid of me. Ha. Good thing he doesn't try.

I love him, okay?

I care about that turd.

Because if I'm not here for him, to tell his story, to give him love in more ways than one, than who we he have? Who will I have?

No one.

Because when no one's left, you just go back to the last one.

And no matter how hard I try, how much effort I put into escaping this fate, the same fact stands true.

He will always be my last.

3

Author's Note

I am so very sorry for this XD. I don't know. I haven't been posting, and I'm in a class right now, so I had to write it quickly. Obviously, this is about Kyman. I've related it slightly to my girlfriend, who cuts. I love y'all!