I don't own, don't sue.
We fumble with our clothes like we are at camp, doing this for the first time. I suppose the latter was close enough to the truth for him. Back when I was more naïve, I thought I would eventually learn to shed the layers in one graceful, fluid motion like the movies.
But back then, I also thought it would always be Sai by my side.
The boy who's in front of me now is not Sai. He kisses me, the whisky we snuck from the pantry still heavy on his breath. He starts to say something; I quickly seal his lips with mine. Words are the last thing I want to hear.
Despite him being the super coordinator, his humble quarters are no different than my own. Stale air fills my lungs, and I shudder just as his icy fingers graze my legs. He mistakes it as a sign of pleasure. I don't correct him. I run my hands through his hair and scowl at how much longer it is than Sai's.
The kisses turn messy, and soon enough there is nothing separating us. He pulls away for a second and looks at me with doe-eyed wonder.
"Flay, you're beautiful," he says. I try with every ounce of discretion I have left to not scoff. Such dogged devotion might have flattered me once. Now, all I want is to rip up his innocence. But I hold myself back. He is the only thing shielding me from the monsters out there.
Instead of responding, I pull his body closer to mine. My toes are getting cold.
We resume the ritual. I try with every ounce of my imagination to feel pleasure where there is none. Eventually, I begin to fool even myself. I close my eyes, willing myself not to shudder again.
Everything about him is wrong, not just the hair. He smells wrong. He's too thin. His eyes are a completely unnatural color. He is one of them – those barbarians who slaughtered my father in cold blood.
A small price to pay for my own guardian angel, I tell myself. Besides, it does quell the voices in my head for however little time it takes.
I still wince when I feel the impact.
A bad option is better than none, and I can't afford to let the darkness take ahold of me. Not today.
He grunts and falls into the space beside me, but I've only counted up to 98 Mississippis. I feel like I've been cheated. He snakes his arm around my waist and kisses the back of my neck.
"Don't worry," he whispers. Despite my best efforts, I snicker.
"What?" he asks, a little groggy and still doe-eyed. But I can't even bring myself to care.
"Go to sleep," I reply.
Within minutes, he begins to snore. I suddenly remember how cold it really is in his room, and how strongly the air reeked of alcohol. It doesn't take much to fill the glorified closets we've all been piled into since the beginning of the war. I pull the covers over us in a futile attempt to keep warm.
After lying there for an eternity, I give up on trying to fall asleep. I pry myself loose. He stirs, but I know there is no way he would wake up. I fish around the dark for my clothes. This, too, is an all-too-familiar process that I cannot seem to master.
I place my hand on the doorknob. I look back at his sleeping figure. He is holding a pillow where I used to be just a minute ago.
When he asks me the next morning why I did not say goodbye, I just laugh.
xoxox
His bunkmate curses outside the door when he realizes I'm inside. We pause only for a split second. I'm too close to sobering up to waste any time. The only thing that will keep me from crashing is some easy, instant gratification.
At this point, all either of us is doing is fumbling. My fingers are shaking, and I suppose I'm closer to a nervous breakdown than I gave myself credit for. It's taking too long. The walls are closing in by the second. A short breath catches in my throat.
There are too many buttons and hooks and zippers, and we're both struggling not to drown in his sheets. Panic sets in as I realize I am running out of time. I tighten my grip around his arms. He responds by crushing his mouth against mine.
I close my eyes, desperately clinging on to the moment, but I know it's already too late. I pull away, panting.
"Stop," I say. It takes him a few seconds to understand what I'm saying. He scowls in confusion and props himself down beside me.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
I shake my head. I will myself to slow my breathing as I rack my brain for the right words. He touches my cheek.
"I will protect you. I will keep you safe."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop myself. He pulls his hand away and curls them into a tight fist.
"What was that?" he asks.
"Nothing," I lie.
His face tenses and I see the veins pop out of his hands. I freeze inside. He might look like a harmless, kindhearted boy outside the battlefield, and it's so easy to forget that what's lying in front of me is a human weapon.
If he's human at all.
He looks into my eyes. I see thoughts flying through his mind, but cannot quite tell what they are. He tries to start a sentence so many times that I am actually taken by surprise when sound finally emerges from his mouth.
"Flay, I do care about you."
The worst part is that he sounds sincere. I bite my lip. It grates my senses that he can still be bothered to, while my own feelings for Sai I had long discarded as a silly, immature infatuation.
But the boy can afford to think that way, because he has the ability to protect himself. And the only weapon I can wield depends on his naiveté and his feelings.
I plaster a smile on my face and push my body against his. If it's too late for me to save myself, then I'd make damn sure that I take him with me to the depths of hell.
I, Flay Allster, refuse to be the only loser in this game.