The senior's back was turned away from him when he stepped into the trashed room. Papers, pens and black ink splattered on the walls. The man responsible stood in solitude at the far end, facing a large full-figure mirror.
Like every other night, the lighting was dim. A subtle red glow spreading from each corner of the ceiling…
"What's going on with you?" void of sympathy.
Bradley said nothing, crossed hands and back still to him. His hair stood on end. Perhaps from hours upon hours of tossing and turning during some insomniac spell. Plus, the continuous running of fingers through his scalp out of frustration. The work shirt under his discarded sweater was replaced by a loose-fitting black tank top over ragged, gray jeans. The sophomore drank in the chaotic atmosphere before trudging his way to his sex partner. A clink under his tennis shoe beckoned him to look underneath a scrap of parchment, finding broken glass, and saw glints of it everywhere on the floor. Max was careful not to trip on carelessly draped silk before reaching his destination, "What's the matter, Brad?"
Arms wrapped from behind, around his torso, keeping a tantalizing loose grip. Cold lips planted a kiss where the neck met the backbone, "Couldn't go too long without me?" His breathing was near absent. "Did you miss me?"
"Get out of here."
The once shimmering eyes lost all signs of light, leaving blue to a stone shade. Goof peered over his shoulder and talked to his reflection,
"It's not Halloween anymore." The dark eyelids were now accompanied by circles, puffy bags under reddened eyes. Not a drop of liquid.
"We don't want you here."
"Oh. You're crazier than I thought."
The blank expression lowered a brow, "Haven't you done enough?"
A hand ran up the jock's chest under the top, and the other got straight to the pleasuring.
"I'm sick of this." Incisors bit his ear and nipped at his aching neck.
"I'm not. I kinda like you like this. Submissive…" Bradley finally turned around and grabbed at this damned kid's collar,
"I don't want you here anymore! Get the fuck out!"
"What are you going to do?" A punch to the face only humored him, "Is that all you got?!" Another jaw-crushing blow. "Oh ho ho! Angry, are we?" The young man grated his teeth and threw him to the ground. The gloves were the only protection from the shards of glass beneath. Max got up just as quick and wiped some dust from his nose before bringing a foot straight across the side of Brad's face. Then the other; he fumbled for a bit but managed to keep standing, until the boy went in with a powerful knee to his stomach—"Oh!"
He fell to a kneel, eyelids shut tight as he waited for the pain to go away, shielding his abdomen.
"You're pathetic. Look at you. You've become so weak, letting your walls crumble. You can't even make a dent in me anymore!" Mocking red eyes were level to the other. The victim breathed, shallow, wanting to run a dagger through this demon's heart. But…
Max chuckled darkly and forced his frigid lips onto his own, already tasting victory.
This isn't you… But if you're going to stay this way…
"I have no choice." faint whisper before joining in.
"Less conflict, hm? I like this too," letting out a pleasured moan before licking the man's chin and lathering his windpipe. Bradley leaned forward and dragged his enemy up the debris, he being much too satisfied to think of it. Goof Boy removed the satin from his hands and unbuttoned the gray jeans before his own, letting that familiar bulge out. Cold metal touched his back as a warm shield pressed him against the cabinet of the long desk. Uppercrust worked his black magic, caressing, breathing fire into the kid's face, while teasing the erection with his own. A finger slid the elastic down wide hips before unzipping the rest of his own cover…
Still wearing the shoes and the pants, both shared tongues, like when they first got back into the fray…
"Brad… Bradley." Another clinking sound against metal. A hollow bang as the jock forced him in place. The boy's eyes were shut, oblivious to the vice that fastened around. His wrists began to hurt—
"Bradley?" Light blue orbs looked up above him, "What—?!"
"This makes it much easier, don't you think?"
The boy growled and tried to break the handcuffs against the rung of the desk. Maximilian was barely sitting, "You cheat! You fuckin' cheat!"
"Ha ha!" Taking a gentle hand to his reddened cheek before a strong smack,
"We've forgotten who the bad guy is. I'm your teacher, remember?"
"Get me out of here!" The kid sounded dreadfully frightened at this point. Legs were hindered by the jeans bunched up at his calves. They touched foreheads, glaring into each other's soul. A smug smirk marked the return of Brad's arrogant self. What Max couldn't do with his hands he did with his teeth, gnashing at the senior's lips when he tried French kissing again. The other caught on and exchanged copper liquid. Seemingly unaffected, he lovingly brushed them against Adam's Apple, painting it red on black. He colored the rest of the shoulder blade and the side of his compromised lover's chest-after ripping the mended pale red shirt at its seams-now sloping at his heart, where he bared fangs and tried to break skin, "Agh!" The vital organ pulsed wildly, "Bradley! Bradley!" Like a cannibal "Quit that!—hesitation, "Please!" He rather licked the nipple until it hardened, grabbing a hold with a sharp incisor, "ah!"
Then the right side, having his left hand jerk the quivering cock forward, fist pumping the now throbbing organ—"Ah! Ah! Haa, haa!"
This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, "Brad—ah!"
"Just like before, huh? I brought my dog to Obedience School and when he graduates he forgets everything he learned, from one ear and out the other."
Bradley rubbed his hard erection against the boy's, pressing closer and closer to his shaking body, "Let's make you cry again. I miss that." With this threat he picked up a glint of the debris underneath their cushion of papers and teased a pale face with its edge. Max was helpless—hopeless—waiting for that Other Half to assist him…
A shallow cut marked his raised arm. Another perpendicular line, "I own you." On the other arm, "I own you." Lifting the shirt, the glass was now above his navel. This handler took the weapon away to give a mighty deep kiss inside, with other tiny butterfly pecks,
"Oh… Max. I love it. I love you when you're in captivity."
"Why? Bradley—wait, stop—That—" A flash of red disappeared in dark, gray orbs, "That wasn't… me."
"What the hell are you talking about?" The shard took its position and began to cut through ebony flesh. The kid winced. After all this time Max had taught himself not to cry at his abuse, ever, for it was perceived as a sign of weakness, according to the musings of his subconscious.
"Back at…" The senior's gaze was one of indifference; the glass kept on going; blood soaked the fur right above the exposed organ, "the pool."
"What about it?"
"That wasn't me." The shard made a gash on the side of his torso—"Agh!"
"Dammit you made me mess up!" as if he were working on a science project. The droplets of alcohol from the bottle it came from burned the wound. Biting the tongue was not an option. The sudden strike made the boy scream aloud—
"Please Brad—Bradley!" Last stroke to complete the inverted cross on his belly.
"I own you." He wasn't ever going to listen. Bradley worked like a robot, without feeling or emotion for his prey. Apart from irritating the kid, this far-too-familiar side of his "friend" terrified him.
Bradley took himself up to a stand, throwing the jagged glass behind him. Ragged jeans were pulled up, but never zipped. He didn't want anything else. Exhausted, lethargic. He took no pleasure from the sight of blood or bruising. He only did this,
"Because you made me." Max scowled and got back to clanking free from the cuffs. The atmosphere only got heavier and heavier when the man took a seat on a nearby stool and just stared at his vain efforts, like a kid at a zoo…
"Bradley." Nothing. "Hey. Hey! Hello. Hello, anybody home?!" Long gone, deep in thought. "Get me out of these things you stupid fuck!" The boy kept on cursing his lungs out as a hand reached for a sketchbook and a mechanical pencil. The Armani frames rested on the bridge of the jock's nose as he began to take measurements of the creature's struggling body, dropping plum lines here and there on the plane, after the basic shapes were ghosted in—
"Are you kidding me?! You're insane!"
"Who's yelling?"
"Fuckin' insane!"
An hour or two passed by.
The yells ceased about a half hour in.
Max was soaked after all the attempts of breaking free from the metal cuffs, which chaffed against his thin wrists so much that they stung, skin nearly peeled off. Hair matted over his tainted face and black fur in dire need of a bath to be rid of all the salt…
He wished that Bradley could have paid attention to him when he asked that his jeans be pulled up an hour ago; Max was still fully exposed. He knew it was well past his curfew, he finding it a smart idea to visit the Gamma House once PJ and Bobby were fast asleep. The senior observed him a little more, under the light of the desk lamp nearby, and erased a couple bits, brushing the dust off with a delicate finger.
"Bradley…" a defeated whisper, "I'm freezing. Get me a blanket, will you?"
"I'm freezing too." Just saying this caused an immediate chill to run down his spine. Book in his lap, he massaged his arms for warmth.
"Why don't you believe me?"
"What's left to believe?" Out of habit he flourished his wrist for his signature and peered at the analog display next to the lamp, "I hate regular clocks."
"What time is it?" The young man ignored him and wrote the time down along with the date.
"What do you think?"
Max couldn't understand this guy. A complete enigma. The angle of the artist's eyes was above him, not failing to include every intimate detail of his bodily surface, the cotton folds of his stitched shirt and jeans…
You look pathetic.
Shut up. Why should I? Look what happened! He won't even forgive me now!
The drawing was tossed carelessly on the platform along with the writing utensil. Glasses were removed with care.
I thought you said you didn't love him. That was you! Back to being a hopeless romantic? You're a lost cause! I'm not! I've told you from the beginning, you idiot. 'Leave him', I said. Would you listen? No. You know what you are, whelp?
"Nothing but a little brat."
Brows came together with quick speed, "I am not!" glaring at the one above him, who was out of his seat.
"You were given little to no discipline as a child, I bet. That's why you're like this. Reckless, unable to pick a good fight. Constantly getting yourself into trouble. Am I wrong?" Some life came back into Goof Boy's collapsed frame.
"Either your father failed to raise you correctly, or maybe, over time, you rebelled against him. Maybe he was too good of a father and you sought out independence from him. Goofy may be a bit of a kook, but he certainly had loyalty to his freshman geek son of his."
What did his father have to do with any of this?
"You know, it's really funny how you didn't put up much of a fight back in that locker room when I made out with you for the first time. Were you already thinking warm, fuzzy things about me?"
I never told them exactly what I dreamed about.
"I was beat to a pulp! I couldn't do anything else!"
"You could have told me to stop—
"I did!" The kid was growing desperate, getting himself to an upright sitting position as more words spilled from his rival's mouth, "After holding on to me and kissing my neck so sweetly!" Hot pink blazed on his face, "shut up!"
"You were dreaming about me, weren't you? Pray tell, when did this happen?"
There was a slightly amused look on such a tired face. Max didn't even want to think about that day. After Today—
"I don't remember." Head down out of hot embarrassment.
"You must have looked up to me at some point. Like the father you never had."
The kid couldn't understand why Bradley would make such an atrocious connection.
"They say that children are attracted to the opposite-sex parent. Not in the oedipal sense, in most cases. But their overall personality, the way they carry themselves. One is attracted to a partner with quite a few of these quirks and flaws."
Now he was terribly confused.
"As in, this 'Roxanne'—
"Don't you dare bring her into this!" His light blue eyes flashed crimson.
"This 'Roxanne' held some attractive qualities, like that of your mother…" trailing off for about a minute, leaving the prisoner to reflect on this observation.
A glimpse cast in his direction showed pity, before the young man bit the side of his finger, continuing on, "Max."
The situation could have been lifted away, had it not been for what was about to come next, "Did she die?"
Maybe he never noticed his dad and Ms. Marpole together. But now that his real mother was mentioned… He didn't know what to think, "Why do you care?"
"If she died," the coarse tone filtered back in, "then you ended up being stuck with Mr. Goof for a large portion of your 19-year-old life
"No shit."
"But why are you attracted to me? A bit of a thrill-seeker are you? Hmm…" Something in his dead gray eyes was laughing, "I'm kinda crazy, they say. And so is your old man. Yeah, I see the connection!"
If the intent was to humor the boy, nauseated beyond worded description, then this failed catastrophically—
"You son of a bitch! Why the fuck would you insinuate that I—?! Damn you, little bitch! You whore!"
The other blinked his eyes in astonishment, if not sudden fright—
"You're the sickest person I ever met! Who the fuck else would tell me that I was sexually attracted to my own dad?! Do you have a thing for your 'old man' too?!" The man twitched an eye.
"And your dear mother must have been a fuckin' whore, because all of the men and women you've slept with are as well—
"What the fuck does that make you?!" Uppercrust was at his level, eyes livid and now filled with color, "My mother was good, innocent and pure!"
"Until someone raped her" Swelling hands pushed the hanging body against the metal cabinet before they went in and applied sheer strength into his throat. Max kept on insulting him in spite of this—"You—sick, demented" He gasped for air, "bastard!"
"I never—" The pressure let go. When oxygen reached dying lungs, the kid just kept going,
"You take pride in fucking everything within your reach. Raping my mind with your garbage—killing me inside and out!"
"Everything I've said about you is true—
"Liar!" A harsh slap struck across his face. It stung. When a major case of déjà vu washed over him, instead of shedding a tear, he began to laugh uncontrollably. This was definitely not the reaction that Uppercrust expected, and put him into hysterics, taking a fist and striking the jaw.
Maximilian wouldn't stop laughing. Bradley grabbed him by his hair and forced eye contact, "shut up" He wanted this fight over with.
"Why?" giggling like a madman. The jock banged his head against the desk as to try to knock sense back into him,
"What. Will it take? For you to shut the hell up?!"
The demon within growled, "Kill me! I dare you!" A wide smile taunted the young man's bewildered expression. Beads of sweat rolled down his ragged face. He let go and backed away slowly, nearly stumbling on the uneven floor before standing up once more. He began to pace the length of the room and back again, trying to decide the outcome of this early morning disaster. The last thing he wanted to do was kill the brat, especially in such a vulnerable position as this. Max was never going to shut up if he didn't, only there to haunt his dreams forever. The clinks and breaking of glass brought his mind to the drink, but that never went well either. Different methods popped up, each one more ridiculous than the last… He stopped, ankle-high within the mess of his bedroom. His mysterious mind ran 500 miles a second from all the anxiety: He needed a smoke. The frantic activity slowed to a crawl.
He sulked his way to the dresser and pulled out his decorative box, filled with an array of tricks and treats he used on his guests, and that last-second aid…
He ignored it and found material to roll up a joint. A solid gold lighter provided a flash of warmth until the tip illuminated.
"Oh man…" Fumes swirled in the air as he sat on the edge of his poorly made bed, burying his face in the crook of his palm.
"Great. Indulging in your pathetic addiction, huh?" A leer was cast in the sophomore's direction. "Can't you face the real world on your own two feet?"
The senior walked towards the carcass.
"You're hopeless—Hey!" The cuffs cut further into the boy's wrists.
"Stop squirming. You're bleeding." He blew another draft of marijuana into the warm crevice. Goof coughed violently—"quit it!" Again.
Once more. Another draft… Soon enough, Max lay limp, hanging from stained chrome. Droplets of the viscous liquid fell into the druggie's hair.
"Maximilian.." a gentle kiss on his drooping eyelid. All energy fed by his unrelenting anger left him in a state of ruin, and now a forced sleep.
The senior looked down at his pelvis, thought better of it, and tucked it back into his jeans, zipping them up before opening a compartment next to Goof Boy's right wrist and finding the pick.
"I'm glad you wear gloves." To no one in particular, lifting and carrying him like a woman to bed. He dressed him, closing the jeans carefully before a knock sounded at the double doors.
His neck twisted to look at the time, 3:57AM.
"Fuck!" he breathed, quickly draping the blood red silk over the body and throwing pillows to create the illusion he wasn't there. Another knock. Wiping the sweat with a shaking arm and fixing his hair before stepping upon the debris…
"Yes?" pushing the thick wooden slab just a crack.
"Are you doing any better?" Bradley didn't even have to look at his face.
"I'm okay, Tank." Exhausted.
"Later today, do you want me to help you clean up that mess?"
"No!"
"What?" A large hand forced a door open, revealing an overshadowed face, bushy eyebrows knit in concern.
"It's fine," recovering from his slip-up, "I don't need help. I can do it myself, really!" The guy scanned the war zone—bed, cushion and all.
"Were you finally able to write or draw something in peace?" motioning to the open sketchbook under the desk lamp, still turned on—
"Yeah! Yes, Tank. See? I'm fine. I'm actually kinda tired now—" Anything to make sure his only other friend did not walk the great distance to impending doom…
"Bradley, sweetheart—I'm worried about you. You know that, right?"
"Ha ha! Of course buddy," laughing nervously with a sleepless drawl, "Just tell the others I'll be sleeping in today. I don't want anyone barging in unannounced!" He regained control as the leader of the Gammas as he said this line. The boost of confidence in his voice convinced his right hand man,
"I'm glad you're doing better. I'm hitting the sack."
"… Night.. " calling after his departure before locking the double door with a heavy brass knob for a key. He hung his head down against the carved wood, barely able to control his breathing and the surging of blood to his flushed cheeks.