I am here (a UsUk story)

Alfred's P.O.V.

It hurt me to be with you. Everytime I stay with you to substitute for him I die a little inside. But I love you, so much that I'm willing to pretend to be the one you long to hold in your arms. No matter what it costs me, my health, my happiness, or even my sanity.

As long as I can make you happy and as long as I can have the illusion that we're lovers. Then I'll keep pretending, and killing myself in turn, because that one moment of bliss in enough; Enough to get me past the aftershock of pain, enough to dull the hurt, enough to make me forget the shame, the sadness, and guilt in your eyes.

We don't go on regular dates. No, none of the awkward sweaty hand-holding, sweet and shy kissing, or even sweet love making by candlelight. In a way you could call us, 'strictly business'. Instead of sweaty hand-holding you rake your nails down my back in the heat of passion; Our kisses are heated and lusty but bittersweet with inhibition; Darkness, you demand it, lest you open your beautiful eyes and see me instead of him.

Disappointment, is the last look on your face. After each escapade I can never leave fast enough for you. Half the time this enrages me, I don't see him dying for you. In fact, where is he now, not here. But I am, how can you not see that I am here.