"It had all started so innocently. We were at the Parkington Hotel bar and I noticed a beautiful man in a pair of sinfully tight silver jeans. It was you. I'd stolen a glance at you from across the room, wanting to find out more about you. I thought I'd gotten away with it, but you caught my stare and held it, eventually looking down with a light flush on your cheeks.

"That was when I started to fall for you. We saw each other every few days from that point onwards, bumping into each other coincidentally at the coffeehouse, at the supermarket, at the cinema. Each time we'd get a bit more conversation in and a few more furtive glances until I'd finally gotten up the nerve to ask you out on a date. You'd turned me down and every time we saw each other, it'd just get more uncomfortable. Then you apologized and told me that you changed your mind and wanted to go out on a date with me.

"Again, that'd started so innocently too. We'd just gone out to dinner at a nice place, the nice steakhouse downtown. You know the one, we used to love it. It was a nice night, the stars were out and the night was clear. The air was crisp and clean with only a hint of the thick smog that hung during the summer season. You spilled a glass of wine on my suit by accidentally shattering the glass, and I should have known then that maybe something was wrong here. But it was a lovely date, nevertheless.

"Two weeks later, we went out for a fourth time. This time, the weather wasn't so nice to us. It poured and poured and poured, and we never even left your apartment, now that I think about it. We just sat at your kitchen table, eating the quick dinner you prepared. It was lovely; pork chops with a side of greens and mashed potatoes. The wine kept flowing from the bottles. Another wineglass broke, but it wasn't a big deal. You fretted over it and I calmed you down from your fussing.

"That was the first time we kissed, both of us covered in the fermented grape juice and slightly drunk. Again, I should have known how well you kissed just by looking at you. You were too gorgeous not to know how; you were too handsome not to have been around the block and in everybody's beds before. I didn't mind, though. Not even as you bit your lip and told me you'd already been had by others. It was okay because you were just so charming and, dare I say it, seductive. You pulled me in like a stupid spider into the black widow's web. I didn't think you were going to rip my head off with your mouth once you were done with me, like you would, like you did.

"Then came the fateful night that I finally got you into my bed and was able to have you for myself. It was amazing, you were so tight around me and it felt so good. I think that you had a good time that night too, but what do I know? I was wrong about everything else about anything that had to do something with you. You weren't what I thought you were, though I wouldn't find that out until we were going steady.

"That's the first time that you got angry at me. I'd just moved into your apartment (it was nicer than mine) and I'd forgotten to bring home groceries. You screamed and screamed and screamed at me until your pretty little throat was sore and your beautiful face was red and scrunched up with anger. Your short blonde hair whipped around your face as you screamed, shaking your head and fingers at me. Out came your arm, hand poised to slap – and slap me it did. It left a red mark that, the next day at work, had people questioning if I had gotten into a bar fight. I didn't have the strength to tell them what had really happened.

"And besides, that was okay too because when I came home (with groceries this time), you were all over me, apologizing for your behavior and kissing it better, smothering me with your entire self. We made up and you stroked my cheek, promising to never do that again, no matter how angry you got.

"And yet, here we were in the same situation less than a week later. Only, this time, I'd neglected to tuck the corners of the bed sheets in the way that you liked them tucked in. And you'd hit me harder, leaving me with a black eye. Again, the next morning, you'd apologized and we'd made up. I found myself falling harder and harder for you, despite all those warning signs that I can now see you'd given me.

"And it'd continued until I proposed to you. You'd been so surprised and then screamed yes, yes yes yes! And the abuse had died down for a while, presumably because you were too busy fretting about the wedding plans. When you'd finally gotten everything under control, you were back to your old self. By 'old self', I'm talking about your abusive side. It's quite sad, actually. I'd been hoping that that side of you was gone, but it wasn't, as you proved to me three days after our nuptial when you really beat me for the first time.

"I hadn't even done anything to provoke you. I came home five minutes late and there you were, poised with a knife and a pan. You sliced four gashes into my right arm, ripping my jacket, and then knocked me out with the frying pan that still smelled like last night's pork chops. When I woke up, my entire body was aching because you had kicked me and punched me and beaten me as hard as you could. You didn't even apologize that time, you just played it off like absolutely nothing had happened, and you'd do this every month for the next six months until I'd had enough of it, enough of it, Arthur!

"Of course I had to shoot you! I couldn't get away from you! If I ran away, you followed and beat me down. If I suggested that we should take a break, you would hurt me and then cook me dinner. If I did anything, anything that you didn't like, I'd wake up bruised, bloody and broken. And I'd had enough. I loved you so much Arthur, I still love you so much even after you're dead and gone from this world and I loved you just as much as I stood there, gun in my hand, trigger poised to kill.

"I shot you. Not once, not twice, but thirteen times. Thirteen times because my hands were shaking so badly and I couldn't get a single clean shot. They never pierced you anywhere vital, but there were too many. Eventually you bled out, but not before you explored your new holes, smiling and laughing, your voice full of mirth. I regretted it then and I regret it now. I remember what I did – I knelt down on the sodden floor and kissed you as you died. You nearly bit my lip off of me, and I guess that even near death, you were still the Arthur I knew and the Arthur I still do love.

"You took control of me, Arthur. I had no other choice. You were controlling me and I hated it and you were abusing me and I couldn't stand it and I – "

"That's enough for today, Alfred," the therapist interrupted, sighing. A thick German accent painted his words. A few moments passed before he spoke again. "You know that he's not here and you're not supposed to talk as if he is. I'm going to ask a few more things, and I want you to answer, alright? I can't help you unless you help me."

"Sorry," Alfred stumbled, looking down at the table. His arms hurt from being bound so tightly in the straightjacket. He didn't understand why his therapist acted like Arthur iwasn't/i there, he clearly was. Right next to the German man, in all his glory, sat Arthur. He looked a little worse for wear, but there was absolutely no way that he was idead/i. It wasn't even possible.

"Alfred, honey, it's okay. You didn't hurt me too much! I'm alright now, see?" Arthur spoke. His voice washed over Alfred like a wave of ice. A chill ran up his spine and spread throughout his body, each inch of his flesh felt as if it had been turned into ice crystals. Alfred shivered.

The therapist tried to weasel out a few more answers from Alfred, but nothing he said would come out correctly. It all sounded like gibberish, and soon the session was officially dismissed. With little interest, Alfred watched the bespectacled man leave.

Arthur stood up from his chair and came to sit on Alfred's lap. Alfred felt his body temperature drop a few degrees and when Arthur's arms circled around his neck, it was all he could do to not shake him off. It was like he sucked all the warmth out of Alfred.

"I love you." A pair of sharp teeth dug into his throat, and he tried to scream, to no avail. As Arthur ripped the flesh of his neck open, Alfred continued screaming, but all that came out was a strangled, wet gurgle. Through blurry vision, he could barely witness the creature he'd known as Arthur swallow a mouthful of his flesh. He felt himself fade out, and all that he could think about was how he'd wronged his love.

Alfred woke up with a shout, and his breath came heavily as he struggled for air. "Jesus Christ, that nightmare…" He put a hand down on the floor to steady himself where he lay.

Squelch.

Horror flooded his veins and slowly, ever so slowly, Alfred turned his head to look. A mangled corpse greeted him, and a single, pained word tumbled out from his lips in a sickening whisper.

"Arthur."