"Does your arm hurt?"
Mohinder grasped on to me like a child clinging to his mother, hungry and neglected.
"Yes, you can let me go, now."
He startled at my iciness, the sudden change in mood toward him, flirty to loathing.
"Mohinder, you killed someone, what do you think I can do about that?"
The space between us was growing smaller, if I moved my hand, I would be holding his.
He looked like helpless puppy, guilt consuming him.
Most would say they understood, felt his pain, but I wouldn't want to lie, would I?
To me my first kill was nothing like this, it felt right, fun.
"Punish me, I've sinned greatly. I need to feel the pain I brought on others."
"Always the poet, words are like cherries to you, they come easy and taste so sweet."
His cheeks were warm with shame, red round berries yearning to be chewed on.
My fingers lingered on them, brushing them with pain, punishing him.
"It's not enough, more."
"More, more, greedy little children don't get any. Promise me, my child. Promise me, you'll always be mine, then I'll give it to you."
Second thoughts, those hateful things, they get the best of you.
"I-I promise."
"That's a good boy."
Blue came from my finger tips, punishing him for his crimes. My hands found his head, as my lips found his.
He was bluer then a glow stick, and had softer lips then Peter.