Chapter 2
The dim, tarnished glow of the street-lights flooded in through the windows and sluiced the hall with its murky sheen. Though Simon couldn't see much of his surroundings, it became immediately apparent that Nathan was in the final throes of a particularly violent wank. Simon crept closer to the shuddering figure, deeply thankful that the mysterious laws of his power dictated that he became inaudible, as well as invisible, when he chose to be. Often it unnerved him - that sense of sliding helplessly away from the world to occupy a separate plane of existence, as though trapped on the other side of a mirror, gazing at the faces of his companions through a clear wall of glass - but at the present time his heart was pounding so fiercely that his teeth had begun to rattle to its tune, and his breaths were torn in ragged gusts from his lungs. It was imperative that Nathan was unaware of his presence, for now at least. Simon leaned in even further and carefully poised himself mere inches from Nathan, close enough to inhale his scent, mesmerised by the rhythmic jerking motions of his hand. It was over all too soon, and Simon's breath caught painfully in his throat as he watched Nathan's body stiffen and convulse. This was hardly the first time Simon had used his power for voyeuristic purposes; sometimes, during community service, he turned invisible for as much as fifteen minutes at a time (no one ever cared enough to notice) and simply followed Nathan about his business, shadowing his footsteps like a ghost. It was, however, the first time he had happened to stumble upon one of his masturbation sessions. Therefore, he was unprepared for the sight of Nathan casually wiping himself down afterwards with a very stiff and very sad-looking sock. For the first time in what seemed like years, a faint smile tugged at the corner of Simon's mouth. And then, without warning, the events of last week tumbled through his mind in a blinding flurry, and his expression soured.
He couldn't recall the exact moment when it had happened, but at some point in the past seven days, something inside him had withered and died. His eyes had hardened, and his blood had begun to run cold. All he knew for certain was that this time last week, Nathan had loved him. All his life Simon had dreamed of being so blindly and passionately adored - and since the day when Nathan had first exploded into his life, it had been painfully obvious that no one else would ever suffice. But he hadn't imagined that it would be so terrifying, to suddenly look into Nathan's eyes and see a yearning that mirrored his own. It had always been so easy in the midnight theatre of his just-before-sleep fantasies; he had always known exactly what to say, how to behave. He had always been in absolute control. Nathan's coarse and clumsy advances had left him horrified; not because he hadn't wanted to succumb, but because he had wanted it far too much. The sheer depth and weight of his own desire appalled him. It was beyond love, beyond infatuation. Whatever it was, it had caused him to slowly darken and decay until he was nothing more than a vessel for this aimless longing, empty of choice or volition. But an interesting realisation had dawned upon him as the sickness ate him alive: it was only as you started to peel back the carefully assembled mask of humanity that you realised just how little there was underneath it all. Strip away the layers, and you found nothing - no soul, no substance, just a constellation of obsessions, no more or less. Lust was the only thing that held him together now.
Nathan took a huge gulp of beer, slopping at least half of it down the front of his t-shirt. He was quite fantastically drunk, that much was obvious. Deciding that now was the time to finally set his plan into motion, Simon took a few steps back, hurriedly smoothing down his hair and wiping the film of cold sweat from his brow, and snapped back into visibility. Nathan jumped comically at the sudden sight of him.
"Jesus! Stop doing that you little freak!" Nathan squawked, sluicing himself in beer once again
Simon didn't respond, and merely stood gazing down coldly into Nathan's face - that face, which only last week had been transformed by wide-eyed adoration, now displayed only wry mockery. A smile flickered on Simon's lips. It was better this way, so much better. He no longer wanted to see Nathan smiling fondly back at him, or to hold him gently - he had no time for loving caresses and soft whispers - the very thought of it made him nauseous now. He wanted to violate every inch of Nathan's body and soul, to beat him down with as much violence and hatred as he could muster and crush him underfoot.
"Fuckin' hell Barry, what's up with you?" Nathan demanded. "You look even more constipated and unusual than you normally do."
"You were right, you know," Simon said. "I am a freak. I used to hate you for saying it, I didn't want to be that person. I thought everyone was just being unfair, picking on me to make themselves feel better. I thought I was the victim, but I'm not. There's a poison in me. They could sense it, even when I couldn't sense it myself. I see now that they were afraid. And I don't blame them, not at all."
"That was...a lovely story, man," Nathan responded hazily, obviously not listening. "Go and get me a beer from the kitchens will you? I'm all out." He shook his empty bottle and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. Simon watched it roll off silently into the shadows.
"Empty. It's all empty, isn't it?" Simon murmured. "We're all just...adrift here. There are chasms between us. No one ever really touches anyone. We're all alone."
"Ah, don't worry Barry, you'll get laid one day," Nathan grunted, lying back on his grubby bed and staring up at the ceiling. "I mean, sure, you have the eyes of a sex-pest, and you kinda look like something Tim Burton drew on an off-day, but that's what drugged-up, one-eyed hookers are for, right? So anyway, how about that beer?"
"I'll be back before you know it," Simon answered quietly, retreating into the gloom.