Chapter Four: Ivan Braginski, with Gilbert.

Bruder walks back to the bed and lies down next to me; his arm rests on my side. My mind wanders in the silence, remembering previous nights of previous passions. Involuntarily, I shake my head to forget those stupid days.

"What is it?" He asks.

"Nothing," I lie.

"It's always something." His blue eyes turn cold; jealousy is clear.

"I swear; it's nothing." I kiss his lips, and he bites back gently.

"I don't believe you," he laughs quietly.

"He used to do that." I mutter, accidentally.

"He? You mean Ivan..." His body tenses, and I pull away from him, jump onto my feet, and make my way to my room. He grabs my wrist; nostalgia throbs through my head. Get away! "Why are you thinking about Ivan?"

"I just – it was just a random thought, nothing else. Guten Nacht." I try to pull away, avoid all talk of Ivan, the man who shamed me.

"Nein, Gilbert, you were told never to bring him up by unsere Eltern."

"I know, sorry." I slip my wrist out of his grip, make a dash for the door, and lock it behind me. "Guten Nacht." My back presses against the door as I slide to the floor. Ivan, why won't you ever leave me alone? "How could you do this to us, Gilbert?! How do you think this makes us look?!" They're still ashamed of me, my stupid mistake. That's why I was so upset with Bruder's camera and his affection.

– –

I've been modeling since I was six, so my name and face had been around a lot when I turned eighteen. I met him at the end of my senior year, Ivan Braginski, a cold man with a kind smile. I learned that later than I would have liked to. I liked to pretend that I was normal, but I soon found out everyone knew I wasn't. So I embraced it, and then I met Ivan, who seemed clueless about my profession. He seemed kind and knew nothing of my career, so I wanted to be with him more often than not. I began to wonder if this attraction were friendship or in a romantic gesture; I couldn't tell.

He kissed me, and I realized then that it was what I wanted. Mutti strictly demanded I date a girl in another prestigious modeling career, so clearly, I kept Ivan and I on a low key. Kissing turned to touching; touching turned to sex. There was no questioning Ivan; he got what he wanted, always. He was rough, never apologized, only took, and I, well, I let him have everything he wanted. That hurt! "So what?" Sto– never-mind. "I thought so. Now, stop being stupid and lift your hips, whore." The names were the worst, yet, I believed I was in love. Love, what bullshit.

Anyways, he wanted to go to some prestigious multimedia school, and he had to submit a portfolio of something simply extraordinary. I won't ever forget what he did. He called me with all urgency, demanding that I come and see him that instant. I did as requested. He kissed me at the door of his one room apartment and rushed me onto his bed, pulling at my shirt. I didn't mind, because as I said, I thought I was in 'love.' My shirt was abandoned on the edge of the bed, and my mind was lost in the lust. Maybe, if I were level-headed, I would have noticed the situation, but I didn't. I kissed him and pulled at his shirt, instead. His violet eyes consumed my attention, and when he lost his shirt, his pants soon followed. He sat up and stared at me. "Suck it." He demanded so casually, and I didn't consider, just did as told. He was in my mouth, and I couldn't breathe as much as I'd prefer. His hand wandered over to my ass. "You're such a slut." I had no preconception of 'love.' To me, 'love' was this. 'Love' ended with bruises of rough sex and bite marks instead of hickeys.

My eyes were opened to why this wasn't love. They were opened wide when I saw what got Ivan a more than fair amount of money. He never told me; the newspaper and Mutti's open palm told me. "You just turned eighteen, and I have to deal with news like this!" I didn't know about it. "Since when were you gay? And who the hell is he?!" … "Why is my son showing up in the news with a sex tape?" I didn't – "I don't give a shit, Gilbert! What the hell were you thinking?!" I wasn't. "No shit!" He sold me out. When they say modeling is like prostitution, they weren't kidding.

– –

I know the difference now. I love Ludwig and trust him. It's a pleasant feeling, to trust someone. I love him more than I should. I love how he tries so hard to please me, how he never really wants to hurt me, how he likes it rough, how he touches me, but I cling to him. I don't want him to leave me, and he was the one who sparked our relationship. However, I'm the one who fears him leaving.

"I know you're next to the door." He states bluntly.

"Nein, I'm in bed!" I reply.

"You're next to the door; I can hear you."

"Shut up."

"Hey, Gilbert."

"What?"

"I love you." "You dumb whore." Ivan won't ever go away. My hands pull at my hair to the point that it hurts. It wasn't love, but I can't just forget. I won't ever forget. I want to forget.

A/N: A peek into Gilbert's head.

~FromPrussiaWithLove.