No trigger warnings for this chapter, but there is some slight violence, so...read at your own discretion. Enjoy 3 PS: Feedback is always appreciated. :P

Dear Rose,

Okay, I'm already rethinking the name, how about you? It just doesn't look right. Then again, I'm probably overthinking things, which I have a habit of doing, but you knew that already, didn't you? This entire diary is the end result of my overthinking, isn't it?

Things became ugly tonight, Rose. Not as ugly as they could've been, but ugly nonetheless. I don't know what happened, honestly. We were sitting there, eating the lovely dinner that Craig brought home, and then he...he...

Can you tell me something, Rose? How do you know when you're having a breakdown? Are you actually cognizant of it while it's happening, or does it happen while you aren't paying attention? If you have the presence of mind to notice it, does that mean you aren't having a breakdown at all? Do you have to become completely insane for it to occur, or can it happen in stages? I'm asking for a friend, naturally.

There's been a slight development, a change, if you will, Rose. How can I explain it? After Craig finished with me tonight and I fell asleep with him holding me, I woke up feeling less broken and more...what's the word I'm looking for here? No, of course you wouldn't know. You only know what I do, right?

Rose, I woke up feeling angry. So angry I could barely breathe, I could hardly see straight. I went to my studio and I attacked my painting like I was murdering someone, tearing another person apart with my bare hands, with a knife, with every weapon I could imagine; dream up. I could taste the blood in my mouth and I liked it, I wanted more.

I still want more. But it isn't just the violence I thirst for, Rose.

I barely sound like myself right now, huh? Who is this person writing such vitriol, such caustic ugliness? Surely it can't be me, not sheltered, meek, woebegone Kyle; the prisoner locked up in the castle and forgotten by the world. How is it I could go to sleep as one person and wake up as someone completely different? Or is this angry, vengeful person the truth and the weak willed, retiring Kyle the lie? Maybe I'm both.

Maybe I'm nothing.

I feel like nothing, Rose. Did you know that? I'm a ghost, a lost boy, a forgotten loose end tucked away in a junk drawer. I'm the button or key that someone finds but can't think of a use for.

I went into the garden tonight and it was so strange. I'm used to seeing the roses in daylight, but they're just as captivating by moonlight. They just seem different, quieter, almost poisonous. The thorns are more sinister under the stars, and I managed to catch my fingers on them, and the pain was the same as it is during the day.

But, still, there was something frightening about leaving the house at night. And the thing is, I wasn't afraid of the dark or the potential for coming across a stranger, all the million other things one can fear after the sun goes down. I was terrified that Craig would find me and punish me for daring to get out of bed and stray outside, because of course he would worry and wonder and come looking for me.

But, why? Why am I afraid of something like that? You know you've completely lost control of your life when you're almost too terrified to walk outside of your own house after midnight; unafraid of the monsters but fearing the one who's supposed to love you.

I stood under the stars and just breathed in the night air, Rose. You should've seen the sky tonight, it was almost like I'd never seen it before; like I was seeing it with new, opened eyes. I'm sure I made a pretty picture, standing under the Milky Way streaking, no tearing, across the blue ceiling, there among the roses and just wondering where the fuck I can go from here. What are my options here, and how do I live with this growing rage? I looked to the sky and the stars sure as hell didn't have any answers; silent and cold and silver. It's like they weren't just hanging in the sky, they were dripping across it.

I almost wish something had found me in the garden, something awful, something with claws and red eyes that would tear out my heart before Craig could find me again. But that's crazy, isn't it? Sure, the wolf is always at the door but that doesn't mean I have to invite it inside...although I'm pretty sure I've already done that, haven't I?

What am I even talking about right now, Rose? Anything at all?

I'm almost certain I won't be able to go to work tomorrow. Not with the bruises on my face, not with the way my hands continue to shake. I feel like I'm always shaking, like I have a constant chill that sits in my bones. Although, I did notice it disappear for awhile recently, Rose. Think: lemonade and a picnic table...arms covered with tattoos...

Now I know I'm losing my mind. How could my brain even take a turn like that? Just because someone showed me some kindness? Am I that starved, that terribly hungry? I think it's just seeing Kenny again, you know? His face and voice just pull me backward through the years, to better times, when anything seemed possible.

You know, this is off topic but I just remembered something I hadn't thought about in ages.

Kenny didn't come to our wedding, Rose. He sent me a letter (not even an email, an actual letter!) apologizing about being unable to attend, that his job had called him away and he wouldn't be back in time, and he sent a check that Craig rolled his eyes at, but I've always held onto the letter. I have it in a stack of papers in the study, things I haven't gone through in ages. I remember being sad about him not being there, I'd actually wanted him to be a groomsman (Stan was best man, of course), but I understood, you know? I was also so caught up in getting ready and being in love that I didn't dwell on it.

But now it feels different and I don't know why. Maybe it's because I know he doesn't like Craig. It isn't even a suspicion, Rose. I can feel it as surely as I can feel the bruises on my skin, the cuts from the roses on my hands. I'm overthinking things again, aren't I? Besides, Craig doesn't like him either...but Craig doesn't really care for most people.

Which brings up another point, Rose. Craig borders on being a misanthrope so I often wonder why he's so preoccupied with me. It's like he sank his teeth into me almost 6 years ago and he hasn't let go since...I don't think he ever will. Honestly, I don't think he can. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only thing keeping him from becoming completely -

But he isn't crazy, Rose. I am. I have to be, right? I looked across the garden tonight, and I could see the iron gates and I wondered, why? Why can't I just walk across the grass and open those gates and leave? What's holding me here? Love?

I do love Craig; I do. I have to. If I didn't than none of this would even have a point, right? Does anything even have a point, though? Kenny seemed like he had a point, Rose; a purpose. I mean, he didn't explicitly state it. Hell, I don't even know what he does for a living...it was just there in his demeanor, the way he spoke. It all seemed so healthy.

God, I hope he doesn't go to the gallery tomorrow to see me, because I won't be there. I don't think he'd worry or anything, but I don't want him to waste his time.

I can see dawn now, Rose. I need to pull myself together so I can see to Craig; he'll be expecting me.

I wouldn't want to disappoint him.

Always and forever,

Your Kyle

PS: I'm still not feeling your name. Sorry, sunshine...this is actually important to me, so it needs to be perfect. At least I have a say over something, small though it may be.

PPS: God, I'm pathetic. Forgive me.

"More coffee?" Kyle asked, holding up the pot for Craig to see; hand still trembling slightly.

Craig nodded, pushing his cup in Kyle's direction and watching closely as the dark brown stream flowed into the mug; its fragrance drifting around them both and filling up the chilled kitchen with a modicum of warmth. Kyle almost flinched when Craig reached up and brushed a hand over his cheek.

"They aren't as bad as I thought they would be," he commented. Pulling away, he waited for Kyle to add the raw sugar and cream to the steaming coffee; he smiled lightly, tenderly.

Kyle put the pot back and came to the table, carrying his own mug. He was amazed that he hadn't spilled anything yet, what with how shaky he still felt. The trembles always persisted for awhile after Craig punished him and today was no exception. He sat at the table and placed his cup down, taking care not to disturb Craig's sprawling newspaper. Reaching up, he rested a hand against his slightly swollen cheek.

"No, they aren't. I was surprised," Kyle replied, voice soft. "I don't think I'll even have a black eye this time, so, there's that."

"Did you already call work?" Craig picked up the newspaper and turned to the sports' section.

Feeling the faint stirring of anger, Kyle bit the inside of his cheek and reached out to draw the red rose toward him; perfect and sweet-smelling in the crystal vase. Wordlessly, he began to caress the petals, admiring just how velvety they were.

"Kyle?" Craig asked, lowering the paper slightly; Kyle watched in his peripheral, not looking at his husband directly.

"Yes, I called," Kyle whispered, somehow managing to keep the bitterness from his voice. He'd spoken to Wendy briefly on the phone; stomach upset, no big deal. She'd told him she hoped he felt better and that she'd (hopefully) see him on Monday. Have a nice weekend, she'd added at the end; Kyle had had to bite back crazy laughter at the notion.

"Good." The paper went back up, Craig's large hands gripping it lightly. Kyle didn't care about any of it, didn't follow any teams or scores. He pretended to care for Craig's sake.

"What are your plans for today now that you have some much-needed free time?"

Kyle finally looked directly at his husband, the flame of anger intensifying as he began to worry the rose; red petals coming off in his fingers where he shredded them. Bits of the flower began to fall to the table in confetti strips, staining his skin red to match the wounds from the thorns.

"I already took care of the garden this morning but I'll..." he trailed off, plucking off another petal and tearing it into pieces. "I might plant another bush. Spice Twice. That's what it's called."

"Hmm, that sounds nice," Craig replied, turning a page. "What color is it? Red, I hope."

Fuck your red roses, you sadistic -

"They're a pinkish orange," Kyle said, tearing another petal; the flower was starting to become noticeably leaner, its flesh littering the table. "I'm sorry, Craig. I should've gotten red but I liked the name."

"Don't apologize over something like that," Craig smiled, finally putting the paper down and gazing at Kyle with adoration until he saw the state of the rose in the crystal vase. "What are you doing?"

Kyle looked down and feigned complete shock at what he'd done to the rose, quickly beginning to gather up the petals so he could throw them away.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, but he wasn't; he wasn't sorry at all. For the longest time he'd loved the symbolism behind their morning red rose, but with every bruise and strike of the belt he was growing to hate the idea, the lie. "I wasn't paying attention. I'll get another one from the garden."

Reaching out, Craig took the decimated rose into his hand and stared at it, hard eyes softening slightly.

"Don't bother," he said. "The damage is done, I guess. Besides, there'll be a new one on the table tomorrow, right? We'll just start again."

These words rang through Kyle's head like a death knell, the finality of them coupled with their long-standing implications...he shuddered openly.

"Craig," he whispered, hardly believing what he intended to ask, to say. Kyle hadn't spoken out of turn in years, not like this anyway. Not wanting to be still, he scooped the petals into his hand and went to throw the remnants away; taking care to keep some distance between himself and his husband.

"Hmm?" Craig was still staring at the rose, nothing in his posture or bearing suggesting he was angry. If anything, he just seemed lost.

"Why?" Kyle asked, gripping his long shirt in his hands and crushing the fabric. "Why did you...why did you punish me last night? What did I do?"

Craig threw the rose down and pushed himself away from the table, turning to stare at Kyle with empty eyes. For a moment they resembled one of Kyle's canvases before he'd drenched it with paint.

"What kind of question is that?" Craig asked, clasping his hands together; hands capable of caring for Kyle as well as breaking him down. Hands that had reached into the chests of countless patients and repaired their hearts, even as he destroyed Kyle's.

"I just need to know, Craig," Kyle replied, coming forward on bare feet. Grey shadows were falling across the kitchen floor, a summer rainstorm having started less than an hour before. Suddenly he could imagine roses drenched like fragile crepe paper, little dewdrops sliding down the green leaves; the smells of the musky earth filling him up and bringing him fleeting peace.

"I'm trying to get myself into a mental place where I can fucking do a heart transplant this morning, Kyle," Craig replied, the angry edge finally showing up in his voice and making Kyle want to retreat to safety; not that it truly existed. "It's a procedure that takes, at minimum, four fucking hours, and you want to bother me with this bullshit? Seriously?"

Ordinarily Kyle would've stepped down, would've folded, but he just couldn't this time. The rage was spurning him on, as was the ongoing confusion of why? If Craig loved him the way he said he did, then why did he hurt him? Kyle couldn't possibly be that bad, could he? He just wanted to know what he was doing wrong so he could stop, so this wouldn't continue to happen; the basement, the belt, the other shoe always preparing itself to drop.

"I-it isn't b-bullshit," he stammered, trying to even out his voice. "I always feel like you're angry with me, even when things seem like they're okay. I just need to know what I can do to make you happy so you don't have to -"

He stopped, clenching his still shaking hands into trembling fists at his sides.

"So you don't have to keep hurting me. Just tell me, Craig, and I'll do whatever you want. I promise."

Craig stood and slowly walked over to Kyle, almost appearing a stalking predator and Kyle had to admit that in a lot of ways that's exactly what he was; a wolf, a shark, a monster walking through nightmares. He stopped before him, and for a moment it seemed like he was tensing up. Kyle waited, either for a word or a strike, his breath trapped in his lungs.

But neither came, instead Craig gathered Kyle into his arms and held him close, pressing a kiss against the redhead's messy curls. All at once, Craig began swaying slightly, taking small steps around the kitchen, Kyle still nestled against him.

"Remember on our honeymoon when you tried to teach me how to dance?" He asked, laughing a little. "I'm still hopeless at it, aren't I? I was never meant to dance, Kyle; not like you, anyway. I remember watching you dance at Stan's wedding and you looked so happy...you waltzed Wendy across the floor and I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Did you know that?"

"Really? You watched me?" Kyle asked, looking up at him; falling into step as Craig danced him around the room, the cold tiles pressing against his feet. "I never knew that. Why didn't you tell me?"

Craig shrugged, holding Kyle closer and sighing a little; whether from happiness or sadness Kyle couldn't tell.

"There are a lot of things I don't know how to say, so I guess that's when I," he became quiet, tensing up in Kyle's arms. "Sometimes I feel like you're actively trying to get away from me, Kyle. You wanted to work so I let you work, you wanted a life outside of what we have together, and I allowed that, too." Becoming still, he gazed down into Kyle's eyes and he was surprised at how much sadness was there; those grey eyes that resembled a cold sea lapping a remote, out of the way beach.

"Haven't you ever felt something that was too big for you to handle? Like if you didn't act on it it would tear you apart? That's how I feel when it comes to you, and sometimes it becomes overwhelming. It's almost like I become this other person and when I come back to myself I look around and I find you crying or bleeding or..."

"In the basement," Kyle murmured, closing his eyes so the tears wouldn't start to fall. "Are you saying that you hurt me because you love me, Craig? I still don't understand."

"You have a way with words," Craig replied, brushing some hair from Kyle's eyes. "I don't, I never have. When I can't find the words I usually rely on actions. It isn't always the best way to be, but it makes sense in the moment. Sometimes it even feels right."

Kyle pushed away, eyes still closed. He gripped Craig's shirt and shook his head, not wanting to believe that the punishments stemmed from love; couldn't possibly accept that.

"Where is all of this coming from, anyway?" Craig asked, still holding onto Kyle though they'd stopped dancing. "You've never once asked me about any of this, Kyle. Do I need to be concerned?"

"Do you remember the first time you hit me, Craig? Like, really hit me?" Kyle asked, countering with a question of his own; finally opening his eyes. It was almost like he was waking up from a dark enchantment, a spell breaking apart. He couldn't say what had been the catalyst, though he had his suspicions, or maybe his brain just wouldn't allow him to disregard reality anymore.

Craig let go of him, eyes narrowing, and while they were still sad they were becoming calculating, too. For a moment, they flicked in the direction of the basement door.

"Yes, I remember," he murmured. "It was also during our honeymoon. You flirted with the waiter."

"I didn't flirt with him!" Kyle shouted. "I thanked him for being so attentive, so on top of things! I was giving him a compliment!"

"Right, a compliment," Craig sneered. "You practically gave him the key to our room. I'm surprised you didn't ask him to join us."

"So, an idle comment was enough reason to leave me covered with bruises? I had to wear a shirt into the ocean for the rest of the trip."

"That's fine with me," Craig replied, reaching out and taking a hold of Kyle again; yanking him close. "I'm the only one who should be looking at your body anyway. Don't you think? Unless of course you've been letting someone else in here when I'm gone, showing them what you have to offer."

"I've never done that!" Kyle cried, trying to struggle away. "Why are you so convinced that I want to cheat on you, Craig?! I've never given you any indication that I want to leave, that I've ever been interested in anyone else!"

"That remains to be seen." Craig hugged him, swaying slightly now; humming softly in the back of his throat. "God, I wish I didn't have to leave. Suddenly I'm feeling kind of aggressive. Can you tell?"

Wincing, Kyle could feel Craig's erection resting against his naked thigh, could practically taste his husband's arousal and imminent rage. It always came back to this, this unholy fire that seemed to burn in Craig's psyche; the part of him that thirsted for Kyle's body and obedience. He also knew that this was usually the precursor for the basement, and he could hardly believe how provocative he'd been; he'd pulled the lion's tail and now he was paying for it.

"Why did you notice me at Stan's wedding?" Kyle whispered. "I'm a horrible dancer and you know it, Craig; I don't have any rhythm whatsoever." He didn't ask the questions he really wanted an answer to: why did I seek you out at Stan's wedding? Why did I sit down next to you? Why did I start all of this?

"I noticed you long before that, Kyle. Even when we were kids, but I never thought I had a chance." Craig was kissing Kyle's throat now, his hands pushing under Kyle's shirt and coming to rest on his scar-covered back.

"But you had Tweek," Kyle murmured before he could stop himself. All at once, Craig was pushing him away so hard that he collided with the counter, eliciting a pitiful yelp before falling to the floor. Looking up, he didn't have time to move away before Craig was kicking him in the stomach, making him gasp wordlessly against the pain; clutching at himself and curling into a ball.

"I told you never to mention that fucking name, Kyle," Craig seethed, reaching down and taking a hold of Kyle's shirt, yanking him up and close to his face. He shook him slightly. "What's gotten into you today? Huh? Do you want me to punish you? Do you fucking get off on it or what?"

"No, I don't," Kyle sobbed, going slack as Craig continued to throttle him. "But I know y-you do, don't you? You always have."

Abruptly, Craig dropped Kyle to the floor with a thud and he stood, glaring down at him.

"Usually I can't get enough of your fire, Kyle, but this won't do; at all. I refuse to live in a house filled with discord, so you better fucking straighten up by tonight. Do you understand?"

Kyle refused to respond, biting his lip and fighting the urge to rub his throbbing back. All at once, Craig took a hold of his hair and yanked on it, forcing Kyle to look up and regard him.

"I asked you a question," Craig said, eyes blazing. "I expect an answer. Now."

He shook him again, still holding onto Kyle's curls.

"I understand," Kyle bit out, angry tears forming in his eyes and falling.

"We seriously need to discuss that job of yours, Kyle. We need to discuss everything, don't we? I'm noticing a change in your attitude lately and honestly, I'm not thrilled about it. At all." Letting go of his hair, he caressed Kyle's cheek with so much softness it almost made him want to scream; what was the truth?! What was the lie?!

He moved away, still staring at Kyle while loosening the belt on his robe.

"I need to go take a shower and start moving or I'm going to be late," he said, rolling his eyes. "Get yourself together and take your medicine, okay? I think you need to sleep for awhile because you aren't acting like yourself. I'll be home late tonight but we'll still have time to eat dinner and have a little talk. A nice, long talk." His eyes strayed back to the basement door and Kyle began to tremble openly.

"How does that sound?"

Kyle could only nod his head, shakily beginning to collect himself before reaching up and using the counter to pull himself up. Craig went to Kyle's messenger bag on the counter and Kyle had to fight back the urge to lunge at it, not wanting him to discover his diary in the secret pocket. Instead, Craig lifted out his Klonopin and set it down next to one of Kyle's trembling hands.

"Take it," Craig instructed, beginning to turn away. "You need it."

The scent of Craig's body wash had barely disappeared by the time Kyle was stepping out of the house and into the mid-summer drizzle; steam rising faintly from the grass. The sky was white and grey with gathered clouds but he didn't want to stay in the house for another moment. He'd also forgone Craig's command that he take his medication and go to sleep. Kyle didn't want to be doped up, he didn't want to sleep; he wanted to be awake and out in the world.

Craig had pressed a hard kiss against Kyle's mouth before leaving for the hospital, had looked into his eyes and had almost appeared repentant, but it was temporary. Everything was temporary when it came to Craig, other than his anger, his need for control. On some level Kyle believed that Craig's love was also eternal, at least what he considered love, and its strength was just part of the problem; it was the driving force behind all of the misery.

Kyle scooped up the Twice Spice bush and carried it to the corner of the garden in need of being filled, and he lay it down carefully. Standing there in his old jeans and light t-shirt, sunglasses on and gloves on his hands, he almost felt normal for a moment. Breathing deeply, he took the scent of rainfall, grass, and turned earth into his lungs, wishing he could bottle the aroma and carry it with him always. He always derived comfort from the fruits of the earth, its quiet stillness, its strength that didn't need to be destructive in order to make a point. The earth simply was, and it was okay to just be when you stood surrounded by nature.

Getting to work, Kyle began digging a nice-sized hole, turning the soft earth over and becoming elated that his thoughts were quieting. The house was full of dead, static air and more often than not there was nothing to fill up the emptiness, but that didn't stop Kyle's thoughts from screaming at him a lot of the time. Sometimes he needed to think, to ruminate, but more often than not his thoughts turned down dark alleys and he just couldn't stomach what he stood to find. The mind was truly a dangerous neighborhood, and he just couldn't stand facing it alone.

He didn't want to think about Craig's words, his promises, of the impending trip to the basement because he knew it was coming. Craig hadn't explicitly stated it, but he knew; they both did. For a lot of people the roads of destruction led to drugs or alcohol, to self-mutilation or dangerous choices, but Kyle's road led down dank steps and into the clinical whiteness his husband had built; silver trays holding instruments that in the right hands, could heal the body, but in the basement they mended secret horrors.

Almost without thinking about it, Kyle reached up and rubbed at his back, easing the ache there as well as the ghosts of the past. No one ever saw him with his shirt off anymore (except for Craig, of course) but if they'd been able to they would have so many questions, questions he could never find the words to answer without becoming sick. Idly, he pushed thoughts of the basement away, of Craig's unsettling explanation for his behavior, and just became loss in the act of tending to the garden; hands deep in the fragrant earth. The rain continued to fall steadily, but it was bearable, providing a refreshing backdrop that smacked of renewal.

He worked until he started to notice faint hunger pangs, having not really had anything for breakfast other than coffee. Kyle usually couldn't stomach too much of anything the morning after a punishment, so by the time lunch rolled around his appetite was out in full force. Standing back, he admired the pretty Twice Spice bush, its blooms small but holding intense promise, the petals a soft orange pink almost resembling a sunset.

It's like the garden in my head; the sunset over the ocean, he mused, admiring his work. The garden I'll be visiting again before too long.

Turning, he noticed that the rain had finally abated, and he removed his gloves, throwing them down in the soft grass. He'd go inside and have a sandwich before coming back out, his eyes straying over the other rose bushes. Kyle had pruned them that morning but he really needed to attend to the weeds, which were cropping up in droves. The latest rainfall certainly wasn't going to help that situation.

He'd nearly made it to the door when he heard something, a voice calling, and he looked around; startled.

"Kyle! Over here!"

Kyle's eyes widened behind his sunglasses to see Kenny standing at the gate, waving to him. His truck was parked behind him, idling at the curb. Almost feeling like a shy, skittish animal, Kyle slowly started walking toward the gate, suddenly remembering how he'd contemplated doing that very thing the night before. Just walking to the gate and passing through, escaping. He waved the idea away, the very insanity of it. Coming close but not daring to approach the gate proper, he stopped.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, brushing curls from his forehead. Kyle hadn't felt the need to greet Kenny, not with the fear sinking into his blood and already making him feel weak.

Kenny just stared at him for a moment, dressed in a hoodie and dark jeans. Kyle almost flushed to notice that he wasn't wearing cowboy boots this time, a pair of Adidas on his feet instead. Why had he even noticed this small detail?

"You weren't at work," Kenny said, reaching up and taking a hold of the gate, almost looking like he was a prisoner in an old-fashioned jail. Kyle almost wanted to laugh, but he couldn't bring himself to. "So, I thought I'd drop by."

"I'm sick," Kyle said, simply.

"You don't look sick," Kenny countered, peering at Kyle with shrewd blue eyes. His tone wasn't combative, merely observant.

Kyle snorted, already beginning to feel annoyed - and cornered. He hated feeling cornered.

"Sorry, dude. If I could I'd throw up right in front of you, but I can't just do it on a whim."

"Wise ass," Kenny snickered, still holding onto the gate. He studied Kyle for a moment, smiling a little as the sun broke from the clouds and washed over them both; shafts of light trapping themselves in Kenny's hair and making it gleam.

"You still haven't told me what you're doing here," Kyle said, daring to come just a little bit closer. He desperately hoped the bruises on his face weren't immediately obvious. He hadn't looked that bad this morning, and Craig had even said they looked okay, but still -

"Did you want to go grab some lunch?" Kenny asked, abruptly. "I'll even let you buy this time, and you can pick the place."

Kyle was momentarily still, just mulling the suggestion over. Every rational, sane part of his brain preoccupied with self preservation told him to say no but the hungrier parts, the angry parts, told him to say yes; just go, be free for a moment. He recalled the rage he'd felt while he worked on his painting, as he stood in the nighttime garden...the fire that had become present in his blood as he questioned Craig that morning, and all at once he just wanted to throw open the gate and run. Instead, he remained in the same place, feeling the cool winds ruffling his hair.

"Really? I get to buy?" He finally asked, smirking a little.

"Sure, why not? It doesn't look like you're hurting for cash," Kenny commented, glancing behind Kyle and taking in the expansive grounds, the lavish, gigantic house.

"What an artless thing to say," Kyle frowned. "I'm surprised you'd want to eat anything that was purchased with Craig's money."

"Then we won't use his money," Kenny replied, shrugging. "We'll use yours, the money you make at the gallery."

"Fair point," Kyle murmured. "Fine, I guess that'd be okay, but I have to be home before too long, okay? I still have to -"

"Relax, Cinderella," Kenny cut him off, holding up a hand. "I'll have you home from the ball before too long, okay? Prince Charming will never even know you were gone."

That's what I'm banking on, Kyle thought, finally closing the gap between himself and the gate; tentative feet carrying him closer to Kenny.

"So, you like to garden?"

Kyle glanced up from his latte, the creamy tan liquid steaming fragrantly as he blew on it. Kenny was sitting across from him, elbows on the table as he rested his cheek in his hand, a cup of black coffee sitting before him; steam curling upward. They were sitting in a small cafe that Kyle was particularly fond of, the atmosphere quiet and intimate as people spoke in hushed voices. Vaguely, he was aware of Peggy Lee playing over the sound system, singing about someone's kisses being like honey and sweeter than wine.

"It passes the time," he finally said, glancing out the window. It had started to rain again, but he could tell that the sun was waiting in the wings; getting ready to shine. The raindrops slid down the glass and he watched them, placing a finger against the chilled surface.

"Passes the time, huh?" Kenny replied, taking a sip of coffee. "Aren't roses hard to grow, though? That doesn't just seem like a casual hobby."

"It's casual enough."

Kenny was quiet for a moment, taking a bite of the most rugged thing on the menu: ham and cheddar on country white bread. He chewed and swallowed, peering at Kyle with curious eyes.

"Aren't you going to take your sunglasses off?"

"Why does it matter?" Kyle sighed, picking at his salad; chicken Caesar, no croutons.

Kenny shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"I was looking forward to seeing your pretty green eyes. Is that a crime?"

Kyle blushed before he could help himself, dropping his fork and taking a tremulous sip of his latte; burning his tongue. He winced a little. Kenny laughed lightly.

"Sorry, didn't mean to catch you off guard there."

"You aren't sorry at all," Kyle replied, sitting back and crossing his arms. "You're a shameless flirt, though."

"Guilty as charged," Kenny conceded, finishing off the sandwich and licking his fingers. "But I meant it."

"I'm sure you did," Kyle muttered, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of chicken. He brought it to his mouth and chewed slowly, eyes straying back to the window for a moment. Sighing, he finally reached up and removed his sunglasses, setting them aside. He waited with baited breath, his heartbeat picking up, for Kenny to make a comment. He'd suffered through a multitude of clueless, well-meaning comments over the years; what was one more?

"That's better," Kenny grinned, looking into Kyle's eyes and appearing genuinely pleased. "I was starting to feel like I was eating lunch with Roy Orbison." He studied Kyle for a moment. "They're even prettier when you blush. Did you know that?"

Kyle could only stare at him, completely taken aback that Kenny hadn't said something about the bruises on his face. They were obvious, weren't they? The whole fucking world could see them, why else would he be wearing sunglasses in a cafe?

"Cut the crap, Kenny," he said, gripping the table until his hands ached.

Kenny blinked, surprised.

"What?"

"I'm married, okay?" Kyle said, holding up his hand so his wedding ring was on full display. "Why are you flirting with me? Complimenting me? Why do you keep seeking me out? Huh?"

Kenny leaned forward and took a hold of Kyle's hand, the contact making him blush hotter. His finger strayed over the platinum ring, catching the weak sunlight finding its way through parted clouds. Kyle had expected his questions to make him angry, but instead he just appeared thoughtful, pensive.

"Craig Tucker," he murmured, inspecting the ring; rough hands clutching Kyle's with a surprising amount of tenderness. "I never understood that, you know; you two together."

"Is that why you didn't come to our wedding?" Kyle asked, pulling his hands away when he couldn't stand the contact anymore; couldn't handle how warm it made him feel.

"Partially, I guess, but I also had to work," Kenny replied, eyes lingering on Kyle's wedding ring. "I told you that in the letter, Kyle. What, did Craig not let you read it?"

"Of course he let me read it. What does that even mean?"

"Think about it," Kenny said.

"I am, and it still doesn't make any sense." Kyle clenched his hands around his coffee cup, staring into the liquid like he thought the answers were swirling in its depths. He wasn't used to this observant, ambiguous Kenny. Where was the goofy pot head he'd known so long ago?

"They're worried about you down at the gallery," Kenny said. "Wendy, Butters, Stan...they just want you to be okay."

"I am okay."

Kenny nodded, placing his hands flat on the table; studying them. Kyle stared at them too, admiring how tan they were, how sturdy. They appeared strong like Craig's but in a different way, calling to mind Kenny's salt of the earth personality; how he gave off the vibe that he chopped wood every morning before breakfast. The idea made Kyle smile against his will.

"What do you think of those photos you got on the wall there?" Kenny asked, still looking down at his hands. "Wendy told me you got a random shipment awhile ago, and those photos were inside."

"I love them," Kyle replied without hesitation, genuine enthusiasm leaking into his tone. He was anxious to talk with someone about the photos because he admired them so much, but he'd never been able to do that with Craig. What was the point? Craig could be indulgent but Kyle also knew he thought of the arts as being mostly derivative. Besides, his love for the photographs was so personal; there was no way he could share that with his husband, he'd just find a way to sully it, discredit it. That's why he hadn't been able to reveal his favorite when he'd been asked.

"Really?" Kenny grinned, leaning forward a little. "Which one's your favorite?"

"The lighthouse, no question," Kyle said, becoming animated; having absolutely no issue with displaying his inner-workings to his old friend. He always became excited when he talked about something that had touched him on a personal level, and the lighthouse had spoken to him; something profound waking up in his numbed mind. "It makes me want to run away somewhere, if that makes any sense. I just wonder where the picture was taken. If I knew, I'd go there." He laughed, tucking a curl behind his ear. What was he even saying?

"Les Eclaireurs," Kenny said, softly.

"What?"

"Les Eclaireurs," Kenny repeated, eyes becoming faraway. "The lighthouse at the end of the world. It's off the coast of Argentina, near the southernmost city in the world."

"How do you know that?" Kyle asked, eyes widening with surprise and secret, growing charm. Kenny just seemed to be full of surprises.

"Easy," Kenny shrugged. "I took the picture, Kyle. I took all of those pictures."

"No way," Kyle breathed, hardly able to comprehend what he was being told. Kenny, his Kenny, the perverted kid with the weird sense of humor and inability to ever take anything seriously, had taken the photographs he'd fallen in love with? The idea was too surreal for him to even make sense of it. Pushing his food away, Kyle reached out and this time he took a hold of Kenny's hands, startling him.

"Why didn't you sign them, Kenny? Why didn't you ask for payment? They're beautiful, you deserve recognition!"

Kenny looked down at Kyle's small hands gripping his own and he smiled slowly, blue eyes filling up with so much tenderness they nearly seemed to change colors.

"I think this is all the payment and recognition I need," he replied, almost appearing shy in that moment. "I was hoping you'd like them."

"I don't understand."

Kenny looked sheepish for a moment, though the soft look in his eyes didn't fade away.

"I've kept in touch with Stan for years, Kyle. I knew a long time ago that you were working at the gallery, so...I wanted to send you something."

"Those were for me? But...but you asked me where I worked. You acted like you didn't know."

"I didn't want to weird you out by letting you know I was kind of sort of keeping tabs on you. That's part of the reason I didn't sign them, but I also didn't need anyone else to know I'd taken them, you know? They're for you."

"Why didn't you just -" Kyle stopped, fading away. He was going to ask why Kenny hadn't just mailed them to his home, but he thought he already knew the answer. He shook his head, trying to take all of this information in.

"Why have you been keeping tabs on me? You didn't need to do that, Kenny."

"Stan and I disagree, Kyle," Kenny replied, drawing away and crossing his arms; his expression hardening until he almost resembled Craig when he was working himself into a rage. "We aren't blind, you know, and we aren't stupid, even if Craig would disagree."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kyle replied tremulously, standing abruptly from the table. He ignored the pain radiating through his back and stomach, not wanting to arouse Kenny's concern like last time. "I'm ready to go. I need to go. Now."

"Okay, okay. Relax," Kenny said, standing as well and holding his hands up in a placating gesture; almost like he was gentling a startled animal. "It's okay. We can go."

Hurriedly, feeling like he was almost coming out of his skin, Kyle rushed out of the cafe and over toward Kenny's truck, pulling at the handle and becoming nervous and angry when the door wouldn't open. Leaning against the truck, he covered his face with his hands and had to stop himself from crying, counting backward from ten as the Chopin nocturnes filled up his brain; convinced that everyone passing by, even Kenny, could see into his thoughts and figure out the truth; the horrors waiting there.

"Kyle, calm down," Kenny said, putting a hand on his shoulder and making him recoil. "Hey, wait! Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."

"No, no. Of course not. I'm fine. Fine," Kyle said, faintly aware that the rain had died down and the sun was shining at the same time; rainbow weather. "I just need to get in the truck, please. I don't want to be out here anymore."

"Sure, hold on." Kenny quickly unlocked the door and opened it for Kyle, who slid in and huddled in the seat, shivering slightly. Kenny went around the truck and got in behind the wheel, turning to Kyle with a look of utter compassion and confusion on his face. He held up Kyle's sunglasses. "You forgot these on the table."

"Thanks," Kyle said, softly; taking the glasses and slipping them back on, almost wishing he could disappear into the darkness. "I'm sorry I left so suddenly, I just..."

He looked down at his hands, fighting back the tears burning behind his eyes.

"I don't know," he whispered, unable to offer up a better explanation.

"Hey, Kyle. It's okay. I promise. Everything is okay. You don't need to keep apologizing to me."

"Craig said the same thing, about the stupid roses. The fucking red roses," Kyle seethed, unable to stop himself from letting out some of the bitterness. He slapped a hand over his mouth, his voice muffled when he spoke again.

"Don't listen to me. I sound crazy, don't I? I should probably take something." Fishing in his pocket, Kyle withdrew the bottle of Klonopin. Just because he'd been defiant and hadn't taken it when Craig wanted him to, didn't mean he could disobey completely. But wasn't that exactly what he was doing anyway? Being out with Kenny like this? Suddenly everything was too surreal and topsy turvy, and he was hurriedly opening the bottle and swallowing a yellow pill; the bitterness barely touching his tongue.

"He's got you taking pills?" Kenny asked, eyeing the bottle with extreme distaste. "Kyle, you don't need -"

"Don't fucking tell me what I need, Kenny! I don't need that from you, too!" Kyle suddenly yelled, almost feeling like he was coming unglued. He was just so tired of being told what to do, even by the people who meant well. He didn't need it, he didn't want it. He wanted to be free, he just wanted to -

Kyle checked the positioning of the sun, fear flooding him in a poisonous tide.

"I need to go home," he said, turning to Kenny and clutching at the front of his shirt. "Please, please just take me home!"

Kenny peered out at the sun too, which was finally breaking away from the clouds even as smatterings of rainfall fell softly.

"We've barely been out for an hour, Kyle. Just relax, it's going to be -"

"No, it isn't going to be okay! Stop saying that! You have no idea what you're talking about!" Hunching forward, all of the terror converged on Kyle at once and suddenly all he wanted was to be at home among the roses, lost in the silence and waiting for Craig to come back. Even if they went immediately to the basement, at least Kyle wouldn't feel so horribly afraid, because he'd know what to expect. Out here, with Kenny, he didn't know what was going to happen, and he hated it.

Kenny didn't speak, opting instead to settle a gentle hand on Kyle's aching back, and it was this small bit of softness that pushed Kyle over the edge. Without warning, he started to cry quietly into his hands. He wept about the pain, the fear, the unknowns...he wept over the lonely lighthouse Kenny had brought him, the years unfolding and drenched in blood and quiet desperation; he cried about it all, and once he started he couldn't stop.

"Just take me home. Please," he whispered, hating himself for his vulnerability; his weakness. In that moment, Kyle hated everything about himself.

"Okay," Kenny murmured, starting the truck; his hand never leaving Kyle's back as he continued to sob.

"We're here."

Kyle looked up, almost sagging with relief to see the house looming before them, the roses fluttering in the early afternoon breeze. His home had never looked so beautiful to him, and he turned to Kenny with a smile of gratitude; buoyed by the fact that Craig's car was nowhere to be seen.

"You must think I've completely lost my mind," he said, resting his hand on the door handle. "I promise I'm not always this emotional. I'm just having kind of a weird day."

Kenny studied him for a moment, his hand still lingering on Kyle's back; fingers bunching up in the material of his t-shirt.

"I don't think you've lost your mind, Kyle," he said. "I just think you're afraid."

The Klonopin was seeping into his blood now and making him loose, slightly off-kilter, and Kyle couldn't help but wave away Kenny's words.

"I'm not afraid of anything. You should know me better than that."

"I used to think I knew you pretty well," Kenny replied, taking his hand from Kyle's back and tracing a finger over his cheeks; across the bruises resting there. "But now I'm not so sure."

Kyle was tired of being serious, of focusing on the awful things in his life. Instead, he tried to move the conversation in a different direction; ignoring the questions in Kenny's eyes. He didn't want to talk about the bruises, anyway. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to pretend that they didn't exist in the first place.

"Do you take photos for a living? Like, for a magazine? Is that why you were in New York City, too?" Kyle asked, becoming excited even as his brain lapsed into the fuzzy, muted quality it assumed when Klonopin was careening through his system.

Kenny laughed lightly, touching the bruises one last time before taking his hand away; gazing at Kyle with an easygoing expression that took him to the past, when things were safe and simple.

"I do a lot of freelancing, Kyle, but yeah, I've worked for a couple magazines. National Geographic, Time, whatever. It isn't any big deal."

"It's a huge deal! Are you crazy? What you're doing with your life is amazing, man! You should be so proud," Kyle gushed, smiling openly now. "I'm proud of you. Did you know that?"

"It's all I ever could've wanted," Kenny quipped, flushing a little even though his smile grew exponentially. He almost appeared bashful, which amused Kyle to no end.

"I've got you blushing, dude," he teased, poking Kenny in the side and making him arch slightly. "Look who's shy all of a sudden."

"Who's shy?" Kenny groused, rubbing his side and blushing an even deeper shade of red.

"Will you take me to that lighthouse someday?" Kyle asked playfully, reaching out and poking Kenny again and making him yelp. "I want to see it in person."

"Hey, cut it out," Kenny said, wrapping his arms around himself so Kyle couldn't poke him in the ribs again. "Besides, you can only get there by boat."

"Is that a fact?" Kyle said, thinking of the idea and automatically falling in love with it; a lonely lighthouse perched on an island somewhere, waiting for curious onlookers to arrive at its shores. It was almost like a siren sending out its call to the universe. "The lighthouse at the end of the world," he murmured, the klonopin winding through him in chemical ribbons and rendering him pliable and sleepy. "What a lovely idea. I'm so glad you brought it to me; I never even knew it existed."

"I guess you could say I wanted to show you the world," Kenny said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking so young and suddenly unsure that Kyle could feel himself becoming even more relaxed; the feeling not even the byproduct of his anti-anxiety medication.

"How did you get to be so sweet? Huh?" He asked, reaching up and boldly pushing some of Kenny's hair off his forehead. He studied him for a moment. "Someone needs a haircut, by the way."

"Sweet? Me? Hardly," Kenny scoffed, trying to assume an air of toughness and failing terribly. "I'm a bad boy, Kyle. You know that."

"Right," Kyle replied, rolling his eyes. "Only a sensitive soul could take such beautiful pictures. I know this for a fact."

"I don't doubt it." Kenny gazed at him for a moment, and all at once Kyle found his heart pounding wildly, and suddenly the cab of the truck felt far too small. Fumbling for the door handle again, he opened it up and began to slide out.

"I should probably be going. I wanted to weed the beds and I still have to make dinner. Craig'll be home before too long, so -"

Kenny climbed out as well and came around the truck, his hands tucked in his pockets as the wind blew his hair around; leaving it a wild mess that Kyle wanted to pass his fingers through again. He ignored the impulse, chastising himself for being so reckless, even if it was just in his head.

"I'll stop by again soon. If that's okay," Kenny murmured. "Will you be at work on Monday?"

"Definitely," Kyle replied, though he couldn't be sure. Depending on Craig's temperament that evening, he had no idea what shape he was going to be in when Monday rolled around. Kenny didn't need to know that, of course. Besides, just the thought of having a visitor filled him with a raw hope that was almost painful, even though he knew on a rational level that he should be terrified. A sudden thought struck him as he gazed across the grounds, at the roses glowing under the sunshine breaking through.

"Hold on, I'll be right back," Kyle said, going to the gate and punching in the pass code. He glanced back at Kenny and grinned to see him watching him curiously. Finally, the gates parted and he ran across the grass, snagging a pair of garden shears and quickly snipping a few of his favorites, including the largest of the Spice Twice's. Coming back, he shyly held out the colorful bouquet to Kenny, waiting for him to rip into him for giving him flowers.

Instead, Kenny took them into his hands and held them so gently you'd think he was nestling a baby bird across his palms.

"I can keep these?" He asked, looking up at Kyle with admiration. "Really?"

"Well, sure. Yeah," Kyle replied, placing his hands behind his back and kicking at the ground. He smiled with pleasure, feeling warm and pleasant and safe; the sunshine striking his hair and shoulders. "Do you like them?"

"They're beautiful," Kenny said. He lifted them to his face and breathed deeply. Turning, he opened the door to his truck and laid the blooms carefully on the seat. Kyle came over to peer behind him, touched that Kenny was being so gentle with the flowers. Kenny glanced at him and before Kyle could respond, he was running his fingers through Kyle's windswept curls.

"I'll take you to Les Eclaireurs someday, by the way," he murmured. "If you really want to go."

"You promise?" Kyle asked, hardly recognizing his voice; it's soft, almost sensual quality. What was happening right now?

Suddenly, Kenny was putting his hands on Kyle's waist and pressing him up against the truck, backing him into the cab where the roses lay; their fragrance rising in a cloud around them when Kyle's weight settled against them. Kyle stared up at him with wide eyes, Kenny's own looking at him with such raw need, such open, needful intent that he almost became breathless.

"What are you doing? Kenny," Kyle said, reaching up and pressing his hand against Kenny's chest; pushing him back. He shook his head.

"I can't do this, Kenny. Please understand. Please." He looked at his old friend with beseeching eyes, fear borne in his brain from what he'd almost allowed to happen.

For a moment, only a second really, Kyle almost thought that Kenny was going to continue anyway, his hands still pressing into Kyle's skin and holding him close. Oddly enough, he didn't feel any fear of this, though a deep pervasive shame bloomed in his brain; how the knowledge of his betrayal would destroy Craig completely.

"I'm sorry, Kyle," Kenny said, pulling away and rubbing his face with his hands; relinquishing his hold on Kyle's waist. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Don't apologize, please," Kyle replied, sliding down from the seat and looking back at the roses, trying to arrange them so they wouldn't appear so flattened down. "I'm not mad, okay? Please come back to see me."

"I'll come tomorrow, if you want."

Kyle began to back toward the gate, which was still open and waiting to swallow him up. He shook his head, thoughts of the basement's horrors waiting for him in the dark tangle of his grey matter. He wouldn't be able to receive visitors the next day, he already knew that, and even though Kenny seemed to have a vague understanding of the deeper implications in all of this, he didn't need to see the extent of Craig's potential savagery.

"Come visit me at work on Monday," he said, smiling as the sunshine finally came out in full force; lighting up the world until it almost burned. "I promise I'll be there. Waiting for you."

Dear Rose, (I'll stick with the name for now, okay? Maybe I'll get used to it.)

This entry won't be long, mainly because Craig will be back before too long (he's in the shower; I guess he worked up a sweat...among other things) and it's hard to hold the pen for very long; everything hurts. We went to the basement tonight, just like I knew we would, but that isn't important right now, Rose.

I wanted to tell you that I fell asleep in the sunshine after Kenny left, just laid down in the grass and closed my eyes (only for a moment!) and before too long Craig was waking me up and bringing me into the house, the smell of the grass in my clothes and hair covering up Kenny's cologne...at least I hope it did. He was none the wiser about my outing today (thank God) but it left me breathless, Rose. For a moment I felt so happy (and so afraid) that I couldn't wait to tell you. If I hadn't been so loopy from my medicine I would've already written everything out, but as it stands, I won't have time until tomorrow.

Rose, I think Kenny wanted to kiss me, but I stopped him. Can you believe that? I have no idea where any of this is coming from, but he looked at me like he wanted me...I know that look, or at least I think I do. Craig still looks at me like that on occasion. It isn't predatory, just sweet and full of longing, but I never would've expected it from Kenny McCormick of all people.

Hold on. The shower stopped. I need to go, Rose.

Always and Forever,

Your Kyle

PS: I know this is crazy, but I kind of wanted Kenny to kiss me, Rose.

PPS: God, I wish I had let him kiss me.

PPPS: Maybe next time?

PPPPS: Will there be a next time?