When I Broke Him

Why did you change?

- November 18th

6:35pm

I stirred in my sleep as I tried to block out the raucous voice calling out to me. I rolled over, and with my eyes closed I groped for my pillow and buried my face in it, but the moment I laid my face on it, my eyes snapped open.

This isn't my pillow. It didn't smell like mine. I couldn't sense the aroma of my hair gel mixed with the pine scent of my shampoo and conditioner I frequently used. This pillow smelled like…it smelled like nothing. There was no scent to it, but I took another whiff to sedate my befuddlement. This definitely isn't mine.

"Hey." I rolled back over to the voice and noticed Paul's huge frame looming over me. His eyes actually looked passive for once. Or was that just because of my blurred vision? I wasn't entirely sure. "You been asleep long enough. Get up." He said and moved away from me.

I sat up straight. This isn't my room either. I looked around, perplexed. Am I dreaming or something? I thought. Why is he in my dream? As soon as the thought crossed my mind, my memory began to recall all that had happened before I fell asleep in Paul's car. Oh yeah…I looked around again, my eyes discerning and lingering on different objects. This must be his room…I guess. I yawned.

As my eyes flittered over the space speculatively, I noted that, if this was his room, it looked absolutely nothing like I would've imagined it would. It was so…decorative. It was bigger than my room, a lot bigger. The walls were plastered white, and the floor was carpeted and shaded sea green. There were two desks; one with a home computer atop it with a cushioned rolling chair, while the other looked as though it was made like an artist's canvas in the way that it was slightly tilted forward, a small reading lamp attached to top of it, the neck of the lamp bent into an awkward angle so that it illuminated the surface of the desk.

There was also a bookshelf beside the artist's canvas—an actual bookshelf! Haphazardly, there was a sea green beanbag chair in the middle of the floor that matched the carpeting, whilst the bed—which seemed queen sized and which I was currently on—was pushed close to the huge, square framed window. It was donned was a blue comforter and black blankets with and intricate silver and champagne colored pattern stitched into the coverings.

But what made matters even more surprising, was the fact that it all looked so clean…and neat. Everything looked in place—except the random beanbag chair in the middle of the floor—and while the drapes, which possessed the same intricate color pattern as the bedspread, were drawn back, it allowed for the different arrays of oranges, reds, yellows, and blues glistening in from the setting sun to stream in through the large framed window and sparkle through the glass frame, brightening the many hues of dark greens and blacks that shrouded the room.

"When did…" I started, and watched attentively as he idly pushed the beanbag chair with his foot into the corner next to his computer, and that's when I noticed that he had taken off his uniform shirt—although he continued to adorn the khaki pants—and now wore a plain, small white t-shirt that hugged and clung to his muscled back and shaped to fit the curves and dips of his hips. "…we get here?" I managed to finish, as my eyes raked over him.

"Half hour ago." He answered indifferently. My eyes ran down his figure, but stopped when I discerned his right arm still limply dangling at his side. Inwardly, I wondered how it was that he was able to remove his shirt with only one hand, but even more, I pondered over the phenomenon of how I ended up in, what I assumed was his room, and bed…I don't remember falling asleep here.

"Uh…How did I…get in this bed?" He stopped pushing the beanbag chair and turned to face me. His eyes met mine for a brief second before turning back to his prior ministration.

"I put you there." He replied uncaringly. "…it's mine." I gasped softly at my correct presumption, and he turned back to me.

"You carried me in here with only one arm?" He didn't reply to the inquiry right away, and my eyes followed him as he rolled his computer chair over to the artistry canvas-like desk, and he placed it beside the chair already settled there.

"You're not that big." He finally replied.

"Yeah, but still…your arm is—"

"It's fine," he growled, and I was slightly startled. I was only concerned. I stilled at the thought, wondering why I was even concerned in the first place. It shouldn't make a difference to me if it doesn't make a difference to him. "Over here," he edict. "I wanna get this shit over with."

I watched him sit in his rolling chair after pulling out the other for me to sit. Then he turned to me and his brows furrowed. "Damn! Do I have to bring you over here too? Are you that damn useless?" I figured that I had struck a nerve with the whole arm comment, but it wasn't my fault…entirely. Maybe it is, was…to hell with it. I don't care.

Yes I do. I sighed to myself, and then I heard him snarl impatiently.

"N-no" I answered, quickly snapping from my reverie. I swiftly crawled from atop the bed, and immediately I felt the plush carpeted floor between my toes, and that's when I realized that my feet were bare. He took off my socks? I didn't deliberate over it too much though, and ambled over to the desk before taking the seat he pulled out for me.

"Uh…" I sputtered. I surveyed the desk, noting that there was a pencil and a piece of paper on it, but nothing else. "…so," I turned to him, but looked away when our eyes met. "…what do we do?" I asked timidly. "…first?"

My eyes sifted onto Paul, and I discerned him shrug. "Don't know," he clipped. "You're the tutor. You tell me."

"Oh, okay w-well…umm," I looked around for what felt like…I didn't even know how many times I looked around at everything, but my mind raced nervously as I shuffled though ideas. I'm freakin' thirsty. I thought randomly, swallowing. I believed it was just a thought, but that was until I realized Paul's eyes running shiftily over my visage. He stood from his chair.

"I'll be back." He said monotone.

"W-where are you going?"

"You said you were thirsty," he replied. I thought I said that to myself. I didn't know I said it out loud. He turned and moved towards the door. "I'll be back." He mumbled, and I watched him leave the room, but the door remained open.

I stared at the empty doorway for a short while before I sighed and sank into my chair and dropped my head against the tilted desk top. What am I doing? What in the world am I doing here? I couldn't believe myself. I couldn't believe what I was doing…or even more, where I was.

I was actually in Paul's house, in his room. I had actually been asleep on his bed—bare footed! It was pointless to try and wrap my mind around everything, because I was convinced that it wouldn't have made a difference if I could, in some harsh reality, fathom it all. Either way I would still be in the same predicament.

But I couldn't shake the bead of curiosity that was avidly growing inside me. Paul. My mind cooed. I couldn't relinquish the hold that happened to manifest from my suspicions. The sensation was very slowly intensifying by the minute. He was such a mystery, almost as much of an enigma to me as Jacob. The more time I spent in his presence, the more I wanted to know him, and to divulge his very being and discover the secrets behind his obscurities.

This must be how Mrs. Locke feels about him, and maybe that's why she's always trying to figure him out. It would explain a lot. But I wondered if it was just the two of us that felt the same, or did everyone feel slightly unsettled by his presumably unearthly secrets?

Personally, my feelings towards him were a bit more morbid than weird. They scared the hell out of me. To even be remotely intrigued by someone who has constantly harassed me on a daily basis? It seemed a tad bit…moronic on my part; even if he does appear to differ from the rest…he almost seems exiled…sort of. He isn't like the rest of them. I lifted my head up and looked towards the barren doorway.

All I did was say I was thirsty…I think, but I don't really need anything. My throat burned…even if I am a bit parched. I swallowed in a vain attempt to placate the discomfort. But he's definitely…I sighed. I didn't want to call him different—not again. His friends would've never done anything for me though, so that has to mean—I shook my head. I was beginning to think too much about him again.

Because you're titillated by him, my conscience resonated. I looked away from the door and lowered my eyes to the canvas in front of me. Titillated? What the hell did that mean? I didn't even know I knew that word. But either way, in the way that my conscience just used it, it didn't sound like something I wanted to admit to. Not towards Paul of all people in the world.

"…no I'm not," I whispered, convincing myself—actually, it was more like I was trying to convince myself that it was true. I still didn't know what the word meant, but like I said, it didn't sound a good thing to use that word to describe how I feel about him. It wasn't. I just knew it wasn't, even though I didn't know what it meant at all…find me a dictionary. I thought.

Instinctively, I turned back to the door when I perceived, what sounded like ice in a cup, rattling in my ears, and Paul. He moved towards me, two glasses, of what I presumed to be water, in his one colossal hand.

He offered me one of the drinks. "Here." I took it, and he reoccupied the seat next to me. "What's first?" He asked immediately, indifferently, before he guzzled down half of his drink.

I felt weird…weirder than I felt just a minute ago. I felt as though I couldn't place him. I couldn't tell his tone. I couldn't read it at all. He sounded like he didn't care, but not with his usual angry resonance that I was accustomed to, and that confused me just a little bit.

"Umm…" I took a sip of my water. "Well, how about you start with the one we did two weeks ago." I suggested raspy, my voice going in and out as I tried to quickly utter the words, and then I took another sip to distract myself and clear my airways.

I noted his eyes over the rim of my glass staring at me intensely, and hesitantly I removed the cup from my lips. "W-what?" I stuttered bashfully, the ice in my cup rattling as my trembling hand lightly shook the glass.

His brows furrowed at my inquiry. "What the hell do I have to do?" He glowered, and lightly my breath caught behind my sternum. Oddly, the glower felt confusingly…comforting. He was upset, as always, so it felt comforting to know that I could place him again since the usual annoyance in his voice had returned.

"O-oh, uh…" I deliberated fretfully as I tried to evoke my remembrance of the assignment. I mindlessly brought the glass in my hand back to my lips after subconsciously noticing him drinking from his own glass, while my eyes shifted every which way in aimless thought.

As soon as I felt the liquid in my glass touch my lips, my aimless gaze fell upon his incompetent arm, and I paused. I stared at it in all its uselessness, leisurely raking my eyes over it, while I slowly pulled the cup from my lips, captivated, and unwillingly, my mind replayed the lurid incident between him and Jacob, over and over again.

I remembered his pained expression, and the bellowing cry of agony that rippled from him. I remembered the shudder that shook my body upon hearing it, and upon seeing the madness burning in his ember eyes as he glared. I remembered his cry of pain tethering itself into my memory, never to be forgotten. I never wanted to hear it again…but…

I reached out towards it, but he flinched away from me. "What the hell are you doing?" He growled, and I met his eyes, noticing narrowed on me before I resumed my enthralled speculation on his inept limb.

"I…your arm," I whispered, more so to myself, and for the third or fourth time, I looked at it up and down, ogling. It definitely looked dislocated, and I was stunned that he was able to ignore the pain that I knew was surging through his every muscle. "Hold this." I said, still captivated as I handed my glass to him.

"I said it was fine," he bit off. I was certain that he was glaring at me, but I didn't look up to find out; for two reasons. One reason was because they still greatly terrified me, and the second reason was because I was far too entranced by the flaccidity of his arm, and by the expansion of his resilience to tolerate and disregard such pain.

I reached out towards him again, but again he flinched away. "Trust me." I murmured vehemently, still fully immersed within his inert limb. After a while though, and realizing that I hadn't gotten a reply, I tore my gaze from my enticement and diffidently looked up into his eyes again. "Trust me." I said again after discerning that my assumption was correct, and that he was glaring at me. "...It'll feel better afterwards," I tried to assure. "…I promise."

His glowering eyes searched mine, and he quickly skimmed over every contour of my countenance until he finally, without a word, took my glass into his hand. My eyes fell back onto his arm, and I conjectured its condition determinedly.

Again, reluctantly, I reached out to him with both hands. I was well aware that he was watching my every move with attentiveness. My fingers began to tremor the closer they floated towards him. I was an inch or so away from him when, suddenly, I stopped myself, deliberatively. I can't believe I'm about to do this…It'll be like arming him with a weapon. I sighed to myself and looked up into his eyes. He was no longer glaring, but watching with attentive anticipation, and it showed prominently in his eyes. I looked back down at the damaged appendage. Then again…it strangely doesn't feel all that unbelievable to me. It just feels…weird.

I heaved a deep, calming breath, relaxing subtly. "Hur—" I grabbed his arm and he hissed painfully midsentence.

I was surprised. His skin really was as rough as it looked. Nothing about him every seemed the way it looked. I contemplated. Although it was smooth, and a little soft in some places, or that could've just been because his arm was no longer fully attached to his shoulder—I didn't exactly know. But I was surprised. But what really startled me was how feverish his skin was against my hands. He was so hot! But I liked it. My body liked it. It felt warm. It felt…oddly comforting.

His skin…I trailed in thoughts, my eyes slightly widening as I realized that I was actually touch him. I was actually touching the person, who, a little over forty-eight hours ago, I couldn't even look in the eye. But now…now I was willingly feeling the muscles across his bicep. It was completely incomprehensible.

I was feeling on Paul, feeling how my body reacted to his soothingly warm skin, and I realized that I wasn't trying to help him because Mrs. Locke asked me to, or even because it was perhaps the right thing to do, but because I voluntarily wanted to help him. I felt like I had to. As if something was pressuring me to help him, to relieve him of his pain, and to replace it with something I wasn't exactly sure of. But I felt obligated…like I had felt obligated on placating Leah the night before.

Inwardly I was shaking my head at myself and sighing repeatedly as I desperately tried to grasp the meaning of it. I couldn't. It was too confusing. My life, every second of being around Paul, was beginning to confuse me, and I sighed again.

Life couldn't possibly get anymore unreal than this. I tho—

X:~/~:X

"Baby!" Paul shouted. My fingers instantly quitted their incessant padding across the keys of my laptop as I heard Paul's voice resound. I looked over to the clock that read: 1:15pm, and silently I marveled at how far I had gotten in such a short amount of time. "Baby!" I heard him shout again, and I groaned.

What does he want now? I turned and looked out the window. The sun was still brightly beaming over the horizon, and the skies were still blue as the clouds glided over them in a peaceful breeze that softly wafted across my face. I smiled as the story between Paul and I fast-forwarded in my mind, blessed memories of childhood years resurfacing, and soon my smile turned into a grin.

I pushed out of my chair, and walked across the mahogany floor, bare footed and opened the door. "What?" I yelled back at him. He didn't reply. Instead I heard him stalking up the stairs, but he stopped as soon as our eyes met when he peered over the banister, and I smiled again at how suspicious he looked. What the hell was he doing down there?

"What?" He asked innocently. Innocent my ass. I scoffed to myself. I shook my head and asked him what it was he had wanted. "Look," he said and showed me the small contusion across his finger. I stared at it dubiously before again scoffing and shaking my head. I've told him about messing with the oven.

"What do you want me to do about that?" His brows furrowed.

"I don't know. Do something…it's burning like hell." He complained, and I rolled my eyes. I shook my head as I walked out into the hallway and down the hall to the bathroom. I grabbed the ointment Mom had always used for my bruises—it healed everything!—from the medicine cabinet and sauntered back to him.

"Here." He walked up the rest of the steps and took it. I watched him unscrew the cap and put it on. He was still a giant in comparison to me, even after all these years. I had grown from 5"5 to 5"9, but he was still towering over me.

"What are you doing up here?" He asked suddenly, his eyes lowered as he continued to smooth the cream over his finger. I grunted, and he looked up. "What?"

"I'm doing exactly what you begged me all yesterday to do," I said with a hint of reprimanding assertion, and my eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm writing the damn story." He grinned and looked back down at his pulsing digit before humming.

"How far into it are you?"

"I'm writing the part when I first went to your house. The very first time and you carried me to your bed." I answered. "I thought you were going to rape me." I joked, and he hummed, amused as his lips curved into a closed-mouthed smile.

"If I knew things were going to turn out like this back then, I probably would have…and you would've liked it." He looked up at me, grinning toothily. I rolled my eyes again, but it was an obvious ploy to ignore his arrogance, but the fluttering my heart from just seeing his smile was undeniable. He was just too beautiful. Words couldn't fathom it all, only my heart knew. Oh that's a good line…I should write it down and use it later. "Naw…now that I think about it…not probably, I'm sure I would have." I shook my head at him. He was quite a card, but a catch. "…wait," and he stopped massaging the ointment into his skin. "I think I remember that day…Wasn't that the same day that you broke my arm trying to fix it?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "I didn't break it." I glared.

"The hell you didn't. That shit hurt. You even thought you broke it." His brows were furrowed, and I couldn't help but detect the hint of exasperation when he spat the obscenity.

"It hurt for like three seconds…get over it." I argued.

"Yeah, yeah. That's like me pushing you down the stairs and telling you to get over it." I groaned. He wasn't going to let it go.

Whatever.

"What are you doing downstairs anyways?" I asked, endeavoring to shift subjects. He grinned again.

"Don't worry about all of that. You just go back to writing." I glared at him, again figuring it didn't matter. It's probably something stupid anyways. I pouted to myself and turned around, about to storm off in feigned tantrum. "Well okay." I stopped and turned back to him. "I don't get a kiss or a hug? I haven't seen you all day." I turned back around and turned my nose into the air.

"Nope. I don't get to know what you're doing, so you're not getting what you want." It was a child's argument, but I wasn't exactly all that grown. I was twenty-five, and he was twenty-seven. That actually isn't all that timeworn.

I heard Paul grunt. "Here then." I turned back and noted him handing me the tube of ointment, and I went back to snatch it from him and run. I snatched it, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me against him. I nearly tripped over my own feet, but I was caught by his huge chest; his chest that had only seemed to have gotten bigger since our high schooled years. It took me a while to process that he had tilted my head back and that our lips were sealed together. I pushed away from him.

"Eww." I spat overdramatically. I scrubbed my mouth vigorous with the back of my hand. "You tricked me." I berated, not really all that angry since I had to try and keep myself from grinning. Paul only shrugged.

"Oh well…get over it." He mimicked, chuckling to himself. I couldn't help myself. I grinned at his failed impression of me. He smiled, and again pulled me to him, my body pressed against his huge chest and his arms wrapped around my waist. "I love that smile." He breathed against my lips. "I always have…since the first time I saw it."

"Oh really?" I snickered, and he hummed as I felt his warm breath wisp over my bottom lip. "Well I've always loved you're lips…since the first day you kissed me." In the back of my mind I knew this was going to turn into something more than it was supposed to be. It was impossible for us to be this close to each other and for things not to turn into something more.

His hold around my waist tightened before he lifted me—as always— and reflexively, I wrapped my legs around his waist. His head ducked to the side of my neck. "Then don't push me away when I kiss you." I felt the tip of his tongue teasingly tracing my pulse, and I shuddered in his arms. "Haven't I told you that before?" I moaned my reply.

I was trying to argue—I liked arguing with him—but instead another moan escaped. His hands roamed over my body, his rough touch moving under my shirt and caressing my back and sides, one hand groping my ass firmly. I tried to speak again, but instead of a moan, this time I was quieted by him sealing his lips over mine.

"Open," he edict sensually against my pursed lips, and automatically I opened my mouth to allow his tongue to ravage my orifice, and he did, immediately. His hold tightened again as he tried to control the kiss. I had fallen into him completely.

A series of moans flittered in the air, emanating from him and me, and he gripped and squeezed my ass—hard and possessive like he always has. I submitted to him. He was dominant. He always was, and I loved it. I loved over he would demand control when we made love, or even just fucked—especially when we just fucked. I don't know what his malfunction is, but it felt like he needed his dominancy when it came to sex, but I didn't complain, because I was more than happy to give it to him. Quite honestly, it was a turn on to me.

He used his tongue to divulge old secrets, already knowing every aspect of my cavern and how to make my body react to his touches. A shiver raced to my groin, and I felt myself hardening. "Paul," I moaned, muffled. He didn't answer me, but instead he pushed me in between him and the wall and grinded his hips into mine, and I moaned again. The familiar heat that came from his body engulfed me. I've always loved it since the first time he held me in his arms.

He pulled away from my lips to release the moan in his chest, and I gasped loudly, panting. "Paul…" I groaned, and again I felt him attacking my neck, biting and licking as he grounded his fully erect length into my pelvis, and a pleasurable shudder shook my body. Swiftly, he pulled me from the wall and moved into our room after kicking the door open. He eagerly crawled on top of me after carelessly hurling me onto the bed and my eyes quickly ran over his body, noting the suddenly feral intent in his brown orbs, and I perceived his erection protruding through the thin layer of his black basketball shorts.

I didn't mind being tossed. I didn't mind getting roughed up by him. I never did. It was natural. It felt good too. Earlier on when we first started dating I learned that it was a major turn on for me. There was just something about his arduous and untamable personality—even back in high school—that caused him to fuck me like some wild jungle cat and that drove me to the brink of insanity, until I was eventually brought back by the white-hot intensity of my utterly breathtaking and blinding climax.

None of that I minded at all, because it was fucking glorious. I didn't mind getting fucked senseless. But what I did mind was him not even considering allowing me to participate in our escapades. Dominating is one thing, but not permitting me to do anything at all aggravated me to no end, and every time I protested or took it upon myself to do something, he would either growl or bite me.

He had taken off his own shirt and tossed it aside, and not even a second afterwards, he ripped mine from my body. He could've at least let me take his off. But I wasn't dissatisfied for too long, because when I felt the ardent aperture of his mouth encircle and devoured one of my nipples, I bit my bottom lip to try and suppress my desire to moan. It usually pissed him off when I did it, and he snarled, that same threatening snarl since high school, and I smirked to myself, clearly not frightened by it anymore.

He bit my nipple, hard, and although it hurt, it felt marvelous, and I groaned as the heat from his tavern wrapped around me. "…baby," I mewled. One of his hands caught one of my wrists and held my arm to the side, while his other one was between us, finding the hem of my cotton pajama pants and slipping under it. I groaned again when he grabbed the stiff member in my pants.

"Ahh…Paul!" I cried when his tongue flickered erratically between both of my nipples, while his hand stroked my taut muscle. My one free hand clawed into his shoulder as beads of pleasure began to coil in my stomach. Then his flickering suddenly ceased, and I whimpered displeased. "Pau—Ahh!" He bit my neck, sinking his teeth into my skin, and I felt his finger hook the hem of my pants, slowly pulling them from my waist, and I moaned again.

I tried to get him to move faster, and snarled—something I picked up from him. It was odd, because before meeting him I would have never thought that I would be able to snarl at anything, let alone even know how to do it. But being with him for so long, I figured I picked up a lot of his characteristic, and he picked up on a few of mine.

I was more aggressive than my former passive self (although still a pacifist), and my temper was shorter, but his was still shorter than mine by a long shot. But with him, after being with me so long, he's actually become less temperamental…with anyways, everyone else still seems to piss him off easily. He also finally fixed his damn speech patterns. It took him a long time to learn that "ain't" isn't a word, no matter how many times I kept telling him. Ugh! I could not stand it.

I felt him smirk against my neck at my snarl, and he purposefully moved slower to annoy me. "Calm down," he admonished softly. "… you sound like a little puppy." He chuckled. "You know what I need to hear."

"Paul! Please!" I whined pleadingly, immediately giving in to his egotistical need to express his dominance. Like I said, I don't care. I loved him anyways, and sex with him was just too good to pass up.

I felt his pleased smirk pressed into the crook of my neck, and briskly his teeth sank into my skin again, and I gasped. I felt my pants being pulled to my knees and Paul's hand firmly stroking my cock as his teeth were trying to pierce through my heated flesh. His strokes sped up, and I panted heavily and moved my hand from his shoulder and tangled it in his short cropped tresses, finding refuge in pulling them. He winced, but he didn't stop biting. He bit down harder. Hard enough to leave a mark I'm sure.

"Ahh, Paul…that hur—oh god!" I hissed, caught between pain and pleasure, and I felt his teeth sink deeper, his tongue fluttering out occasionally to lap at my burning skin, his strokes quickening. I pulled on his hair harder as my toes curled and I bucked my hips up to meet his strokes. I could feel my first climax unfolding through the spasms that stiffened and made my cock throb. "Ohmygod! Paul, please…fuck me. Just do it already before I you kill me…or I kill you!"

He chuckled. "Fi—" a buzzer resounded, and we both stilled, his head lifting up from my neck and my toes uncurled themselves slowly.

"What is that?" I asked, and he made a thoughtful face.

"Ugh, shit." He breathed frustrated, his head falling back into the crook of my neck with an annoyed huff. His hand was still wrapped around my pulsing member. I was right on the brink of my first orgasm. "I put something in the oven." He laughed and tilted his head up to look me in my eyes. "I guess we're going to have to put this on hold for a while."

"What?" I asked, distressed. "No! Forget whatever it is. I need you. I need you now." I begged and pulled his hair again. He snickered.

"You don't want the house to burn down, do you?" He asked rhetorically.Honestly, that was sort of an idea. I didn't care. I wasn't the one paying the mortgage on it. "…just be ready when I come back up here." His breath ghosted across the shell of my ear as he seductively whispered, "…and when I do…I'm going to fuck you so damn good, you're going to be begging me to stop," and he licked the inside of my ear, causing a visible shiver to run through my body, and he smirked knowingly. Damn. I was impressed with myself that I didn't cum right then and there.

He crawled from atop me and stood onto his feet before grabbing his shirt from the floor. I followed him with my eyes. "…don't you have something you need to be finish writing anyways?" My eyes wandered around until I noted my laptop behind me, still open, but the screen had gone black in my absence. "Get to it."

I looked at him, all the while still lying in the same condition he left me; nude, panting, and on the edge of orgasmic release. "You're a jackass." I scolded him, and he laughed loudly. It just proves how much I've become a part of him. Back then he would've let anyone say something like that to him without having a fit and then going into an uncontrollable tirade and breaking something. But I was the exception.

"You knew what the deal was when you said 'I do'. For better or worse remember? I come in a package deal…being a jackass is just a bonus." He teased, and I scoffed.

"Well let me know the address to wherever the hell you came from so that I can send you back." I glowered. "Someone gave me a defective package."

"Ha ha! Funny." He said sardonically. He walked back over to me in my sprawled nakedness that was laid so willingly across the bed for him to take at any moment he changed his mind. "I love you too," he grinned and leaned down to kiss my lips. But that was all. "You know I'm literally only gay for you. No one else can have this. No one but you." I smiled, and then scoffed. He kissed my lips again.

"Get out." I demanded, sitting up. I failed terribly at trying to sound serious as I pointed to the door, but nonetheless he moved towards it, cackling irksomely. "Ugh! You are so irritating. Get out!" I chuckled, and he winked before leaving out the door.

I didn't move until I heard the faucet in the bathroom running, assuming that he went to wash his hands. He better had if he's cooking food for me. I thought playfully. I chuckled hopelessly at myself, smiling. I really loved him; to the point where I even joked to myself about him. I was really hopelessly in love with him. I smiled and shook my head at myself. "Ugh…I'm like Mom." I turned back to the laptop.

I honestly didn't believe I could live without him. Although, there was a time when I could honestly say that I had hated him, but I blamed myself for it all. I sighed deplorably to myself, my limbs going slack across the bed. All that happened that day, it wasn't Paul's fault, because it was mine. It wasn't his fault that I fell in love with him. I should've known better. It was my fault and mine alone. And again, everyone tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen.

I groaned and closed my eyes to try and subdue the headache that was inevitably to come. I didn't like thinking about it. I actually hated thinking about it. I hated everything about it; about that day—that week! It was the worst week of my life, and every time I thought about it, even back when I was younger, I always got a headache afterwards. The saddest part about it was that I could never stop thinking about it, so the headaches never went away.

My heart clenched in my chest. I had nearly lost who I was completely going through that miserable stage of my life…but I couldn't blame him. I couldn't blame anyone. I refused to, because it wasn't anyone's fault but my own. I should've known better. I really should've just learned my lesson and not gotten involved.

"I really shouldn't have…" I murmured to myself agreeably, and sighed as I skillfully placated my convulsing headache. I had learned how to rid myself of them by now, but I wish I would've known how back then. It would've saved me a lot of strife and pain. "But if I didn't get involved…how would I know him. How would I have come to love him then as I do now?...I don't regret my decision. I won't."

I vested my pants and shirt again before moving over to my laptop and sitting in the chair. If I hadn't gotten in involved I would have never known what love really was…only what Collin portrayed it to be. And I…would have never known just how much Paul needed me…how much I needed him. I touched the mouse pad and the contraption lit up, its usual blue banter of light profusely silhouetting the contours of my features.

I reread the last line I wrote aloud to myself. "Life couldn't possibly get anymore unreal than this." I recited. I hummed deliberatively. I'll come to understand that that isn't true at all. I mused to myself. Things were going to become very unreal from that point on. Little did I know it back then, but that very first visit to Paul's house jumpstarted the beginning to my happy ending, and everything else in between.

I smiled to myself. Unreal? Sometimes I felt like I had been pulled into an entirely new dimension. Like I was the only one there and there was no one else to help me, to talk to…to protect me, because I thought I could handle it all…I couldn't. Not all of it…not any of it. I was way over my head when I was younger, I thought to myself, chuckling at my naivety. Unreal? I scoffed.

Hardly. Life had a plan laid out for me that the old me would've never been able to figure out in a million years. Back then…I would've never guessed that that little feeling of curiosity was actually just my heart beating in my chest, just a little harder every second I was near him. Back then I would've never guessed just how much Paul and I actually needed each other. I lowered my eyes and stared at nothing. It took me nearly losing him, I glowered…and for what, I balled my fist over the keys of my computer.

I nearly lost him for what? Rage? Bitterness? Jealousy? Or was it fear that almost made us loss one another? Maybe I was just too scared of my own feelings to really see that I actually needed him more than he needed me. Maybe that was what nearly tore us apart and what virtually left Paul broken into a billion irreparable pieces. Maybe it was my fear that caused it all to happen …or maybe it wasn't. I don't know…It's a shame that I don't know by now. I shook my head at myself.

Unreal? I scoffed again. I didn't know the meaning of the word then. After that year was over nothing seemed unreal. Everything that had happened was very much real; the love that I felt was real, and so was all the pain that came with it, that was also real, very much so, because it still holds its power over me, torments me…The only thing unreal back then it seemed was life in itself. Life felt so numb, and I was just moving along because I had to, not because I wanted to. It didn't wait for me to pull myself together, it just going as if nothing even happened.

Back then…Life felt so goddamn unreal, and sometimes I even wished that it really was. I thought I just wanted everything to go away then, and even now I wished these thoughts would just leave me and never come back. But now…now I guess I can't wish like that anymore. It was hard…harder than hard, but still, I thought of Paul's smiling face…in the end, I guess it was all worth it. He was worth everything I had to endure, and maybe even a little bit more.

I stopped my thoughts and took a deep breath to collect myself. I felt something fall against my feet, and I looked down, noting that it was a single tear. The tear fell sometime during my reminiscing. When? I didn't know. But what I did know was that, He is definitely worth it all; the pain, the sadness, the tears, the guilt, the confusion, and even the dread I had felt for so long. He was definitely worth every bit of it, and maybe even a little bit more. I reiterated to myself.

I managed to recollect myself after a short while, breathing calmly and deliberatively. I started writing again once I settle in completely, but that's when I noticed that I had typed every word of what I thought were private thoughts, my fingers seemingly automatically racing across the keyboard and punching the keys in my comatose state.

But silently, I debated on keeping the words there on the document…as a reminder perhaps as I continued on into the story, but after a long consideration, I highlighted it and pressed the delete button and it all disappeared in an instant. I erased all of what had just been mistakenly typed out…all of what I had just erroneously thought from the page. I clicked the save button, and made sure that I never had to see those thoughts again. I didn't want to relive the torture of those memories over again…ever again.

Dealing with Paul really was more than I could handle then. I took another heavy breath, appeasing my strenuous musings, and I reread the last line I had written to myself this time. Life couldn't possibly get anymore unreal than this.

It was erased.

It was what I thought at the time while I was in the room with Paul that day, but it definitely wasn't true, and I decided to replace it with a more accurate phrase. Swiftly, diligently, the pads of my fingers scattered across the keyboard once again.

X:~/~:X

Life is truly unfathomable…a paradox of unconsidered proportions. I thought to myself as I meticulously felt up and down the rough skin of Paul's arm. The warmth of it felt good. I really did like it. "It's going to hurt at first…but…" I lingered on the thought, but said nothing more. I heard him hiss when I pressed against the tactless limb, adding more and more pressure to it.

"Shit," Paul growled exasperatedly behind his clenched teeth, but I ignored it as I felt the juncture to where his arm connected back to his shoulder, and securely, I pushed it as hard as I could back into place, a loud crackling sound resonating in air and in my ears—loudly! An ear shattering bellow tore from Paul's windpipe, piercingly deafening, and immediately I had shrank back into my seat.

My eyes widened. "Crap… I broke it!" I gasped brokenly, and my eyes began to quiver in their sockets as I heard his painful cries of agony. The cries of agony that I had never again wished to hear echoing from him.

It hurt to hear it, but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop. I broke him. I thought, terrified. But soon…soon I would come to find out just how right I was.

I broke him…

No.

Not yet…not yet.

So school starts Tuesday, and so, while trying to stick to my three day updates, I'll be able to post one more chapter before having to pull it back for a little while.

I feel like I have to say something else but I completely forgot what it was. Oh well…I suppose it will come to me eventually.

But anyways…Tell me what you think, 'kay? :)