WARNINGS: WARNINGS: Rated NC-17/R-18 (whatever it is depending on your country of origin), yaoi (boy x boy sex), OC, random OOC-ness, made-up past memoirs, some coarse language, some violence, graphic & explicit under-aged sexual content.
MELLO:
WINCHESTER, UK, 2005.
Those eyes were always looking at me.
But they never really see me.
It was like they were looking through me.
That was years ago.
And when I saw them in him too, I thought...not again.
I thought those eyes were never to appear in my life again.
"Mello, I want you to say hello to Neiar." I remembered how Roger introduced us.
"Hi. Neiar."
"Hi. Mello. Pwissed to meet you." I think I said something unintelligent like that and I could recall a look of disappointment in Roger's face.
And Neiar turned away. I couldn't even see his eyes. Whether I liked it or not, somewhere in my subconscious I must've expected some sort of reaction out of him. But he refused to even look at me.
It was either disappointment or lack of knowledge. Their eyes were pointing in my direction but they saw right through me.
Except maybe that one time.
I must've been about 12 or 13.
"You are special, Mel. Because God created you special."
Father Samuel's eyes were impossibly light blue, and he looked impossibly young, particularly considering the fact that he had platinum white hair. He had always looked at me in a way that was somewhat unnerving...but at least I knew he wasn't just randomly looking at my direction. He really saw me.
No one ever knew his surname. Everyone just knew him as Father Samuel, who attentively looked after the garden around the church. Father Samuel, who was the favourite amongst the younger congregation. He couldn't have been older than 30.
Father Samuel was also the first person I remembered calling me Mel.
Neiar's hair had reminded me of Father Samuel's. The similarity of the colour was almost unreal.
Neiar with his painfully proper Mid-Southern accent, with a compulsion of twisting his hair around his fingers. His obsession with jigsaw puzzles and arranging anything his hands could reach.
But the way he acted, there was something condescending about him. Nothing like Father Samuel's.
I've always been dying to drag some sort of reaction out of him. Make him look at me in the eye, realise that something was able to get into him. To chase up to him. But I was never able to. No matter how hard I tried.
Neiar didn't even need to do anything. And those eyes, half-hidden under his curtain of silvery curls, hardly ever sees me.
It was so unfair.
And the fact that I was the only one who knew about his secret obsession about outdoing my every move didn't make the situation any better.
He thought I didn't know.
But I knew.
His acting all-innocent didn't do it for me.
Neiar was not like how everyone at the House thought he was. To everyone, Neiar was the calm and collected genius, and Mello was the somewhat-intelligent trouble-maker.
I thought that too, until the day we got one of our tests back. Neiar scored 2 marks above me, and he was secretly smiling. It wasn't just a smile. It was an evil, domineering smile. There was a certain satisfaction to him beating me. And it was one of his entertainment apart from his jigsaw puzzles. He wasn't like that with the other kids.
And those eyes.
It was just me.
I've given up trying to figure out what it was that made him so obsessed on watching me defeated. He was enjoying every bit of it, and he was doing it on purpose.
So when the night comes and the lights came off, I didn't want to think about Neiar. But his platinum silver hair kept lingering in my head even when I closed my eyes and it inevitably reminded me of Father Samuel again.
Back then, Father Samuel was the only one who didn't see me with those same eyes. The looks that kept haunting me until now.
Like the look in Neiar's eyes.
I recalled secretly going to the local chapel where Father Samuel was, preferably not on a Sunday, where there was hardly anyone there, kneeling down in front of the Mother Mary statue, wishing and praying that those eyes would just go away.
Those very same eyes I saw at home everyday. But no, I didn't want to think about that now.
All I wanted was to pray and hope God listened to me.
And God's answer was always Father Samuel.
He would sit with me, talked to me about all sorts of things, about Jesus Christ, about nature, the Royal family, the war, even the September 11 tragedy. And I would listen with such fascination. Because back then Father Samuel's chapel was probably the only place where I didn't need to see those eyes.
Once, he even gave me this stunning rosary. With real silver crucifix and expensive-looking beads.
"You are special, Mel. Because God created you special."
I never ever doubted him.
I believed everything Father Samuel said.
So when he started to sit really close to me everytime or just after I prayed, I didn't think it was unusual.
When he started touching me more than usual, I thought that was just him showing how much he cared for me.
When he started to put his arms around me and breathed in the smell of my hair, I didn't suspect anything.
I remembered feeling warm, comfortable, protected and loved. So loved I didn't know it was inappropriate.
But now...
"Mello!" the sudden snap from Ms.Cassera, the science teacher, startled both me and Linda. She was one of the most artistically talented kids around and I couldn't help looking at her doing some random sketches in the middle of working on a worksheet about flower reproduction.
"Yes, Miss..." I said in a bored tone.
"You're staying back after class."
"But..."
"And Linda, give me those papers now."
There was no arguing Ms.Cassera. It turned out that she only wanted to discuss my recent lab report about plant classification, which I scored 3 marks below Neiar. And she knew just how to twist the knife.
"Mello, if you were paying more attention in class instead of looking over Linda's sketches, you could've obtained full marks, just like Neiar."
"I was paying attention, Miss Cassera. And I've finished my work."
"You and Neiar are the top two in class. You just have to learn to be more...focused." She peered at me from behind her 60s style glasses.
Yeah, whatever.
"You just have to show off, don't you, you vain sod?"
He didn't budge and kept fiddling around with his stupid jigsaw puzzle. But I knew in his heart he was laughing at me.
Why won't he even look at me?
"Feh. Stupid geezers just came off me. But so what?"
Those blank, uncaring eyes that never faze even at the most brutal attacks. Maybe he needed to hear it. Maybe I needed to make him understand.
"Well one day 'e'll come off you too."
It was the silence that killed me more than anything. If I was to be annihilated in any way, let it be a full head-on attack, rather than this agonising cold war.
I'd rather burn to death than freeze to death.
So that was it, then. If in some weird and twisted way he gets off on beating me, let it be with some sort of compensation afterwards. He always had this 'I never get why you are so hell-bent on outsmarting me' look. As if he didn't know better.
Like I said, it wasn't the actual fact of him defeating me. It was the fact that he didn't even need to try half as hard. And insensitively claimed all the prize.
Why it was bothering me so much, I wasn't sure myself.
What was it about Neiar?
Was it simply the fact that I so wanted to break that iceberg, the cold and uncaring presence, make him see me, make him...intimidated by me?
I've done so to pretty much every single kid at Wammy's House. Why did one kid matter so much?
Why was Neiar so important?
Was it because his eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to this figure from many years ago that I was forced to see every single day?
To her?
"That's not true. God cares about you, Mel. So do I."
Father Samuel had said those words, many years ago.
"But they hardly ever talk to me."
"Sometimes people don't show how much they care for each other. It's one of the mysteries of life."
Oh yeah, it was a mystery, alright. But back then when Father Samuel stroke my hair and started running his fingers through my face all mysteries just went out the window.
I didn't understand it back then. But I knew it was out of the ordinary.
It was out of the ordinary when all you saw everyday as a 12 or 13-year old was nothing but unsympathetic eyes and you were longing for something different.
Maybe, just maybe, I was so curious on doing it to Neiar because back then I couldn't do it to her.
But all he was was a soulless, lifeless heap on the floor, unaware of everything around him. And that day was no different than any other day. It was the day when everyone at the House flocked around Neiar to catch a glimpse of his report result, and hoping to get some tips for future assessment tasks.
Everyone knew how I worked my head off for that report. Everyone knew about the sleepless nights I spent staring at the computer screen. And the headaches and muscle sores were the first ones to greet me in the morning.
Neiar didn't even need to lift a finger. He scored maximum marks with the minimum of effort.
So when I got irritable at one point when there was just the two of us in the library, and he offered "help", it infuriated me even more.
I just finished compiling some documents when the printer decided to start acting up and refused to deliver my papers.
BANG!
"Why won't this bloody thing behave!"
I swear the House could've afforded a better printer. Then Neiar reached out and tried to fiddle around with it.
So I snapped and shoved his hand aside. "Piss off! I don't need your help!"
And the fact that little 'coincidences' kept happening in between only made me more convinced that he really was out to get me.
Very convenient excuse. An aptly done play of fate. What a life.
It was also around this time that I accidentally rediscovered the rosary Father Samuel gave me. I thought I've lost it long time ago, or at least shortly after I was admitted to Wammy House. And that wasn't the only thing I found when I was searching through my old stuff one day. I found another necklace, with a simple crucifix pendant...which I've almost forgotten. It was the only thing left from the empty uncaring eyes I remembered so well.
Those eyes never saw me.
But they never left me either.
"What does 'bastard' mean, Father Samuel?"
I remembered the kind sympathy on Father Samuel's face when I asked that question.
"It means...a child who was born out of wedlock."
Back then at that age I already knew about the whole birds and bees story so Father Samuel didn't really need to explain. And having been brought up in a predominantly Catholic environment, I just picked up on the whole 'conception out of wedlock is a sin' thing.
Not that I'm saying I'm a devout Catholic.
"They said I'm a 'bastard'. Does that mean I'm a sin, Father?"
I didn't really know what I was thinking at the time. All I knew was going home to those dead uncaring eyes wasn't on my mind.
"No, my dear Mello. It is those who performed the deed that committed the sin, but the child born from any deed under any circumstances is innocent and pure. They are already born baptised in the name of Christ."
"Even bastards like me?"
"My child, all children are God's children. And that includes you."
"Me?"
"Yes, Mel. You too." He nodded, looking at me with those eerie blue eyes again, which back then to me was nothing short of affection.
The next thing I knew he kissed my forehead.
There was no one at the chapel at that time of night. Father Samuel was the only priest on duty most of the time anyways.
So when he started kissing me in places other than my forehead then held up my hand, gesturing me to come into his resting room inside the chapel, I didn't refuse. The dim room didn't seem all too friendly at first, but I couldn't care less. All I saw was the ethereal blue-eyed, silver-haired priest.
"I'll show you how much God loves you."
I remembered hearing that from the distance, it was so unreal, it sounded like it didn't belong to this world. But I followed him in anyway.
"You're like a little angel...God's masterpiece, a gift to the world..."
I've never felt so adored. From a dreamy child's point of view, it probably wasn't so much a traumatic sexual experience. In fact, sexual was probably one of the farthest adjective from it.
There was just...a lot of love. And adoration.
Holy.
If I had to find one word to describe it, that would be it.
First, Father Samuel undressed me so carefully, like a mother about to shower her baby. I could still remember the setting, every single detail of them. A large icon of Mother Mary on one side of the room, right under a crucified Jesus Christ on the wall.
He noticed I was wearing the rosary he gave me, and left it on. Then he bathed me in what he said was the closest he could get to Holy Water. He also mentioned that I deserved nothing less than the Holy Water.
When I stepped into the water, it was just the right temperature, not too cold and not too hot either, the base of the small bath tub pressing hard against my skin.
You're so beautiful, Mel.
Strangely, I didn't feel the slightest uneasy being totally naked in front of him, maybe partly because half my body was dipped in water anyway. He then grabbed the softest piece of cloth he could find, and washed me slowly, so slowly, as if I was a fragile piece of china.
One thing he never seemed to able to stop doing is drawing the scent of my hair. Even when he bathed me all over, he left my hair dry and buried his face in them.
The next thing I noticed was a faint sound of music filling the room. When I asked what it was, Father Samuel said it was one of his favourite album at the time, Harem by Sarah Brightmann.
/Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea.../
As the opening choir started, he was kissing me again.
/Et a peccato meo munda me.../
And wrapped a towel around me as he lifted me up from the bath tub.
I felt myself being laid down on a rather hard mattress, but the sheets were so soft it was such a contrast.
/Do you know, you're beautiful.../
Right now it would simply look like sexual abuse to an underaged child.
/Do you know, you're beautiful...you are, yes you are.../
But Father Samuel didn't molest me. He didn't do anything to me that made me feel intimidated, let alone hurt. It felt like he was treating me like one of those trophies on his tabernacle, a holy sacrament.
I remembered being touched, caressed...explored. And all the while he was stroking my hair. Lying beside me, looking at me intently through his light blue eyes, was all he did for at least an hour. He touched me everywhere, and then kissed me all over. From the temples of my forehead, my hands, my chest, stomach, and down between my legs. But he never did anything beyond that.
I remembered shivering a bit, and feeling terribly ticklish, but I tried to hold still anyway. There was something about his aura that hypnotised me completely, part of me didn't want to disappoint him, part of me was curious about what sort of sensations he was about to bring me.
Father Samuel did everything but raped me. Seriously.
Even when he shoved my legs apart and kissed his way around he didn't do anything more than that.
But that wasn't all.
He suddenly produced a small package wrapped in silver and handed it to me.
"Here is a small treat for you. Enjoy it."
And when he ripped the silver paper away and fed me the delectable sweet, everything else was a blur.
The chocolate he gave me was high quality chocolate, not one of those cheap ones. And it was strange. Because it was like heaven, or whatever the hell people say to describe something unbelievably good it was unreal. Up to that point, what I remembered most until now would have to be the taste of the chocolate...deliciously insatiable...intoxicating...
That was probably the moment I found something called "comfort zone". This sweet little treat called chocolate wrapped it all up in one heavenly package.
There was no emptiness. No neglect. No pain, and no disappointments. There was only warmth, attention and sacred love.
And I was the centre of the sacrilege.
Father Samuel then fell asleep beside me, still holding my naked body until the wee hours of the morning. As soon as the sun started to rise, it was all over. All that was left from it was my half-eaten chocolate bar and the rosary.
Of course, when I learned later on what being touched like that by someone actually meant, I couldn't help but collapse of the degradation. I felt dirty, sinful and...revolting.
And the only thing that could drag me out of it was the taste of chocolate. The sweet treat was always there to comfort me. And it never betrayed me.
Unlike what happened after that. I should've known that for things like these, betrayal was always going to be on the table.
Because that was probably the last time I saw the warm and loving eyes of Father Samuel. I even almost tried to convince myself that the whole thing was a dream.
But the memories stayed. The sensations Father Samuel inflicted on me lingered on. Like ink dropped in a clear pool of water, the stain stayed forever. Like a deep wound, the scars stayed forever.
Only the chocolate blurred it all.
Even when it came the time where I discovered that I could please myself in other ways, I could never leave out the chocolate. Because when I touched myself, I didn't think of Father Samuel, but how whole I felt, by being reminded that I was not quite robbed of anything sexually.
So when the chocolate wasn't there, neither was the pleasure.
And to my further irritation, it led to the one thing I knew would always make me second best. Inferior. Worthless.
Neiar was the last thing I needed.
So when one day I accidentally left my chocolate on the leisure room table and found out Neiar had eaten it by the time I got back, I was close to getting a maximum-strength migraine.
"You just have to eat my chocolate, don't you!"
"Look, it was on the table, in the playroom, and it bloody well didn't have your name labelled on it!"
I really wasn't in the mood for his shit. What the hell did he think I was, an idiot? Of course he did it on purpose!
"But you know that I'm the only one who eats Cadbury around here?"
"Oh sod off, the world doesn't always revolve around you, you know!"
He doesn't usually say that.
"What did you just say?"
"You heard me."
So when I grabbed his collar and he held my wrists back, it felt like the most natural thing ever.
"You stuck-up little gobslutch. Just because you think you're so much better than everyone else here doesn't give you the right to fuck around."
"I did not fuck around. All I said was..."
Yeah, of course, because you think you're so much better than everyone else around, you can always get away with your bollocks excuses.
I don't think so.
"Exactly! That should be my line! The world doesn't revolve around you, oh fuck it, the world doesn't bow at your bloody feet, Neiar!"
"Get off me."
Make me.
"Not until you replace my chocolate."
"Look Mel..."
"Mello! Neiar! Stop at once! The both of you!"
Roger interfered just in time. Lucky bastard. I was this close of smashing his head in.
And it just had to happen that the day after we both failed our classical history paper. That paper I wrote was brilliant, if it wasn't tampered by the fact that Neiar used the exact same resources as me and the teacher convicted us both of plagiarism.
Dumb whore. As if she didn't know that I'd never work together with him if he was the last human on earth.
The migraine Neiar gave me was turning into a cancer.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you!"
I had my hands on him, pushing and shoving his limp body to random directions. Neiar didn't usually fight back, but this time, he pushed me back.
"Please, don't flatter yourself."
This little snob...
"Stuck up son of a bitch!"
By then I could hear the loud slam caused by me backing him against the wall right beside a book shelf.
"Get off me!"
Our further struggling only made us crash into the bookshelf and toppled the whole thing over. Within seconds we were covered by books and magazines.
"Urgh!" I think I got a cut somewhere on my arm, but my attention was all snatched away by the feeling of Neiar beneath me, wriggling and trying to get me off him.
Idiot. Like I could do much about it in this kind of situation.
"I told you to get off me."
"Shut yer gob." There was something so oddly appealing about the way he was sprawled beneath me, all trapped and struggling to get away. So I all but grabbed at his collar while focusing all my weight down upon him. I so wanted to hear him struggling to breathe...
His face was only a few centimetres away from me...yet something about his wide yet hollow eyes was like a never-ending labyrinth of infinite emptiness...no emotions, no signs of life, no effect whatsoever. I was this close to him yet he was eons away.
I've always hated those kind of eyes.
It was like...it was like he was seeing right through me...something...or someone right behind me...maybe even inside my irises...
Look at me!
Compared to him, I definitely had more written all over my face...so what was he searching in my eyes? it was like he was comparing the depth of emotions I had with...what? Or who?
I'm here, dammit! Don't you dare trying to run away from me!
"Mel..."
I vaguely heard him mumbling something like that...before...
"St..."
Was he just about to say 'stop'?
The next thing I knew was being rolled over to my back and Neiar pinning me down under him. That eerie pale face, framed by the ethereal platinum silver hair...
So...lifeless. Empty.
Like back then...
I didn't want to remember.
But then for a split second, something caught me. Something that I've never seen in Neiar before.
We weren't buried there amongst the books for any longer because I suddenly felt myself being pulled up by a bunch of kids, and Neiar too. It was such a show for everyone. And it cost our free time since Roger ordered us to spend the entire evening cleaning up and re-arranging the whole leisure room. Neiar and I didn't say a word to each other that night. Not that we often did in normal circumstances anyway.
Then I heard something about him having some fever that same night.
Good for him. I sure as hell had nothing to do with it.
It actually stayed in my mind for quite a while. Images of our earlier bickering flashed before me. Particularly the bit where I thought I heard him said 'stop'.
I thought I almost catch something there. A glint of emotion? A hint of feelings? A streak of fear, maybe?
Was it just an illusion?
That stupid little twit Neiar. With the eyes I hated so much. Even whenever he snapped back at me, he always did it coldly.
There was nothing about him that proved him human. He was nothing but a blank screen. And behind it all, there was nothing but lies. He acted all innocent, all clueless, wondering why the whole world hated him so, when all the while he enjoyed the attention and pity from his fake angst. And enjoyed playing me like a toy.
Getting off on it.
All his perfect flawless persona was nothing but lies. The perfect scam.
Like Father Samuel.
I never forgot that day, no matter how hard I tried.
The day the painful truth sank in. The day I discovered what the whole Father Samuel thing meant.
Rumours had spread. Just like that. Quickly, relentlessly. I didn't understand it at first. But then I quickly learnt about the wrongness of the situation. The taboo. The sin.
Father Samuel was molesting under aged boys. Including me.
But, they couldn't be right, could they? I wasn't raped. Or at least, I didn't feel like I was.
But the brutality was just about to began.
When I got down on my knees in front of the ceramic Mother Mary, wrapping my hands around the rosary Father Samuel gave me, praying hard, God didn't answer me through Father Samuel anymore.
He quit the missionary and left town. Just like that.
That autumn day, in the gloomy twilight, I caught a glimpse of him getting into a cab, and I was pretty sure he spotted me too.
I was about to run after him, but the look in his eyes through the car window said it all.
That was God's answer.
I don't give a shit about you.
Gone was the affection, the adoration, the pure and holy indulgence. There was just blue ice, filled with lies and deceit.
Ironically enough, the history you've always wished you'd forget lingers on.
But that wasn't the worst part.
History repeats itself.
Everything after that was a blur, and before I knew it I was at Wammy's House. With the one thing I needed the least.
Neiar's eyes were the leeway to the history I despised so.
Like then, it happened on an autumn day.
I probably should've known better. Those Mancurian yobs never would've taken it lying down.
But I was just minding my own business. I don't just pick fights for no reason.
It was probably not a good day to get the football going either. Unless if it was a way to keep warm.
Like I said, I should've known better.
I swear it couldn't have been more typical in a Northerner vs Southerner match.
A tackle that lead to a penalty. A true classic. Some idiot tried to pull some fancy Beckham move, and ended up tossing me over. I was close to scoring a concussion or a shoe stamp on my face.
"Penalty shoot!"
"That was not a foul!" the red-haired tosser came up to me, panting and brushing grass off his pants.
"Excuse me! You could've easily kicked my head in just now! You're lucky that only cost you a penalty!" he didn't scare me one bit.
"Aw, bollocks! What're you, going all Argentinean, are you!
"You're the one who doesn't know the difference! Doesn't anyone play proper football anymore these days?"
"Sod off you two, and get back to the game!" an older kid came up to support his mate, but I stayed unfazed.
"A foul is a penalty!"
"I said that was not a foul!"
A few more kids started to gather around us while we continued our bickering.
"'T was too! What's the matter, you're scared I'd score, aren't ya?"
"Shut up, Cockney slag!"
"What did you just call me?"
A snap turned to spit. One profanity turned to another. Push turned to shove. And a fight was inevitable.
That was, until one of the kids pulled out a Swiss knife and forced me to take a few steps back.
"Back off!"
"Put that thing away. What's the matter, not confident enough to fight yerself, are ya?"
He then started waving the knife around close to my face as a threat. I knew he was just bluffing because he didn't stand a chance. Stupid coward.
Reflexively, I shoved his hand away to the side and turned away. Although I was never one to take a challenge lying down, I knew I risked being seriously injured if I insist on taking on a Swiss knife.
And that was when I heard a scream.
Then I saw red.
The moron tore his own arm when I defended myself. The Swiss knife dropped to his feet.
The kids panicked. But that wasn't the focus of my attention, because soon enough I spotted Neiar not too far away from the crowd of panicked kids.
Our eyes met briefly.
He was there the whole time. He saw everything.
He was a witness. The only witness that could reveal that I didn't stab him. That it was simply an accident.
That is, if he chose to speak up.
And again, I should've known better.
I was about to run after him when the started running towards the house. The last glimpse I caught was of him turning around briefly, acting busy with whatever objects he had in his hands.
And the unmistakable look in his eyes said it all again, loud and clear.
Neiar, you...
He was enjoying every bit of this. He either didn't give a shit, or got off on watching me getting all the shit.
That was the last straw.
He was never going to get away with it.
You just wait, Neiar.
So the next thing I knew I was interrogated like a crime suspect by Roger and the likes. And rumours spread around like mad.
Mel the Menace. Mel carries Swiss knives around and slits anyone's throats whenever he felt like it.
But I couldn't care less. Because not too long after that, I accidentally heard rumours about Neiar. Some random kid who happened to hung around with a couple of outcasts at the House apparently spent some time or knew about Neiar's past orphanage. And I caught up on some interesting stuff about Neiar in the past.
Very interesting stuff.
I considered it entertainment, and I let it amuse me for a little while.
Needless to say, I could hardly wait to lay it out on the table.
Opportunity came knocking on my door just as I was about to lose my patience. That same week the history teacher decided to put us together in a group to work on a French Revolution paper.
It was something like 9.30-ish in the evening. There was no one left in the library except Neiar and I. It was common knowledge that since I spent so much time in the library and always the last one down, they'd trust me with locking up and stuff.
He was standing beside me browsing through a bookshelf with that intent look on his face. Intent on outsmarting me as usual?
It wasn't exactly planned. But I guess God or whatever force of karma had arranged it to happen that way. I knew I wouldn't just randomly spit it out and expected him to snap all at once.
So when I let him take the lead for a bit and got into some book selection, I didn't expect anything to happen one bit. I just sat there and took notes of what he already handed to me earlier. But there was this one book I disapproved of and put away before, but he kept shoving it to my face.
And that annoyed me.
"Neiar, how many times do I have to bloody tell you that this is not what we're looking for! The Marie Antoinette affairs are completely irrelevant to this aspect of the French Revolution!" I complained while pushing the thick hard-cover copy of Marie Antoinette: Biography of a Queen.
"But she was the one who pretty much drove the country bankrupt in the first place and lead the people to revolt against the monarchs...lest you forget."
He didn't even look at me.
"Yeah well, but this book is totally irrelevant, we're supposed to be focusing on the economical aspect!"
"It's there, Mel! Have you read the book?"
It felt so weird whenever he called my name. Or anyone's. Then again, he didn't do it very often.
"Have you read the book, Neiar! It's pretty much a cheesy romance novel!"
"It has details of her expenses and so the royal family's finances!"
Yeah, of course I've read most of the book. And I could tell, from what I've read anyway, there wasn't so much economics in there.
"Well then since you love the book so much why don't you go find it!"
"I've compiled the economical structure, remember? It's your turn to link the expenses by the monarch that lead to the Revolution."
"Oh yeah? And why is that? Because you said so? Because you're so much better than everyone around that you can boss me around and do this report on your terms only? What am I, your bitch! Get real!" I shifted a bit in irritation.
"Oh stop being such a yob!"
"And stop being such a stuck-up little twit!"
He was flicking through a book, trying to look all intelligent and superior. Or that was how it looked to me, anyway.
"Look, we are doing a report on the French Revolution, focusing on the economical aspect, alright!"
"Yes, but we are not doing a report on Marie Antoinette's sex life!"
"I should've known that's all there is in your head."
This little bastard...
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If your mind wasn't so pre-occupied with all that vulgarity, you would've appreciated the book to be more relevant."
"Are you calling me a slag, Neiar?"
"I never said that."
Ha, I should've known already what he saw me as.
"What's that got to do with anything!"
"I said I never said that! Look, what is your bloody problem with me! I never have anything against you, Mello."
Oh, please...
"Why, look at me, Mr.Self-Righteous. 'I don't know anything'. 'I'm innocent'. 'I'm perfect'. 'I'm so much better than everyone else'."
"Shut it."
Aha, see? It was starting to get to him...
"You may fool everyone else with all your perfect, prestigious bollocks. But you don't fool me."
"I'm not listening to any of your irrelevant bollocks either, Mel."
I just couldn't help myself.
"You think I don't know, do you? My my, what a surprise, our perfect Neiar's dirty little secret."
"You're babbling nonsense."
"I know what you did, my little Neiar..."
"Wow, I'm so interested," he said sarcastically.
"I heard some interesting story about how you were almost adopted before you came here..."
My hand subconsciously played with my rosary necklace. It was standing at the tip of my tongue and was just dying to be spat out.
"I'm not listening to you."
"Why hello, Mr.Jewellery Snatcher..."
And since that moment I never saw Neiar in quite the same way again.
With a force I never knew existed in him, he shoved me down on the table and wrapped his hands around my neck. His eyes were strange, empty and broken, but were still staring down at me with utter contempt.
How interesting.
"Ne...Neiar..." I reflexively gripped on his wrists to stop any further pressure.
"You don't know shit about me, Mello."
Surprise, surprise...
I remembered a smile was threatening to creep up my face.
"Well, lookey lookey, our perfect Neiar's finally lost it!"
SLAP!
"Don't fuck with me!"
Like hell.
Alright, I'd say Neiar's slap could do with a bit more practice. Although it didn't hurt much, it did manage to force a drop of blood squeezing through around the corner of my mouth.
So you want to play that way? Well, fine with me...
With all my force I shifted my leg up and kicked him as hard as I could. It wasn't easy, but that would have to do.
Neiar fell off the table in a heap, but the noises were mostly swallowed by the few books and papers scattered on the floor.
Wiping the blood off my lips, I turned towards him, still panting and holding his chest, looking at me in what looked like a mix of confusion and disbelief.
"I've been waiting for this moment for a long time, Neiar."
So try me...my dear Neiar...
He didn't react much when I pushed him down on the floor and pinned his wrists above his head, though.
"Ahh!"
Oh yes, Neiar, make some noise...
He writhed and twisted, struggling to get me off him, but I was physically stronger than him...at least in this situation.
"Let go...Mello!"
Keep struggling. And keep making noises.
Like I would.
And the look in his eyes didn't help him one bit. They were still empty, still hollow, still seeing through me...
Look at me.
Like back then...
I said, look at me!
"Now you're gonna have to do better than that."
What I got was an unexpected spit.
"Fuck you, you little prick!"
SMACK!
His cheek turned a bright shade of pink, and I was deeply amused by the way it contrasted with his pale face.
"Ack!"
And then I saw blood. Not much, but enough.
I think the moment he realised there was blood it calmed him down a little. But still I didn't miss the unmistakable painful wince that tainted his eyes briskly.
I could feel something boiling inside of me.
Neiar's face was only a few inches away under mine.
The library was so quiet all I could hear was our panting breaths. But somehow his breaths sounded louder in my head.
It was so tempting.
Oh yes, Neiar...
I'd say that I was possessed by someone else when my face moved closer to his and landed my tongue along the side of his mouth, licking the salty metallic liquid.
But then I'd be lying. Because it was me who was relentlessly pounding in my head, literally itching to do it.
"Mel, what the fuck...!"
Neiar struggled some more. But then he stopped.
Aw, why did he stop?
Then I felt him tensed beneath me. If only I knew what he was thinking. If only I could see the look on his face while doing this at the same time.
Do you see me now, Neiar? Or even better, do you feel me now?
I lifted my head up and to my dismay, I found his eyes tightly shut.
Those eyes always refused to see me...
Not just his eyes...
Like Father Samuel when he left...
Go away!
The room was rather cold. I knew the heater was turned off ages ago. But I wasn't cold. I was strangely...warm. And splattered by intriguing feelings I wasn't sure what.
He finally opened his eyes again, and looked at me with uncertainty. And it made me want to make fun of him even more.
"You taste so sweet, my dear Neiar..."
I realised I wanted him. All of him. I wanted to make him feel something. Something he will remember for the rest of his supposedly perfect little life.
All the curiosity...all the questions...I realised they would potentially end tonight.
But when I snapped out of it, it wasn't me who closed the distance between us. It wasn't my hands that pulled my face down and let nature took its course.
It was Neiar.
It was Neiar's mouth against mine. It was Neiar's tongue running up my mouth and searched around, as if intending to clean our bloods off.
I'd expected his mouth to be cold and his lips to be paper-dry, but there was a reason why thermometers stuck in one's oral cavity is a good representation of one's body temperature.
Neiar may be cold and lifeless on the outside. But he was boiling inside. And that stunned me a bit. It felt so...intimate.
Then I realised that the closest to intimacy that I've ever felt before was that time with Father Samuel.
And it was...rather enjoyable. I can't believe that I was feeling this way towards Neiar...of all people.
"Why Neiar, never thought you had it in you..." I whispered against his ear.
When I was with Father Samuel, I remembered thinking what would it be like to be on the adult's shoes, to be the one exploring and savouring intimacy with the other.
But I wasn't with Father Samuel now. I was with Neiar. There was something oddly fascinating about his figure. He was thin, almost to the point of bony. I probably wasn't much different, but it was definitely an experience feeling how skinny someone could be. When I pressed down against his thighs and he drew in a short breath, I knew I wanted to touch him some more. His skin was awfully dry, papery but smooth. There was something excruciatingly fragile about him, yet his stubbornness and arrogance formed a protective shell around it, pushing away anything that came too close.
Was I close enough now?
Neiar...
The whole realisation only made me itch to prod him more. I didn't think much when I let my tongue trailed down his ears, which gradually turned into further teasing, leaving wet streaks around the area. I wanted to shove my tongue inside his earhole...tease him until it ticked him.
Why was I doing this to Neiar?
"Ahh!"
But the moment I heard his gasping breath, I stopped asking questions.
All I knew was it was bringing me so much pleasure I couldn't stop. So I wasn't paying much attention to my loosening grip around his wrists.
Suddenly I felt a tug on my hair and Neiar's cold hands cupped around my face, drawing it closer to his.
Neiar kissed me.
Not feathery light like a friendly kiss.
Not affectionate and maternal like Father Samuel's kiss.
But a hot, wet and fervent kiss.
He was molesting my mouth. And his tongue...
My God, Neiar...
Letting him take control was not in my agenda, though.
ZRASH!
Before I could think, he toppled over and now he was on top. The sounds of rattling papers added to the sudden drift.
"Uhh..."
This was strange. But exciting. Because every single of Neiar's breaths in my face spoke a thousand paradoxes. He was cold, yet hot. He was emotionless yet he wanted to do these things to me. There was probably a great war breaking out inside of him.
And I felt myself reacting. Latent and gentle at first, but gradually growing more and more noticeable.
I looked up at him on top of me. His eyes peering down at me were hollow as ever, but this time fully curious, wondering, questioning, trying to figure me out. He continued to stare down at me for a while.
That's it, look at me...
With your eyes. With your soul. With all of you.
Memories of Father Samuel came creeping back. Because when he used to watch me, I could identify the curiosity as part of it the way I was seeing it in Neiar now. Only back then there was much more awe, much more...adoration.
Do you like what you see now, Neiar?
If he could just be closer.
Closer.
Hearing that in my head, I wondered if I'd said it out loud, because the next thing I knew my hands were wrapped around the back of his head and pushed him down to my waiting mouth.
I could do better than that.
Feel me now, Neiar.
When I shoved my tongue down his throat and drew out his taste, he was playing along. As if just letting himself taken over by me.
Heh.
I pulled back for a little bit.
"You dirty little slag."
He responded with another kiss. This time though, it wasn't just my mouth he was after. My body just involuntarily arched up towards him as Neiar's mouth trailed down my chin, leaving streaks of moisture down lower, towards my neck.
He was feverishly hot, strangely so, because this was something I never thought he was capable of feeling.
"Aahhh..."
As his head went lower, his hands stayed up, fumbling around the base of my face, his fingers tracing my skin...
Without thinking twice, I sucked on his fingers and quickly drew them in my mouth, and I felt him tensed against my chest for a second. Neiar's fingers were exactly how I expected them to be, thin and bony, slender and long, hard and strong...
...while his head continued to work its way down.
Like a little kid who just discovered a new toy, his touches were curious yet intense. Slowly exploring while holding me, his hot breaths dragging against my skin...
Neiar, you...
And it made me even hotter.
I wanted to do more...with him.
He was tugging on my shirt, pulling the collar down to its limit, still kissing away, when the crinkling sounds of my rosary necklace broke the monotonous breathing sounds.
Then I felt him stop.
"What's the matter big boy, can't handle your own little demons?" As if taunted, Neiar reached for my shirt and yanked it off.
What the hell took you so long?
Unbuttoning his white shirt, exposing his bony and pale figure just as I expected, I spotted a bit of goosebumps forming around his arms. It was kind of cold, and we both almost forgot about it. Neiar pressed closer against me, and I liked the feeling.
My hands automatically roamed around his back, running down his spinal cord. He was so thin it was as if I was touching the actual notochord itself, wrapped in paper-thin skin. He twisted slightly and purred against my chest.
What now, Neiar?
Once he froze, I suddenly felt that cold stare again...from a distance far away.
Eyes that were always looking at me, but never see me.
Not now.
Was Neiar going to leave it at that?
Like possessed animal, I caved in and gave it to him all at once. I did everything he did to me, only harder, longer and somewhat faster.
Will it make you hear me if I touch you like this?
Will it make you see me if I kiss you like this?
Will it make you feel me if I suck you like this?
"Ohh..."
Apparently so.
Do you want me now, Neiar?
As if that wasn't enough, I shifted my head down his chest, and within seconds found the spot I was looking for.
I didn't even need to think about it. It was like a pre-disposition. An instinct. Like an infant always looking for its mother's breast for feeding and security.
But this had nothing to do with nurture. I just wanted to see what it would do to him if I sucked on his nipple. I felt him tense, then a little gasp escaped his mouth.
Neiar...
And the result was clear. Once he discovered this thing called lust, there was no turning back.
This time, his touches were not curious and exploring blindly anymore. He knew exactly what he was looking for. I could feel the difference in the way he treated my body.
Like back then...
Father Samuel knew exactly what he was after, and found places in my body that he knew would feel good...and comfortable.
The only difference was, if Father Samuel was careful not to hurt or awaken something in me that I wouldn't have known how to control as a little kid, Neiar was doing exactly the opposite. This wasn't about comfort. This was raw, hormonal desire. An instinctual drive like any 15-year old's.
I knew he wanted to make me feel the way I made him feel.
And he was doing well indeed.
But let's see who will burst their bubble first.
Neiar's breathing was getting heavier and heavier now.
Oh...wait. What was he doing?
I felt my head being pushed down, away from his chest...lower and lower still...towards the unmistakable bulge beneath his white pants.
He was more than aroused.
I could feel him growing powerless against me, so I took the opportunity to roll him over and climb on top of him.
So here was Neiar...losing all control under me, panting and gasping and holding on to me. He was so hard I could feel it dragging along the inside of my thighs.
Well, well, who's the little slag now?
Then I realised that I was just as hard...when and how it started was way beyond my concern. Right now all I had in my head was the relentless drive to...to...what?
This overwhelming desire for Neiar...what was it? It wasn't just as a simple as wanting to take over him...I wanted him wanting me, begging and crying for me to do things to him.
I realised I wanted to break him.
I gave him one last crushing kiss before running my mouth lower, licking, sucking, nibbling, leaving trails of saliva down to his belly button, and I smiled secretly as I felt him writhing beneath me.
His hands wasn't staying still either. I almost shivered involuntarily when they ran down my spine.
"Mel..."
Heh.
I'll make sure you call out my name some more...
It was like the most natural thing ever. I knew just what to do, instinctively.
Without looking down, I fumbled around his pants and reached for the zipper. And as soon as I pulled it down completely, his mouth caught mine again.
Neiar was feverishly hot...so deliciously so. I couldn't get enough.
I had to have him.
Gone were the days where I saw him as just a pair of eyes. Or a dead heap on the floor fiddling around with jigsaw puzzles. I knew there was more of him. And I had control of it.
So when I tugged his pants down and gripped his aching erection, the sudden gasp of breath Neiar made shot straight between my legs. I wanted more. I lowered my head and gave a soft bite around his belly button area. He seemed to enjoy it. Then I got up again, and enjoyed the pleasurable view beneath me.
Neiar with a pink streak across his usually pale face, his lips swollen and wet, blowing out short rags of hot breaths, his chest moving up and down, beads of sweat started forming around his forehead. Like a little boy possessed, he held on to me, as if gesturing me to get on with it.
I gave him one last stare...
"Well, look at you, Neiar,"
Before finally taking his hot throbbing flesh in my mouth.
"Unghhh..."
He tasted weird...organic and slightly salty. But I knew it was so hot it was threatening to burst anytime. I didn't know where I've found the skills. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
Would it have been nice if Father Samuel did this to me back then?
I sucked harder and tightened my grip even more.
Would I like it?
I realised how irrelevant my current thoughts were. Since when did it wander around that far?
This was the reality. Here and now. I was sucking Neiar...and there were other things that should've tickled my fancy.
I so wanted him to make more noises.
I pulled out slightly, and swirled my tongue around the base of his tip. And I felt him thrashing around some more.
Thought so. He was sensitive there. But I only made that observation based on my own personal experience. I knew I was rather sensitive there too.
Picking up the pace, I engulfed him fully again and held tighter around the base.
Neiar was thrusting along too, harder with each stroke.
But was he looking at me with the same pair of eyes like always? Would he have looked at me differently then?
No.I don't want to know.
"Aaahhh..." he gave out another involuntary gasp, burying his hands in my hair...as I tasted something pungently salty and raw flowing into my mouth in tiny drops. He was close.
This was...unreal...sinful...but so oddly...good. So good that I think I accidentally drab a teeth.
"Fuck! Mel!"
Keep screaming my name, Neiar.
I felt him wrapping his slender and bony legs around me, and urging me to do him faster. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction now. Instead, I reached underneath and teased his balls.
And within seconds, he exploded in two shots.
"Mmmhhh...aahhhh!"
I spat out his warm juices out of my mouth at once, and drab some paper over the mess. There was a sudden strong smell of protein in the air.
I looked back down, and to my dismay saw that look again. He was still panting and reflexively had his hands covering his crotch.
Was that just an illusion?
Did that do nothing to him except for that few seconds?
Suddenly I felt angry. So angry I felt clouds forming in my head.
"Now it's your turn to serve me, you little slag," I think I was saying something like that when I grabbed hold of Neiar's legs and shoved his pants all the way off before pulling my own down just enough to set my erection free.
Those eyes. Those eyes I hate so much.
"Mel..."
Shut up! Let me fuck you first.
I had my aching cock in my hand, and its tip positioned just over Neiar's hole. The mix of clear lubricant and pre-cum would have to do.
Like I care.
"Aaahhhh...Mel, no!" Neiar screamed when I pushed into him. He was impossibly tight...to the point where I almost thought it wouldn't fit. But then it gave a leeway, a nanometre at a time.
Not so cool now, are you?
So I kept going.
When I was finally buried in him completely, I settled down for a bit and let myself get used to the sensation. I grabbed on to his hip and leg tightly, holding him still, while he shifted uncomfortably. I could've easily torn him apart in the process, but that time I really couldn't care less.
Then he was suddenly still. Everything was quiet for a second. All I could hear was Neiar's gradually steadying breath. When I looked down...it suddenly hit me again.
Neiar zoned out. His eyes were empty as ever.
Seeing through me as ever.
You little...
So I pulled out of him slightly, and pushed back in. A wince of pain formed across his face, before he started tossing his head from side to side. I could tell he was aroused amongst all that discomfort...
And his eyes...
I thrust into him some more.
One.
The first eyes I saw every single day, many many years ago...empty as ever. Even the Mother Mary icons I found at the chapel had more warmth. Emotionless, uncaring eyes...the reason why I always turned to Father Samuel.
Her eyes...they looked at me but never saw me. No matter how many times I called out to her.
Mother.
So I had called her out.
The answer was always the same. Although it was never said out loud.
I don't give a shit about you.
I pounded harder into Neiar.
"Ah!"
Two.
Father Samuel. Once I was his pride and joy, his precious treasure. His object of affection and adoration.
The next moment I was nothing but a used toy.
Once he was in trouble, I meant nothing to him.
I don't give a shit about you.
Three.
Neiar.
Once his eyes were there, nothing else mattered. No other eyes intrigued me the way he did to me.
Neiar...you...
"Uuugnhhh...aahh..."
With one final hard thrust, I shot my load into him. With a held back moan, with closed eyes, with gritted teeth, and a few pumps. Drops of my hot essence trickled down the inside of his thighs.
The little bitch deserved it.
I panted violently in the orgasmic afterglow, leaning against my elbows lying on either side of Neiar. He was breathing just as heavy, his hands covering his forehead.
Yeah, that's it. Feel me.
I want you to remember me for the rest of your life.
And I loved the feeling. It was even better than chocolate.
Mel...
You're so beautiful, Mel.
That was all that was left.
Next thing I knew I passed out beside Neiar.
The rest I can't remember.
LOS ANGELES, USA, 2009.
"Mello."
"What is it, Rod?" I shifted my leg up as I unwrapped the next bar of chocolate.
"About the individual of interest..."
The heavy gangster handed me a piece of paper.
"I see."
I opened the folds of paper as I took my first bite of the dark chocolate.
SPK, Washington D.C, huh?
Interesting.
I kind of knew it already.
"Rod."
"Yeah?"
"This is just between us until further notice."
"Understood."
"Okay, you can go now."
END OF PART 2