A/N: Here it is, the chapter six. First of all I want to thank Michael Serpent, the invincible Over Lord of Harry/Draco slash fanfiction, for beta reading this and the seventh chapter for me, since Sarya happens to be away for a while. Also janche helped a great deal with the typos, thanks.The song's Lifehouse's 'Sick Cycle Carousel'.

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Chapter Six: Sick Cycle Carousel

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The bed is spinning and swinging at the same time, and my eyes flutter as I try to fight the dizziness away. I feel like my head was lolling from side to side as I swing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. There is no giddy music to accompany the swinging motion, but I could easily imagine a mocking orchestra of mistuned violins playing in the background. The rising sun is casting its warm orange rays through the bedroom window, throwing long shadows across the room and making the floating dust particles in the air shimmer softly as the light hits them. The narrow shadow of a standard lamp splits my torso from my right hip to my left shoulder as I bath in the sunrise, limp and naked on the messed sheets. I stare at the ceiling and turn my face towards the window, seeing how the brightness goes through my eyelids and feeling the faint warmth on my skin.

I prefer sunrises. Sunsets are nice, too, but there's that certain something in sunrises. Too often poets and authors write about sunsets, how romantic they are and so forth. The sun's red, dying glow sliding behind the horizon, lovers sitting side to side on a rock next to the sea, holding hands and whispering sweet things in the other's ear. You see the sun going away, you already have seen what it did today, and then you can say for sure "now it is gone". You had been watching its progress the whole day, seeing how it got nearer and nearer to its end, so there's no question about the fact that the sun is truly gone.

But when the sun rises, you have no idea what it brings along, what future will be like. It's new, it's unpredictable and you just happen to be there when it begins its daily parade across the sky. You may have some kind of idea when the sun will rise the next morning, but you can't predict exactly which second you'll see the shockingly bright first rays. Sunrise is first gone and then just suddenly there, but with sunset you can follow it with your gaze, see it kiss the horizon tentatively and then it falls.

It's like breathing. With sundown you exhale with relief, letting the old air come out and you prepare for the up-coming night. But then again with dawn you inhale new fresh air that has been blessed with the brand new light after the darkness. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… A forever-continuing motion that will go on until to a certain point. When a person dies, the last deed might be whether breathing in sharply, as if the end was a shock, or letting the air out completely, waving the white flag at the whole system.

But not too often one realises, that a nightfall is someone else's morning, and that sometimes when you greet the sun for the first time that day, another person is just saying goodbyes to it somewhere very far away.

Are sunrises for those who are looking for something new, adventures, and for those who love to dream of something better? Or for the hopeless ever-children who want to walk twenty feet away from their parents because it's embarrassing to follow the elders' path?

Are sunsets for traditional people who are wise and sure of what they do and what will happen next, and who in most probability are going to be right about their calculations? Can they not do something spontaneous, take risks and therefore suddenly become filthy rich or incredibly poor?

I want to make the right decisions, I want a sunset, but on the other hand I am a clear sunrise, a dreamer with my head in the non-see-through clouds. Between dusk and dawn there only are day and night, both so very different from each other but nonetheless so alike. During day you see, during night you don't, that's the popular belief. But some animals live at night, and hide for the day, and other animals sleep at night and wake up in the crack of dawn. Is my sunrise nearer to the night or the day? The moment just before the light breaks out, or the moment right after when the first rays cast?

Gathering my courage I open my eyes warily, and parting my cracked and dry lips I inhale sharply. My eyes widen in a second and hurriedly I spring up, feeling how my skin was attached to the sheets due to the dried blood, and as fast as I can, I stagger to the bathroom, clutching the sides of the toilet seat and throwing up violently. It feels like someone was grasping me from the middle, from my stomach and urging me to empty it against my will, even though there's nothing to throw up. I collapse against the wall opposite to the toilet seat, sliding down to the floor and taking deep breaths as I feel a headache forming behind my eyes and my temples. I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning backwards until my head hits the cold wall and I see small dancing stars, making me feel even more ailing.

I feel like crying. I have never felt this bad and I don't know what to do. I am trapped in my hopelessness, facing my opponent in a duel for one. But I am no fighter like that; I can't even beat myself although I know my weaknesses. I want to throw the ball to someone else, and that someone else would take care of everything, and I could just sit back and watch how things are corrected by someone else.

I don't want to sort out anything. I just want to stop the hands of my clock from moving. And when everyone else's watches are still ticking on, things changing in time and making it better and when it's ok again I'd restart my clock and step into the world of the living once again, head held high as if I had never left at all.

Wincing, I stand up, for the pain is too much and I reach for the medicine locker. I drown three painkillers with a glass of water, and lift my gaze to look at my reflection. My nose has bled at some point, and I have a black eye. There are smaller cratches on my face, and my lip is split, stinging nastily. I see four red lines going across my collarbore that must be due to nails. My hair is in knots, blonde strands mangled with dried blood and sticking out in horrid angles. I can feel a large bruise where my head hit the door frame, probably causing me to black out because of a hopefully merely mild concussion. My wrist is swollen and there are purple bruises on it, as well as on many other places of my body. As I walk I can feel what else Kyle did to me while I was unconscious, that sex-crazed bastard.

The kitchen is excruciatingly bright, the whites and light greens are blinding. On the wooden table there's a piece of paper. Narrowing my eyes I pick it up, holding it between my index and thumb, as if it was something filthy.

' Draco,

I didn't mean to do what I did yesterday, seriously. I just somehow lost the control and I know I did wrong against you. You didn't deserve it, but you must understand that I was hurt. You hurt me Draco, you did, and deeply. I don't know if that's what you intended to do, but I certainly didn't plan to beat you up the way I did…I have never felt such guilt as I do now, and I beg you to forgive me. I'm off to work the time when you read this, and after that I think we should talk. I am so sorry.

Yours,

Kyle'

I stand at the kitchen table where Kyle had left the message, and I rip the letter with the passion I would use to rip Kyle's head off if I could.

"Yes, let Draco pick up the pieces of himself, let him deal with the pain all alone," I sob and grip at the edge of the table in fury.

Not that I would have wanted Kyle to be here when I woke up, no way. It was more than enough to wake up next to him in the middle of the night, to feel how he was curled around my body in the possessive way, claiming me like a piece of mindless meat.

'Mine! You are mine and you can't go until I let you! You can have your opinions, but mine weigh more.'

Kyle hasn't said so, but he has written those words on my skin with blood and kisses.

I hurry to take a shower to get rid of the grime, twisting the water to be so hot that it leaves my skin red and almost burnt. The blood flakes off of my skin, dried semen and sweat go down the drain as I rub the pear-smelling soap against my skin. I see the filth go away, but nonetheless it leaves my skin tainted and marked behind. It hasn't gone away, it's still there even when it seems like it's not. Not wanting but having no choice in the matter I remember last night so lively, as if he was doing it all over again…

I pour some shampoo onto my palm and run my fingers through my hair, my shaking fingertips rubbing furiously at my scalp and staring at the white wall in front of me like it was my enemy.

His scent up my nostrils and burning all the way to my lungs, preventing them from taking in any oxygen.

And I choke internally.

The skin of my scalp is tender already, and I let the pouring water wash the white bubbly substance away, sliding down my body.

Warmth emanating to my body from his, to my aching muscles that cramp and stop working altogether.

I'm paralyzed.

Breathing hitching, I take some conditioner and repeat what I did with the shampoo, quickening my actions to get out of the shower as soon as possible, the shower stall is so small and I feel trapped again.

Breath against my neck, sharpening my senses and the overwhelming disgust reaction in my brains is too much.

I lose consciousness.

I turn off the water, hurry out of the shower, grab a towel and tie it around my waist.

Skin against mine… The dirt that is him digs into my pores and veins, going all the way to my heart like a disease.

My heart stops beating.

I slump down onto the toilet seat again, taking in a shuddering breath.

I'm dead.

I had been dying for so long and now I am dead. It's all because of Kyle, all because I wasn't careful enough around him. He thought I was his; that he was meant to be more important to me than anything else I have, more important than my well-being and my struggles against him. He was more important than I was.

Sick. So utterly sick. It's like thousands of slimy worms were there, on my dead and unmoving skin, contaminating me both from outside and inside as they crawl into me through all possible holes of my body. Squirming there, filling me with their dirt and disgusting slithering movement. I could hear them twisting inside my ears, feel how they eat my stomach from the inside and run through my circulation system.

And I could feel all that just by looking at him.

It's so deceitful, the way he looks so innocent in his sleep, sickeningly content. I can't bear looking at him for long, I want to run and never see that monster again. I don't want to hide, not really, but I want to run until I bump into something, someone, Harry, who prevents me from running any further away and guides me to follow another path. Who knows, the path I had been following might have been a circle, and in the end of my path there might have been Kyle waiting for me, all over again.

I wash my face in the sink and put something with healing properties on the bruises. Knowing that the bedroom is in a serious need to be cleaned of Kyle's body fluids mixed with mine, I take a laundry basket with me as I step into the room of physical and emotional pain once again, this time to swipe the fingerprints off of a gun with which I was shot.

The sheets are tainted red, I bled to Kyle pretty generously last night. I bet he didn't use any lube, either, and my nose-bleed must have been quite big considering the amount of blood on my face and the pillow. I throw the bed clothes into the basket, and shutting the door behind me I carry it back to the bathroom. I don't feel like starting on the laundry right in the morning… Heck, I need coffee!

"Coffee, coffee, where are you my coffee…" I mutter to myself as I rummage through the kitchen and finally find what I'm looking for in a drawer where I would never put a coffee package. Kyle must have messed the order of the stuff once again. Even though he doesn't exactly live here he seems to think that he has the right to put my stuff into any sort of order, or should I say to lack for such. Why won't he just mess up his own place?

But as sure as the fact that I'm standing here in the outfit the non-existent good God gave me, Kyle will never step into this apartment again.

I pick up the morning's paper from the carpet in front of the door, and sit in front of the kitchen table to read it while the coffee machine makes gurgling noises.

Deciding to change the locks before Kyle comes back (he has the key, I was kind of forced to give it to him when he gave me the key to his apartment) I glance through the headlines, not really reading and understanding what the words stand for, but I guess there has been some new incident in Iraq and Helena's Hair&Style gives outstanding reductions to people who were born before the year 1962.

I made the coffee too mild, damn it. I've never been good with making coffee, I never know how much I should add the coffee itself and how much water.

I call the locksmith and he'll be coming to change the locks in an hour, well before my shift at the Burger King, which starts at twelve. I'm so drained, I don't have the energy to go to work today at all… But I don't want to wrap myself in my own self-pity here at my place nor keep thinking about what happened and cry into my sofa pillows, I just want to get distracted by something other than work, something even remotely enjoyable. Work is a good method if one wants to throw worries aside for a while, but I've never been one to lose myself that way. I don't enjoy my work; I go there just for the money.

The doorbell rings. What's wrong with me? Where did I lose that one hour? Quickly I run to my wardrobe and grab a pair of boxers, a pair of socks, jeans, and a grey shirt.

"Just a minute!" I yell as the locksmith rings the bell for the second time. Scrambling I hit my toe in the doorframe and cuss, hopping towards the door with one foot. But as I rest my hand on the door handle and the other on the lock, I get second thoughts…

"Who is it?" I ask through the door. If it's Kyle who's forgotten the keys I'm going to scream in my mind. And then at him.

"Raphael Jones, I trust you needed a locksmith today?"

I smile in relief, and open the door, letting the elder man with mustache in. The man knows his stuff and the work is done in no time.

I know I'm not supposed to go to work for another two hours, but I can't stay home, either. I need to walk and think, let the feelings dissolve as I breathe the thoughts out into the cool air outside. I grab my coat, lock the door behind me and decide to use the stairs instead of taking an elevator. In the hall I recall how Harry and I stood here just yesterday. No, today. Anyways, I think of it as 'yesterday'. I want to see him again, definitely. Kyle can't forbid me, I'm not his, never was. I can't be owned by someone who doesn't care about me, he didn't even bother to wake me up to see if I was okay, which I was not. I might have died in my sleep, right after he had gone. Jesus, he's such an idiot!

I get angrier and angrier the more I think about him, my steps could very well quake the earth with the emotion I kick into it. Kyle is just like my parents, at least likemy father. If he had been the one to find me this morning, he would have wrinkled his nose in disgust, just like that Weasley at the coffee shop, and tell me how filthy I looked, ordered me to take a shower and get over it.

I find myself in a park, and I sit on a bench, watching as people go past me with their dogs, kids and happy little lives. I just sit there, not letting myself to think of the situation too deeply and when it's time, I head for the nearest underground station.

The day at work comes and goes like always. Stupid teenage girls, playing with their hair in a supposed-to-be-seductive way, and trying to get their orders for cheaper or my phone number. Sometimes I step into the role of an overly gay person, with all those hand gestures people do when they try to act gay, and the girls usually give up straight away or get insulted if they don't believe me. One time I got into a really funny situation. These two girls had a guy with them and I used my 'sorry, I'm gay and thus not interested' –method, and then the guy asked for my number. The girls stared at their friend in shock and immediately dragged him to side, sitting him in front of them and starting to pester to poor guy about his sexuality. That was just way too funny, the guy seemed really confused and uncomfortable as his friends' words made him blush like a tomato. That boy was definitely still trying to find himself, and without thinking he just came out of the closet in front of his friends. The expression on the guy's face was worth seeing, otherwise the situation wasn't comical or something to laugh at.

I smell of grease and my skin feels oily, eugh. I head for the supermarket to buy some milk and cauliflower, plus a package of Persil. Carrying the stuff in a plastic bag I stroll along the street, deciding that not taking the tube and walking to my place won't kill me. Nonetheless, after half an hour I get tired of walking and give up. The tube is full, and I feel like a sardine in a tin, other people pressed against me, pushing out of their way and swaying as the underground stops, lets people out and continues again. After hearing the evergreen warning 'mind the gap' for something like thirty times I get off and soon I find myself in front of the familiar seven-story building.

But what I find in front of my apartment door is not something I expected. Harry and Kyle are glaring at each other in a way that does not look too friendly, face to face.

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… TBC …

A/N: Thanks to all reviewers, you are my darling motivation! But it seems like the more I write the less I get reviews o.O. I was almost (but not quite) planning on dropping this story already, but for some reason decided to continue it, anyways. I love writing this, there are my own personal thoughs and opinions in this fic, too, but motivation tends to lack sometimes. I have the next, a bit shorter chapter already beta read, but I am not going to put it here before I've had a standard amount of reviews. And I am in no hurry, I can wait as long as it takes :)

GaBoO: Grazias! In the chapter number eight (yes, I have pretty much written that already) you're gonna hear slightly more about Draco's relations to Kyle. I'm from southern Finland and the reason why I am able to write this much in English is that the study language in the school I attend is English.

sak: As I told GaBoO, you'll hear about Draco&Kyle's relationship in the chapter after the next one. And waking up in blood… Yes, it can be pretty traumatic indeed.

carrot: Hehe, you were waiting for Harry to kick the door down and rescue Draco? Oh well, he would have been the knight in shining armour, but this is not exactly a fairy tale. And no, both Kyle and Draco are still alive and kicking, no one's been shot.

Ravencrow: Thank you for the tip, but I am not going to 'study' how to write about violence and abusive relationships. I think the scene I've written here is just fine (even though it certainly isn't, but you know what I mean), and I find it rather easy to write about horrible topics, I guess I have this thing about stuff that I actually dislike.

Also thanks to: janche, DanishGirl, ura, xXBleeding MascaraXx, Silvestra and Maluenda.

-Devilita.