His laugh was like a madman. I pulled away as he clawed at my leg, trying to pull himself up. The blood continued to run from his nose and the sick little shit licked it into his mouth, a look of pure glee on his face.
"I've known it since the moment I first saw his beautiful face," he screamed at me. "I never wanted you. Who could want you next to him. His beautiful mind, his pale skin. Next to your matted scars," he laughed viciously. "You're nothing but a toy to me," he drawled, clearly enjoying himself.
I turned away and tried to find some kind of self control.
"You know you want to Seb," he said. "Hit me again, hit me," he cried, his expression one of absolute madness. "Hnnngh Seb," he moaned wantonly like some cheap whore. "Hit me harder," he yelled at me. He was trying to get to me. It was working.
"Why would I want you when I could have him," he hissed, torturing me. "You're nothing but gutter trash, useless until I found some purpose for you."
I walked to the bedroom, trying to make it stop but he followed.
"He's brilliant Seb. I light up his dull little world. I'm all he thinks about, twenty four seven. Not like you," he added bitterly. "I'm a pay-cheque to you. You leave me here, all the time. He yearns for me, pines for me."
He crept up behind me and placed a hand on the small of my back.
"Well Sebby?" Hmm? What, tiger got your tongue?"
He gave a blood curdling scream as I turned and snapped his wrist. His eyes widened with horror as the pain leaked through his bones.
"Sebastian," he cried, staring at me incredulously.
"Fuck," he whispered as he tried to pull away from me, his wrist probably in a world of pain.
"You need me," I reminded him. "You need me so you can play your stupid little games with him." I clenched my fist tighter, closing around his entire wrist and he gave a pathetic whimper.
"You think you could survive on your own?" I shook him and he paled, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. "Sure Moriarty could but he doesn't exist, does he Jim? Not without me he doesn't."
I threw him from me and he crumpled on the floor, clutching his arm to his chest and trying to stop me seeing the tears already streaming down his face.
"You seriously think, I would just let you go," I whispered. He looked like a small child, his hair an unruly mess and his eyes bleary and tired. Had he been in his glorified Westwood attire no doubt I would have simply appeased him, but no. His suit was crumpled like he was and I was clever enough to see the man behind the mask.
"Jim."
"What," he asked in a tone of pure hatred.
I knelt beside him gently. cupping his cheek in my hand.
"I love you," I told him, before kissing him gently on the lips.
"I love you too," he replied, blood running past his lips and down his chin. He rocked back and forth, holding his arm and he moaned when I pulled him into a hug, probably hurting him.
"I'll be back in an hour," I called, halfway to the door. "Eat your dinner."