Music:

Believe - The Bravey

Duality (Belzebass remix) - Slipknot

Too Close - Alex Clare

Part 3 of 3

Romantic outings with Damien in South Park have so far consisted of:

-Eating ice cream even the subzero temperatures, just because it tastes good.

-Skating at the roller rink when Stark's Pond was just slush.

-Hand-in-hand walks through the night.

So when I walk out of the apartment complex to meet Damien and he's in a suit and leaning against an expensive black Italian car, all I can say is, "Sheet, I am not dressed for zis."

"You aren't. " He's grinning, the bastard.

"What makes you zink I'll agree to zis?"

His shoulders droop. "Because I have shittons of money and I need something to blow it on?"

I cross my arms.

"I'll do you a favor," he says. "Come on, it's worth forty-three virgins."

I pretend to consider for a second. "I'll be right back out."

I don't own a suit. Gregory does, and even though he's taller than me and my shoulders are broader, I still manage to fit into it. The three of them stare at me when I leave my room with my hair combed for the first time in fifteen years.

"I'm making progress," I announce.

"You look nice," Hai says.

"Be careful," Gregory warns.

I snicker. "I can look after myself. Don't wait up, mom."

The look he gives me makes me wince. "Okay, I'll be careful."

I take my shovel with me.

Damien admires me in the suit.

"You look good," he says.

"So do you." I force myself to acknowledge it.. He does have the whole tall-dark-and-handsome thing going for him, which makes it easier.

"Kind of weird to see you in anything other than that jacket and military fatigues and your boots. "He holds the door open for me on the passenger's seat. I set my shovel down in the back seat where I can easily grab it, and fasten my seatbelt. I've driven with Damien before.

We're on the highway to Denver in less than a minute. I grip the armrest and try to reassure myself that I'll probably live even if he crashes the car. He snickers as other drivers honk at us.

"Where are we going?"

"Ritzy restaurant."

"Ah." I've only ever been to ritzy restaurants during covert ops.

"So. About my favor."

He groans. "I knew I was going to regret that. What do you want?"

I play with various ways to say it in my head, then decide to just spit it out.

"I want to go down to 'ell."

"Well, that's easy," he says. "I suppose you want to be able to come back, too?"

I nod.

"Is this about the demon blood thing?"

"You said you would 'elp wiz zat."

"I am, you just can't tell and I can't brief you on what I'm doing. Look, Christophe. Everyone has some secrets. If I go down to Hell - then you'll know some of mine."

This catches me off guard.

"Are you-"

"No, goddamn it, I'm not the one distributing the demon blood. But I'm wrapped up in it."

"Because of your fazzer."

"Yeah."

"We need to take care of zis. It could change ze fate of ze world."

"It could."

He focuses on the road.

"Normally I would say, who are you to think you can change the world?" He shakes his head and gives a short laugh. "But I know you, Christophe. If anyone could change the world on their own, it would be you."

I stay quiet for a few seconds. We're approaching the outskirts of Denver when I speak up.

"If you're so afraid of me knowing your secrets, zen zis will never work."

"I know!"

"Zen, ah, 'ow about zis." I think back to Gregory's advice. Make him think you're opening up to him. "If I give you one of my secrets, will you give me zis one?"

He glances at me. "One of your secrets?"

I nod.

"I could just demand you tell me," he says, chin in the air.

"But I won't," I snap back.

He raises his shoulders and half-sinks his neck into them. "Sorry."

I force myself to relax while I wait for his response.

"Fine," he says. "It better be one of the deep and dark ones, though."

I smile. "Wouldn't 'ave it any ozzer way."

I toy over my secrets in my head, looking for one that would tantalize him. I consider making one up for a few seconds, then disregard the idea. I have to learn to trust him or I'll hurt myself in the end..

Damien plays with his silverware. Silence amplifies the hesitation. His gaze settles on me. He raises his eyebrows.

"Well?"

"I'm zinking."

"It'd better be good."

The waiter comes. I order the first thing on the menu, since it's all upper-class Italian-sounding garbage. When the waiter leaves, Damien returns to watching me.

"Well?"

"Okay, okay." I lean forward a little bit, resting my palms on the tablecloth. My stomach feels full of air, and my head is rushing.

"Ze first person I killed didn't deserve it."

He shows now emotion, just waits for the explanation we both know is coming.

"I was eleven, and I was struggling on my own. I 'adn't moved in wiz Gregory yet, and I was doing odd jobs just to keep some cash in my pocket. Someone offered me money to kill someone for zem. I couldn't find any ozzer jobs and winter was coming and I needed to be able to afford a place to stay, and zey were offering good money. So I did it. Ze person I killed was guilty of stealing something, of blackmailing, of 'oarding secrets, but zey 'adn't done anyzing zat should 'ave resulted in zeir deaz. I killed zem with a 'andgun, while zey slept. A coward's kill, a clean kill, a kind kill. I killed zem, and I took zeir money, and I 'ad a place to stay, and when ze money ran out I finally called Gregory up and begged 'im to let me stay wiz 'im. Not because I didn't want to kill anozzer person; because I couldn't find anozzer job."

I take a deep breaz and set back in my seat.

He doesn't say anything.

"Zere aren't a lot of jobs for eleven-year-olds," I say. "It was establish myself as a child prodigy of a mercenary, or prostitute myself. I 'aven't killed innocents since zen, but I 'aven't been zat desperate. I don't zink I would anymore, but I don't know for sure."

He's still quiet.

"What?"

"I'm trying to figure out if you're telling me the truth," he says.

I narrow my eyes. "I am."

"I want to believe you," he says. "I mean, not that I give a damn whether or not you're a killer-"

My quick intake of air must alert him.

"You know what I mean," he says quickly. "I'm the antichrist, if I couldn't handle that then I'm not fit for my job, you know? Of course I care whether or not you've killed someone, because what you do makes you, well, you. And I care about that." He rubs his temples. "Christ, this is getting too complicated. But I'm glad you told me that. What it really a deep, dark secret of yours?"

"I 'aven't even told Gregory."

"Are you kidding?"

I shake my head.

"Wow." He grins. "Uh, any particular reason why you chose to tell me that one?"

I support myself on my elbows. The waiter brings by a basket of bread, and I wait for him to leave before I pick up again.

"Well," I say, "I chose to tell you zat because it tells you something about me."

"What? Other than-"

"Ozzer zan ze obvious. It shows zat I do ugly things when I am desperate." I pause. "It's not one of my strong points."

His shoulders slump. "I kind of already knew that."

The silence between us morphs into an almost physical manifestation of the memories; of the things Damien has seen me do, of the way he's turned me angry and scared and into a nervous, paranoid wreck.

"Now it's time for your secret," I say.

He grins, a little jittery. "Uh, I think it's something I'm going to have to show you. For right now, let's just say I have a lot more going down in Hell than I like to let on."

Somehow, we relax. I make myself forget for a little while. He tells jokes, stupid enough to make me laugh. I regale him with stories of impossible missions. Fighting monsters, infiltrating yakuza ranks, faking the dead and bringing them back to life.

"No way. That's true? You really did that?"

"Of course. Why would I lie?"

"It's just, uh. Wow. I can't believe you and Gregory really went that far to get that little girl back."

"Well," I said, sniffing a little, "'er fazzer was paying us in five digits, what else were we supposed to do?"

He laughs, and I finish the story. He only interrupts one more time to question me on my honesty.

"I swear to God, Damien, I'm telling ze truz."

And once we're back in South Park we climb into the backseat and kiss for a bit, and then we don't even need to kiss anymore, we just entangled with him curling me up against him, listening to each other's heartbeats, and outside it has started to snow. I breathe deep against him and he sighs.

And I'm scared.

Because I've been in love before, and this isn't it, not anywhere close.

But I know this is how it starts. This is how you can tell it would maybe work out. If there are quiet moments between the two of you where you don't need anything; if their smell burns into your nostrils like home; if your heartbeats sync as you press into each other. And this doesn't guarantee, doesn't even make it likely, but having moments like this are the first step and I know it and Damien knows it, and I'm scared because I can't stop this.

And he'll hurt me if he thinks it'll help him get his way. Because I'm still not a person to him. And I'll never forget.

And Damien always gets what he wants.

But we sit there, breathing together, half-asleep and at some sort of peace, and the heater hums to counter the frozen chill outside, so it's like we're in some sort of oasis. And it's beautiful.

And Damien says, "Then I'll take you to Hell."

We do it on the floor of his living room, sitting on the wood with the lights turned off and our heartbeats beating too loudly. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the blinds, then only light in the room. I make out Damien's bitten lip, his hunched shoulders, and, of course, his bright-glowing eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" he says again.

"I have to," I say.

My shovel rests in my lap.

We sit cross-legged across from each other, knees touching. He brings his hands up to his face, cups them, and starts to blow.

After a few minutes, a warm light forms in his hands, the size of a penny. It grows larger with each exhale, and even though when he sucks in a breath it quivers a little bit, after less than a minute it fills his whole hand.

I'm tempted to ask what he's doing, but his eyelids are half-closed and his lips curved up in just the slightest smile, and he looks almost at peace.

Exhale. Inhale. The light spills out of his hand, the edges of it touching my skin. It feels like the healing magic he uses on me whenever he goes too far with the bruises.

Exhale. Inhale. It swallows up my hands and they disappear in the white. Then it travels up to his forearms. It's eating him up as well, until both of us are dissolving into the light. Exhale. Inhale. My heartbeat picks up the pace as the adrenaline flashes through my veins. I'm trembling.

He bumps my knees with one of his and smiles wider. Then he takes another breath and blows it out and we disappear into-

The stone walls tower above my head, large enough for a building to walk through the halls. The halls are illuminated by glowing white lights hanging in the air. It smells of mold and age.

There are people in the hall around us, most of them distorted enough to clue me in. Pointed ears or sharp teeth or impossibly tall and thin and the wings – batlike or hummingbird of just appendages rowed with shards of glass-

Their gazes land upon Damien, and the shock is almost tangible.

"I request an audience with my father," Damien says, crossing his arms. He says it quietly, almost enough to be ignored, but every single demon jumps at his words and bows deeply before half of them scurry off. The other half fawn around us , still bowing, babbling things like, "My lord! You've returned to us!" and, "I trust your stay on earth was pleasant?"

"Find Lilith," he says. A few more of the herd trickles off. "And leave us," he says. "You're scaring my mate."

"Fuck you," I mumble, although I have hunched closer to him, and I'm holding my shovel in front of me.

Then demons only back off an inch, and now they're babbling about the prince has finally found a mate, oh and what kind of human is he and –

"Leave us!" Damien snarls, and this time they back off and give us some breathing room. He grabs my wrist, forcing one hand off the shovel, and half-leads half-drags me through the halls.

"Zey're not surprised zat I'm 'uman?" I whisper.

He shrugs. "The higher-up demons tend to be inclined towards human. You have more stable children."

"I never agreed to be your 'mate,'." I let a level of disgust level off with my words.

"It's just what we call it down here," I keep clenching tightly to my shovel. "Where are we going?"

"To meet with my father."

My eyes widen. "Why?"

"You want to get to the heart of this demon blood trafficking, don't you? Wasn't that the point of all this? Then my family is the place to go."

I shiver. He smiles. "Don't be scared."

"Fuck you," I say again.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders. "It's okay, Chris."

I shrug him off and stomp ahead. The ceiling in sloping downwards, the walls closing in, and the floating lights growing dimmer.

"I thought demons would be braver zan zose back zere," I say.

"The common ones are all groveling like that. The nobility are tougher skinned. They still grovel a bit, but behind that they're plotting how to get what they want out of you. Speaking of nobility, hey, Lilith."

The demon I know as Lily emerges from the shadows and joins our pace. She looks the same as she did the night in Damien's apartment a month ago when Damien and I had our first of a hundred arguments. Her Victorian-era dresses flows around her legs as she saunters, and her high heels clack. I stare at her. Lilith. Lily. How the fuck did I not make the connection?

"I see you've returned," she says to Damien, and there is some hint of relief and some hint of warning to her words.

"Not permanently," he says. "Just to chat."

She looks at me with disdain. "What's he doing here?"

"I brought him here."

"So you've managed to hold onto this one for so long? Impressive." She examines me as we walk. I tighten my grip on my shovel and glare back at her.

"Kenny was longer," Damien says, sounding slightly offended.

"Yes, but he was half-dead himself, wasn't he? And he wanted to die. After the first day, he wanted to die." She raises her eyebrows. "It doesn't smell like you've raped this one yet."

"'I'm right 'ere," I say.

"He's right here," Damien agrees. I fall into step on his other side so I can keep him between me and Lilith. He looks slightly amused at this, but he's just misinterpreting my actions. I'm not afraid of getting into a fight with her, I'm just worried it would halt my progression towards my audience with the Demon King.

Lilith's eyebrows remain arched. "You've gotten soft."

He scoffs, which makes me shiver a little, but I do appreciate the way he grips my fingers and pulls me closer to him. He might think of me as a bit more of a person and less of a thing than he did before. At least, I hope that's what the point of all of this is. I want to draw my hand away after a few seconds, but his grip on me remains strong, and I can see in the way he stares straight ahead and clenches his other fist that he just needs something to hold onto.

And I'm supposed to be lying. I'm supposed to gaining his trust. So I let him grip my hand as we walk.

"Am I here as the moral support?" Lilith murmurs. There's a door at the end of the hall up ahead, and I know instinctively where it leads. I wonder if this place was built like that, so that Satan's corridors would be at the end of everything, or if this is just the kind of hall that takes you where you need to go.

"Yes, please," Damien says back to her. "Also – because you're right. I do need friends down here."

She smiles, almost to herself. "Damien Thorn admitting he's wrong? What affect is this bitchy little human having on you?"

"He brought me down here again," he says, which I guess is enough for her, because she doesn't talk even as Damien opens the door and I see what's on the other side.

I'm expecting some of it. The flickering black flames, the marble thrones, the broken skulls scattered over the floor.

I'm not expecting four individuals instead of just one.

Two girls, both in their tweens, one delicate and clothed in Lolita fashion, the other scowling and dressed in leather.

Satan, a huge, hulking, red monster. I've met him before. He huffs down at the two of us.

And a familiar fifteen-year-old boy, his dark eyes just as vicious, his sneer just as sharp.

I look between Damien, then the girls, then at Noah, who I remember throwing out a window, and I give a hoarse laugh.

"He's your brother."

"Yeah," Damien says. "I kind of forgot to tell you that." He bows deeply to his father. Lilith is snickering to herself as she copies him.

I start to say something – I don't know what – but Damien cuts in before I can get a word out.

"I apologize for my frankness, father, but this is not merely a social visit. My mate has a quarrel with my brother."

Satan leans forward and stares at me. I wonder if he even remembers me from the last time I was here, a bitter twelve-year-old searching for a lost soul. Hey, that little girl's father was paying me double.

He must not, because he says, "What kind of a human is he?"

"The stubborn type," Damien says. He clasps his hands behind his back as he talks.

Satan lifts an eyebrow. "And is he the reason you've been away from home for so long?"

"I'm afraid not. I left because I found the climate in Hell . . . unpalatable."

Satan snorts to himself, which comes out as a wet-sounding grunt. "I've taught you well in the ways of court manners, son. But are you sure this little quarrel between your mate and your brother has nothing to do with the foolish sibling rivalry between the four of you?"

"Absolutely."

"Because I would hate for someone to loose a head, like your older sister."

I shiver. Is he implying what I think he is? I glance sideways at Damien, who shows no emotion.

"I don't intend to battle with Noah today. Or the girls, of course." He smiles at his younger sisters, who I assume must be the Eve and Mary I heard Damien and Lilith talking about earlier.

"Good. Then let your mate say what he will."

I can see why Damien took me to Noah like this. Even though I'm finally getting what I want, an audience with the one in charge of the demon blood distribution, Damien still has control over the situation, and my actions are limited because of the audience.

I sling my shovel back into its strap over my shoulder, cross my arms, and stalk up until I'm a few feet from Noah's throne. His thick eyebrows frame his face. He sneers, like I'm nothing or less beneath him. I'm struck with the sudden urge to kill the uptight little shit, or at least throw him out another window.

"Hello, Chris," he sings out. "Damien's been telling me all about you."

"'As 'e really?"

"Well, every few weeks I send a messenger up to ask him how you two are doing, he writes a note telling me not to fuck around in his personal business and stabs out the messenger's eyes, so I assume it's going horribly."

"Your powers of deduction are truly astounding." I light a cigarette and take a drag. "You're ze one be'ind all zis demon blood trafficking, aren't you? I didn't know you were of royal demon blood, so I zought you just 'ad a 'and in it. But you're ze one controlling it. It's not Satan. You're giving away your own blood for – whatever reason I don't even know."

The His, His, His pounds through my head, with enough force to make my vision spot for a second. When it returns, my knees are trembling, and Noah is smirking at me.

That'll be our little secret, his voice murmurs without sound, bouncing around in my skull. I grit my teeth.

"Why are you raising an army? What's in it for you?"

He peers down at me through heavily-lidded eyes, as if I'm nothing, less than nothing.

"Why do you think?"

"You said this wouldn't be part of you and your siblings' feud," Satan warns. "I've told you what I think of the subject, and I must say I won't stand for it."

He glares at Damien.

"Uh," Lilith says quickly. "I'm going to show Damien and Chris to Damien's old quarters."

"This is going to be a very short visit," Damien says, gazes locked with his brother.

"It seems most appropriate to me that I show you your rooms," she says. Damien snags me by the arm, and started to not so much drag as lead me from the hall.

"Zis is a warning," I call back to Noah. "Us pazzetic 'umans? We're going to kill you."

I manage to keep my anger to a simmer all during the walk to Damien's old quarters, which are made of the same marble stone as the rest of the palace, save for the double-bed, the tapestries on the wall, and the upper-class décor. Lilith looks at Damien, then at me, and I watch her make the rather wise decision to leave us be.

"What is zis about, Damien," I say quietly.

"What? The human army my brother's raising? It's to kill me."

"So when 'e said it's all about ze two of you-"

"He wasn't exaggerating."

"'e can kill you wiz 'umans?"

"If he gives them demonic weapons, then yes, he can. I expect he's been distributing."

"Oui. He has." I shiver. "What does zis mean for ze 'umans who 'ave been infected?"

"It will be a violent rampage," he says. "Most of the infected humans will die, along with any humans in the vicinity of where the final battle happens. I'll fight for my life, of course, and he'll go after not only me but mine. Which means all my demon friends and my human contacts. Which means the entire city of South Park, because it's considered my fief because of my location, and because he's a sadistic asshole. Which means he'll go after you."

I keep staring. "What? Why does your brozzer want to kill you?"

"He killed our older sister." He sits on the bed and starts to shrug off his tuxedo jacket. "Three years ago. He banded a group of demons together and they overpowered her. I left a bit after that. He comes off as a whiny little bitch, but he's good at making people like him, better than I am. Most of the noble demons, the higher-ups, are on his side. They want him to be the next demon king after my father."

"Is zat what zis is about? Who's going to succeed?"

"Yeah. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it just disgusting?" He gets the last button off, and strips down to just a white collared shirt and dress pants. "He's the third oldest so he has to kill off the older two. Then he'll have to kill off Eve and Mary otherwise they'll band together to turn on him. They'll helping him now, but that's just so they can go after a common enemy, me. If they kill him, they turn on each other, and there will only be one of us left by the end of it. Our father doesn't like it, but he doesn't do much more than stopping the violence whenever he sees it."

"Zousands of 'umans drug-addicted, drowning in zeir madness-"

"Over a family feud." He smiles grimly and reaches over to pull me down on the bed next to him.

I yank myself away. "Why didn't you tell me?" I snap.

He bites his lip. "I-"

"No. Zere are no fucking excuses. You knew zis whole time exactly what I need to know, and you joked and teased and fucked with my mind. You were just lying when you said you'd help me. I was right, you'll never change, you're a liar and a manipulator and you always will be-"

"You're just a human," he says. "What could you possibly do?"

I swing my shovel, stopping it an inch from his face.

For a second we stare at each other, metal close enough to skull that my muscles start to shake.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "You could hit me with that, but it'd barely leave a scratch. You're pathetic, all of your kind are, what could you do against one of us?"

He draws in the shovel, tugging me towards him. I release the shovel before he can pull me into his lap.

"Don't use 'just a 'uman' on me," I snarl. "You don't zink like zat and we boz know it. What's ze real reason you didn't tell me about your fucking brozzer?"

Hesitation.

"If you dare lie to me again-"

He stands, too fast for me to process, and grabs me by the neck, forcing me back against the wall.

The grip around my neck is made of tight fingers, augmented by glaring red eyes and the warmth of his breath on my cheek. I choke and kick out, but he presses in harder.

"You want to know the real reason I lied? It's because I didn't trust you. I thought maybe that if you knew my brother were a powerful demon bent on killing me, you would decide to side with him, and spy on me, and you'd destroy me."

He shakes me, rattling my head back and forth and scrambling my thoughts.

"I let you down here because I thought maybe I could trust you, because I thought maybe you cared about me one tiny bit. I guess I was wrong."

He slackens his grip on my throat, and I gulp air.

"You are wrong," I say.

He slams my head back again. I see stars, gulp air.

"You are never leaving me!" he shouts. "You're not going to side with Noah and you're not going to side with that fucking English bastard, you're mind, understand, and you're never leaving me. Goddamn it, Chris, I love you."

I freeze, because this is impossible.

"You're making shit up. Lying to me again."

"Chris-"

"Is zis you being lonely? Is it your daddy issues or somezing? Because you do know I'm terrified of you-"

"Shut up."

He proceeds to do so with his lips on mine, his teeth biting my lower lip and his tongue forced into my mouth, and I scream against him and try to kick again and he rips all the way down, fangs tearing through the flesh, and I shriek as he bites off my right cheek.

He releases me, and I slide to the floor, clutching at my bleeding face, still screaming, the words garbled. I don't mean to cry out like this, I really don't.

He crouches down next to me. "Beg me to heal you," he says.

I try to push him away from me, sobbing something like, "fuck you you fucking bastard."

"Beg," he says, and his fingernails hover over my eye, and

and I know he'll do it

and I'll never give in, not again, not for anything, I won't-

Bus Jesus- ohchrist - , the pain-

And I'm supposed to be lying to him, making him trust me

And it hurts

And maybe in the end I was never as strong as I thought I was, or he's managed to wear me down more than I've realized, because all it takes this time is a little more pressure on my eyeball before I nod and I say yes and he says what's the magic word and I say I hate you and I say please.

When the honey warmth has worked its way through me, he takes me back to the surface, so that we're standing on the doorstep of his house with the snow falling around us.

He turns to me, as if to say something, and I brain him with my shovel.

This time, I crouch down by him and smoke a cigarette while I wait for him to heal. As soon as he regains consciousness and a set of eyeballs, he grabs my ankle. I stare down at him coldly.

"You were saying things-" he begins, words garbled from his healing mouth.

"Harsh zings," I say, "but zings zat were true. I'm afraid of you. You're reaching out because you want somezing to believe in. I'm not anyone's hope, mon angel."

He struggles to stand, and I rise with him.

"I was just afraid you were going to leave me-"

"You don't do that to someone you love!"

I grab him by the throat and force him back against the wall, getting in his face, and I know he could overpower me in a second but right now I really don't fucking care.

"You're going to destroy everyzing I care about, wiz your monstrous family and ze way you're eating me out from ze inside and fucking wiz my 'ead, and zis is all your fault, everyzing is your fault!"

"Chris, you don't-"

"No, Damien, I really do. You try to solve every issue between ze two of us wiz violence, but you'll win in ze end, you'll always win, and we boz know it, so what is ze point, eh? What is ze fucking point of all zis? Because everytime you 'urt me I am just more and more afraid of you, and zis is never going to get better, and –"

He lets me keep on slamming him against the wall, even when I hear the wood crack.

"Please, God, please – please – just leave me alone – please- I don't want to do zis anymore-"

I release his collar, step back, and pick up my shovel. I hold it up defensively as the last of his head reforms into the right shape, even though I know it's useless.

"I thought we had a deal," he says, brushing off his jacket. "I thought you said you would try."

"I did, and it's not working."

And I know as I walk away that the deal is off, and I have nothing left to hold over him, because it's clear that his love is useless.

"I'm never going to let you go!" he yells. I don't have to glance back to know how he's standing on the porch, his fists clenched and his stance wide. "Run all you want, Christophe, because in the end, I'll find you!"

It has been such a long night, and I am ready for it to end, but there are still too many hours until dawn.

Gregory is asleep on the couch, a gun crooked in his arms. Daiyu and Hei are passed out side-by-side at the kitchen table, each holding a knife. I smile to myself. Were they waiting for me to come back? How sweet.

I could wake Gregory, but I don't, because he'll ask my questions like What are you going to do and I'll tell him the truth, and I'd prefer him to think that I fought for as long as I could.

Instead, of touching his shoulder, I rummage around in the fridge until I find the whiskey, and do three shots. I don't like to drink, and it tastes as horrible as I remember, but my thoughts are swirling by the time I've set the bottle back in the fridge, so it worked out okay in the end. I consider hunting for Gregory's stash of weed, which he denies he possesses, but decide I don't want to be too obvious.

Then I sit by the window and I smoke a cigarette that will be my last if I fuck this up.

(And maybe it's wrong to lie to both Damien and myself like this, but I've already shown that I do ugly things when I'm desperate. )

I know he's awake, even though all the lights are off. The house smells faintly of smoke. The front door is locked, but that's never stopped me.

I close the door, quietly. The downstairs is empty. I clench my shovel in my hands. I could fight him with it, I know that. But not for long. I'll never beat him in the end.

I set the shovel on the ground near the door, and climb the stairs.

Damien is sitting on his bed, smoking, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. His window is open to let out the cigarette smoke, and the whole room is icy. His red eyes glow in the darkness. He stubs the cigarette out on the windowsill. I know he can see me even in the bare moonlight.

I kick off my shoes and toe off my socks as I unbutton my bloodstained collared shirt. His eyes widen, barely.

"What is this? Pity?" he demands.

I peel out of my dress pants and, even though my hands are shaking, push my boxers past my feet. I am completely naked in front of him as I stand with my back straight and arms at my sides. I won't try to hide anything.

He opens his mouth. I stop him from speaking by climbing into his lap and pressing my lips to his, smothering the words.

He pushes me away after a few seconds, lips brushing my jaw and eyes half-closed. "What is this?" he asks again.

"I am never leaving you," I promise.

I straddle his waist so I'm sitting in his lap. My heart is beating too fast. My breathing is panicking, strained.

His fingers trace over chin and up to explore the dips of my eye sockets. "You're scared," he says.

There's no point in hiding it. "Yes."

"Of what?"

Of his violence. Of his threats and punches and the fact that I really could die from all this.

I'm scared he'll figure out that I'm only here to keep him from forcing me in the future. I'm scared that he already knows.

"What are you scared of, Christophe?" It's a demand now.

"Giving in."

His mouth pushes against mine. I let him tip me onto my back as we kiss. He climbs on top of me, dominating as I knew he would. His fingers move down to grip my waist. He grinds his hips against mine, and makes a positive 'nmmpph' sound against my lips. He's already hard. The fear only increases, buzzing under my skin. I don't run. There's nowhere to run anymore.

He grabs my ass and pushes me against him, forcing me to move with him. A jolt of panic jerks through my chest. I can't make myself keep kissing him.

He pulls his mouth from mine.

"Goddamn it, Christophe, are you even going to let yourself get hard?"

"It's – it's all right," I pant. "Just fuck me already. You want to."

He narrows his eyes.

"You don't want this."

"I –"

"You're scared and you don't trust me and you won't even let yourself feel anything, and – and - you probably aren't even going to enjoy anything out of this, are you? You want to stay like this forever."

"I-"

"I want you to feel back, at least some part of the way I feel."

It's not fair for him to say this, not when he hurts me the way he does. I'm doing the best I can, can't he see that, please, Damien, please don't push me any farther-

"Goddamn it, Christophe," he says quietly. "You never give me anything."

I cover my eyes with my hands. Please. Please. Just go through with this, stop thinking I'm going to leave you, I'm here for you now, please, Damien, please-

And his mouth moves down lower over my skin, past my collarbone and over my chest and belly button and even lower, and he's right, I don't want to give him anything, I don't want him to know what I look like when I lose control, I don't want to need him, I don't want him to have anything over any part of me.

But he takes everything, anyway.

His mouth closes over me.

Slippery skin and lips moving against me and air and pressure and the suction, and suddenly it is all too much to think about, and I cry out against my will and my hands drop to my sides, fisting the sheets. My whole body goes tense. He moves his mouth, up and down, and I can't help it.

Can't –

Don't

Feels –

oh god

It's a physical reaction – something I can't help – but this doesn't change the fact that I suddenly-

His tongue teases.

I make a sobbing noise.

He sucks and licks and bobs his head faster.

We sprawl over the sheets, the chill night air on our skin and our bodies soaking in sweat, his fingers gripping my hips. Tension builds inside of me, tight enough to make me buck my hips and force myself deeper into his mouth. I look down at him and he looks up at me, red eyes glowing and he smiles because he's getting what he wants.

He pulls his mouth off me and I almost cry out. I'm jittery, tense, shifting an inch every second, twitching and my fingers clenching and unclenching.

He sprawls himself over me and pushes my shoulders into the mattress with one hand, using the other to pull his sweatpants and boxers off, past his legs and kicked down the bed, so that he's suddenly naked over me, and I think again that oh god this is really happening, but the fear doesn't have time to come back before he starts to touch again, and I melt.

Mouth and fingers, and then he grinds, naked flesh on naked flesh, and I say his name.

I feel his mouth curving as he kisses the underside of my jaw. He loves this.

He rolls our hips together, and I move back. Frantic little jerky motions. I loose the part of myself that wants to hide; it's drowned by his presence, his sweat, his hellfire smell, and his breathless laughter.

I say "Damien!" , and "Fuck!"

"Chris," he breathes after a particularly violent thrust. My legs tangle in his.

"I –" I say, and can't anymore. My eyes squeeze shut. I make that sobbing sound again.

It's only a slight consolation that he's breathless, too, that he's helpless, too, that he needs me as much as I need him, probably more, and at least I still have this on him, still have something.

Right?

"I-"

and "Ah!"

And I hate him, because this isn't simple fucking anymore, this is body on body and racing hearts and exclamations and new things we find out about each other and the way we react this being kissed here or there.

And I know it won't stop here, not if we do it like this with both parties breathless, with me giving him everything. There will be more meetings in the night like this, and there will be more movies spent curled up side by side, and more evenings where I make him dinner, and more stupid dates with stupid jokes, and he will say more impossible things to me and someday I will say them back because I will have no other option. Because if it happens like this, with me willing in every inch, it means he's won. Because I give myself up to him now, then he won't ever give me back.

I fall to pieces, and he has me.

He holds me against him and I shudder, my arms around his neck and my nose pressed into his chest, not breathing as everything floods through me in a rush, and I break into him and can't hear and can't see and can't think and I finally, finally suffocate.

"So you liked it?"

His fingers trailer over my arm, pads against the soft flesh of my forearm. His red eyes glow softly. His hair is messy soft against my ribcage. He exhales, and warm air drifts past my arm.

"Yes," I say.

We are still luxuriating in the afterglow. We need to clean up but after being this close to him, I can't move more than an arm or so without the exhaustion taking hold and gravity forcing me back against the mattress.

He presses his nose into the skin below my ribcage, where I'm weak and vulnerable.

"I believe you," he says softly.

"What?"

"When you said you would never leave me. I believe you were telling the truth. You wouldn't give yourself up and let me do this to you – wouldn't have slept with me – made love with me-"

"It sounds cheesy when you say it like zat."

"Yeah," he says. "But that's what it was. And you wouldn't have done that if you didn't trust me, just a little bit. If you didn't trust me, you would have left or fought the second I started to blow you. And so – and so – I think you're telling the truth. That you won't leave me."

He slides up the bed so his head is next to mine.

"I love you," he says again.

I still can't make myself give a response either way to that, so I kiss his shoulder and pretend to drowse against him.

I don't trust him not to hurt me, because I know he will. Physically, he'll beat me whenever I anger him, maim me and withhold healing me until I give him what he wants.

Emotionally, he'll batter me as much as he can, which has already been more than I've ever known.

He'll tear me down in the end.

But I do believe him when he says he loves me. I don't know how it happened, but I think I know Damien well enough by now to know when he's telling the truth.

And as for me, well, I'll never stop fearing him, will I?

I wake an hour before dawn and detangle from his arms in order to walk over to the window. The snow is still falling, illuminated by the street lamp.

There are people shuffling through the streets, clothed in sleepwear and bleary-eyed. None of them speak, but there's a sound buzzing through the city, almost a low humming, and his, his, his, starts to throb in my mind.

I climb out the window, even though I wear only a pair of Damien's sweatpants. The snow goes up to mid-calf with each step. I join the crowd of walkers without asking them where they're going, or turning around.

I know a few of them. Kyle's little brother, Ike, skinny to the point of malnutritioned, a peaceful expression on his face. Bebe Stevens, glancing around every few seconds, her breath rapid with fear.

His, His, His. And I know what it means, that I belong to him, that I – And my thoughts are swimming together, and I don't know anymore, but I know exactly where we're going.

In the middle of the city park, dark figures with glowing red eyes with a white cross insignia in the middle of their hooded cloaks. Some distant part of me is screaming that this is the sign of the demon blood distributors, that this is a trap, that I'm doing exactly what they want, but it's drowned by the his, his, his.

The figures have their arms hold out over a crevice splitting the earth. One by one, the humans jump down into it, letting the blackness swallow them. It is deep enough that I can't fathom the bottom.

There's another part of me that's crying for help. But I'm trapped, I've been trapped since the day I took Tweek up on his offer.

Without hesitation, I follow the others through the line. I'm next in turn for the jump. Bebe is in front of me. She turns back, gives me a weak smile, and jumps.

The red-eyed figures nod that it's my turn, so I follow her.

The end!

Just kidding. There's a part four. (This is all overflow from the last chapter).

I'm curious as to what you guys think: Was that consensual? Non-con? Rape? Where do you draw the line?

Thank you for reading this fun little story of mine.