Whoo, this one became very different from what I was expecting. But I really wanted to play with the self-definitions of both 'grotesque' and 'freak'.

No names, but it should be fairly obvious even if you had no other hints (like the collection, or the classification) who they are.

Oh, and I'll say right now: I have no problem with BDSM or sadomasochism or any of that. What's depicted here is a very extreme, very unsafe version. But as long as there's consent between two adults, it's fine

Lyrics in order: Ugly by the Exies, Monster by Lady Gaga, Closer by Nine Inch Nails, S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/ by My Chemical Romance, Stillborn by Black Label Society, Stranger in a Strange Land by 30 Seconds to Mars and Bleed It Out by Linkin Park. All of which are very Edvy songs, the second last probably the most.

Fairyboydammit:...are you comparing my story to awesome sex? :D (And I shouldn't be making those jokes on a T-rated story. Whatever.) And thank you, that's actually what I thought of first then kind of worked backwards. Thanks for reviewing as always!

Guest: Thank you! I really take time with my first and last lines, trying to make them memorable. Thanks for reviewing

70. Grotesque

Welcome to the Cirque de Freak. Don't worry, we're all wrong here. Not 'oh no I'm too short' or 'my parents don't love me' - no, we're called freaks because that's what we are. We're monsters, some of us walking around in human skin, some of us not even bothering.

And we could be anyone.

-we are dirt we are alone you know we're far from sober-

Like...the boy sitting across the restaurant from you, chewing away at a sandwich. He looks normal enough. He's wearing a lot of clothes for such a hot day, but you've gotten used to that in the time you've known him. And you think you know him well.

For example, you know two of his limbs are made of steel. You know how he lost them. You know that the man in the armour sitting across from him is really his little brother, and that the suit of armour is empty.

But what you don't know is where he goes when it all gets too much, when he remembers that he's a cripple and his brother's a ghost and they're both murderers and sinners. He comes here.

And he lets the monster out.

-he's a wolf in disguise, but I can't stop staring in those evil eyes-

I'm the only one of my kind who goes there, oddly enough. We're all grotesque in our own way, but the idea of mingling with humans who consider themselves monsters...well, it doesn't appeal to most of them. It doesn't appeal to me either. But...well, it's fun, believe it or not. Idiotic as that is.

They love to be clawed apart, these human-monsters. They revel in pain - it's such a strange concept. And I get to be the one to give it to them.

It's grotesque.

-you let me violate you you let me desecrate you-

I don't bother taking on another shape at the Cirque de Freak. I fit in perfectly in my usual form - everybody's a little odd there. There's a girl with blue hair and metal studs in two rows down her throat. She hides them with a scarf or high necks during the day, but when she's here, I can drag my tongue or my nails across them and watch how she shivers and flinches.

I don't bother shifting or changing. After all, I wasn't expecting him to show up at first, and it's not like he'll tell anybody.

In return for that, I give him what he wants - bloody stripes down his back, bites and jagged teethmarks up and down his arm and leg, decorating every part of him that's covered during the day. It's stunning, almost sickening how he loves it, how he needs it.

It's grotesque, how he squirms.

-he burns my skin never mind about the shape I'm in-

He's a challenge, the way nobody else in the Cirque is. I mean, how do you find new ways to hurt somebody who's been through what he has, and still not leave any lasting damage? You're allowed to scar people, obviously, and his scars are already numerous enough, but nothing too conspicuous.

But I'm two hundred years old. I'm resourceful. And he loves and hates me for it. By the end of our...sessions, let's call them, he's a trembling mess running with blood (superficial but copious) and breathing hard.

And every single time, he leaves right afterwards.

Except this time.

-blind me erase what was stillborn I have become -

He's still trembling, still quivering with a wry, hesitant smile on his face as he sits up, but he's looking at me. I look away and pull out a cigarette. One of those damn human vices I enjoy so much.

"So why are you here?"

I pointedly ignore him, flicking on the lighter and holding it to the end of the cigarette. I'm keenly aware of his eyes on me, however, and I decide to be thankful, at least, that he's not using this neutral territory to try get information about Father's plan from me.

"Why are you asking?" I still don't look at him.

"Just...heh...curious." He's still out of breath, his voice shaky. I'm surprised he can even sit up after the kind of punishment I've just put him through - but I guess when somebody seeks pain the way he does, it's easier to recover.

"I'm a sadist. Thought you'd have figured that out by now." I take a puff on the cigarette, and then blow out the smoke in a thin wisp that billows out into a cloud.

"Yeah, well..." To my amazement, he's struggling to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall and rotating his automail shoulder to test for damage. "Everybody's here for a reason."

"I like to fuck people up. That's a reason."

"You know why I'm here." His face doesn't darken - he's just being open and honest. This is what the pain does for him. "I can't deal with all the crap without it." He cocks his head. "What I can't figure out is what your deal is."

"There is no deal," I argue, but he's not really listening. He staggers forward, limping slightly (I enjoy seeing that probably more than I should) and presses his hand - his flesh hand - to my bare chest, just above where my heart would be if I was human. If I was like him.

-enemy of mine I'll fuck you like the devil violent inside beautiful and evil-

I grab his hand and pull it away, squeezing until I feel his fingers start to give way. I can see the colour start to rise in his cheeks at that, but I stop just before they break. "I don't fucking care why you're here. But I'm here because I want to be. That's it. So stop asking so many fucking questions. Got it?"

He doesn't look satisfied, but he nods slowly. I get up and walk away, feeling his amused gaze on my back. He's always so goddamn easy to get along with after these sessions. I almost wish I felt that good afterwards.

Almost unconsciously, my hand snakes up to cover the place he touched. I wonder if he felt something shift in response beneath - a tiny, soft-skinned being made of little more than flesh and blood vessels and large, doleful eyes. It's grotesque, and it's who I am, really.

I snarl, and I'm tempted to turn around and take it all out on him again.

-bleed it out digging deeper just to throw it away-

But that wouldn't solve anything. This is just a little bit of release, just a little bit to take the pressure off.

Because one day it won't be enough.