What, you were expecting some shy school boy?

Sorry kiddo, won’t find one here.

It’s a carmine kiss. A wet dream. Bloody claw marks and being fucked so hard you can’t walk straight the next day. It’s a straight shot of 151 and holding the bullet between your teeth.

Do you –still- want to play?

It’s letting go and losing control and not knowing where you’re going to wake up tomorrow. It’s realizing that you might not and doing it anyway. It’s free falling from 2000 feet and waiting until the very last second to pull the cord.

Think you can handle it?

It’s taking someone home, for no other reason but pure sex and a clean fuck and having no regrets. It’s taking every rule you’ve ever heard and throwing them out the window, because in the end they don’t mean shit.

Can you do that?

It’s realizing that no matter how hard you pray, how hard you try, no one is going to give a damn and nothing is going to listen. It’s only you. You’re the only that matters. –You- are the only one that can make it happen.

Why haven’t you done it yet?

It’s coming to grips with the fact that the only thing the pills are going to do is take away some of the pain, their not going to make you live any longer and being happy anyway.

Can you keep smiling?

It’s driving down the highway in the dark with the lights off and watching fireflies glow like so many diamonds in the sky. It’s knowing that the star is dying from its fall but wishing on it anyway.

Can you keep dreaming?

So yeah.

If you’re looking for some shy school boy, you might want to go look somewhere else.

Because I drive with the lights off and play Russian Roulette.

I’ll kiss with the blade on my tongue, just to watch us bleed.

I don’t worry about the things I can’t change and I don’t care what anyone thinks.

And I don’t sleep with the safety on.

I don’t give a fuck where you’ve been, or who you’ve done. I don’t care who your parents are. I don’t care how much money you’ve got in your pocket. I don’t care how many refills you can get.

The only thing that matters to me is…

Can you keep up?

You wanna hear a story?

It’s pretty fucked up…

See. Once, when I was like, fifteen I used to hang out with this guy named, Jimmy. Well, Jimmy had this thing for the girl who lived across the street. But, she didn’t know that he existed. He’d walk by her house every single day after school, hell sometimes he’d walk home behind her and she never paid a damn bit of attention.

She dropped her books on day, he picked them up. She never even bothered to say thanks. Really, really stuck up bitch. You know the type, walks around thinkin’ their hot sh*t and that the whole world owes them something. Well. She did. Fuckin’ cheerleading whore. Thought she was the hottest thing to grace the halls.

She wasn’t.

But he thought she was.

Didn’t help him get noticed.

Now, we got really drunk this one night. Sitting out on the tailgate of his truck. And we were talkin’ bout how she looked and he was going off on some spiel about how much he loved her. And how great they’d be together. Stupid sh*t right? Remember, I hated the bitch. And I really hated, what it did to him. He became like, this sap talkin’ nonsensical mess.

It sucked.

Long story short. We went to her house that night. Broke in. You know the drill. And, right now, you’re probably waiting for this story to get slightly kinky, so you can fuckin’ jerk to it. Not happening. Unless, you’re really perverse, and then well, we might need to talk.

But anyway.

We killed her.

Flat out offed the bitch.

But you see, that wasn’t the twist. That wasn’t where everything gets distorted. Because that night, Jimmy died too. Because you see, there was this girl. Who followed him around. Who loved him. Who helped him. But he didn’t notice her. He never paid attention to the way she looked at him. So he didn’t notice when that knife came up for his back.

I’ll teach him not to pay attention.

Notice me now, Bitch?

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice came from the ivory archway which beamed the entrance into the library, the curvilinear silhouette holding a noticeable form and figure. I could feel the intensity of his aura pressurizing against my nimble frame, slipping into my young mind and urging me to stand and face the staunch man with a proud stature.

As I regained my footing, I stood there…motionlessly, seemingly staring blankly through the comparison of the armoured male compared to my thin, clothed self. They weren’t much at all really, dark green robes held on by a belt. Baggy, ebony pants laying upon my legs.

“Young lord, Larsa..” The brash tone sang to me once more, I wasn’t exactly sure what I should be doing at this moment. Whether to respond in kind or remain silent until he had gone. This male frightened me terribly. I had heard of his exploits in war, many victories in his wake, winning countless battles. Not once had word reached me of his losing a battle.

At first, I found it all very inspirational, every night, when I was younger, I wanted my bed time stories to be about the valiant and brave Judge Magister Gabranth. But everyone in the military held such fear for him, not only fear, but an idle sense of respect and vain humility.

Once more, I heard the adult tone in his voice hurdle against my mind and it seemed that I had to respond to the iron giant. “Yes, Gabranth, I am fine. What is it that brings you here anyway?” My questions had to be asked. As a member of the royal house, I had to at least appear as if I was nobility.

Gabranth righted himself to perfect posture, standing with hands looped together at the rear of his waist. The long, trailing leather cape seemed to cling to his broadened frame; slipping within the tiny slits on his plate-mail to caress the green body suit beneath. “Lord Vayne is making for Rabanastre as we speak. He requested that I inform you,” he exclaimed brashly and to the point.

I couldn’t help but allow a sense of shock to wash over my lithe form; not once did my brother, Vayne, ever inform me of his endeavours. My heart stabbed at my chest like a broken bottle and I was too caught up in my own excruciating truth to provide an immediate response.

My head inclined to Gabranth, followed up by my waist arching into a bend as I bowed. A small smile was now kissing my lips, the smooth breezes flowing through the ivory-carved archway washing over the dry obstacles. “Thank you, Gabranth,” I returned his words with gratitude. In this singular moment…I felt like a two-faced monster clinging to the scent of deception.