My little-itsy-bitty-profile...

Who am I?

I'm an anime obsessed- sixteen-yearold-writer-junior-in-highschool-bi-girly-freak-girl. Rawr. Run in fear.




Anime obsessed? Which ones?

  • Gravitation
  • Yami no Matsuei
  • Love Mode
  • Sakende Yazure!
  • Count Cain
  • Fruits Basket
  • Kaine
  • Boys Next Door
  • X/1999
  • Saiyuki
  • Weiß Kreuz
  • D.N. Angel
  • FAKE
  • Eerie Queerie!
  • GetBackers
  • Kenshin
  • Angel Sanctary
  • ... Anything with possible hints of shounen ai. ^^;




    Shounen ai? So you're a fan?

    ...I suppose you could say that. I'm usually called a raving lunatic, though.




    Well, other than that... Gravitation... It's first. Whyyy???


    Too naive... too innocent...



    It's an uber luvable anime. ^^ Shuichi-- so kawaii and at the same time such a dork. n.n I love him. Him and his girly self, even if I do have to explain to unsaid people that, yes, Shuichi is male. xx; Thus it is called SHOUNEN ai. n.n;

    ...a little ice will do you well, just don't let that flame go out...






    One more ice statue...



    Oh and Yuki! He's a bastard, he just really is, and there is no denying it. And yea, there are those rare moments where he shows that he does have some slight emotion towards Shuichi, but like I said it's rare. Then, when you add in his past, you can very well understand why he's such a bastard. Despite that. He's still a bastard, just an understood bastard. ^_^ I love him.

    ...with enough warmth, the ice will melt away...






    So immature. You'll never learn...



    Oo; And I'm a Ryuichi Sakuma fan. n.n He is God. Did you see him wearing the frilly white shirt in episode eight? Oh, and his voice actor... just... ::drool:: Bishounen. n.n' He's a puzzle, though. One moment glaring at Shuichi, the next glomping him to the floor. Maybe it's just me, but I swear Ryuichi loves Shuichi. Did anyone else get a hint of that?

    Then why do I fell the heat of glare on my back?... Maybe I'll never see through your mask; never see you...







    Hmm... Do you write?

    Of course. I also looovvvee reading fanfictions... But I have many wonderful ideas myself, and I've made several stories... n.n;; Alas, I've only finished a few. Most of my stories end up on paper, but I can never manage to get it on my computer... I always end up distracted. n.n"




    ...Take it you're an internet person.

    Hell yea. Nothing more to say to that.





    Anything else you feel you need to say?

    "I don't feel like drinking with you. And don't talk to me." (Reno)

    "Because you drive me mad when you're here and you drive me mad when you're not. Because I can tell you things like 'get out' and 'leave', but I never do. Because all the shit you'll ever tell me afterwards is that you love me, the unfeeling bastard that I am." (Yuki)







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    Wednesday, August 10, 2005
    ficccie

    There were all of eight chairs pulled around in one happy circle, each chair occupied by some suicidal lunatic, and me in the middle of it all. This group counseling was supposed to make me not feel suicidal, but for some reason, sitting there, having to tell these loonies why I decided I needed to die, only made me want to try it again. This time though, I’d have to make sure the bullet went to the right place.

     

     

    There, again, was the irritating noise. That giggle. I mind you, this is group counseling for those with suicidal tendencies; and every week he’s here and every week he giggles. It’s always the same thing. He sits in the seat nearest the window and alternates between smiling, looking out the window, and giggling. Of all the insane people here, he is the most annoying. I’ve had people in these classes with me that drool and stab themselves with pencils, scream, and even some that just cry a lot... most of those are annoying, but giggling definitely takes the cake.

     

     

    Sinking back into my uncushioned and uncomfortable chair, I sulked, glaring at the man who was so cheerfully taking notes as I finished my well familiar words. Being the youngest here, other than the giggle kid, their attention seemed to linger on me. Probably the reason I was forced to speak first today. And I hate these people so much.

     

     

    I don’t think I’ll ever understand the logic behind group counseling. How can listening to other people whine about their life make me not want to kill myself? The answer is, it doesn’t. I hate talking in front of groups, so it only makes me want to kill myself all that much more.

     

     

    But I silently thanked whatever god people were worshipping this week when it all ended. Furthermore, I damned him when I realized that it ended half an hour over the scheduled end time. Thus meaning my means of transportation was long gone.  I always knew there was no such thing as god.

     

     

    Unhappily I trudged forward, exiting the building that was hell, with every intention of walking home, but not before purchasing another pack of cigarettes. Imagine my surprise when, no more than five steps later, my hair was yanked, and I was pulled backwards at least two steps. Now I mind you that I like my body, I find my body attractive. I’ve nice fairly pale skin, dark blue eyes, a nice figure, black hair...

     

     

    Particularly, though, I care for my hair. It tickles at the back of my thighs, so tending to it is no small job. Currently it’s pulled into a hasty braid, but I do not appreciate someone messing, much less, pulling my hair.

     

     

    My lips instantly pulled into a snarl, and I spun around on heel, hands pulling my offended hair around to soothe it. “Why the fuck did you do that?!” I was biting already, and I didn’t even know at who, but the words remained even when my eyes landed on the criminal.  Giggle-boy. Of course, what other crazy would pull on my hair?

     

     

    “It’s pretty.”

     

     

    Why thank you, my mind replied dryly, none too amused. So you see something pretty, do you have to pull it? Do you have to cause pain and damage and destruction to everything? That fucking hurt. No, there were not shimmering tears of pain in my eyes. I was not that much of a wuss. Growling, I turned my nose up to the kid, “Look brat, that’s a shitty way to tell someone they have pretty hair. It fucking hurts to be pulled.” 

     

     

    He didn’t seem to falter at my words though; he was still smiling up at me. Had he not been completely crazy, he would have been, actually, a little cute. Dirty blond hair, most unfortunately it was always a complete disaster sight, eyes that could pass for the color of chocolate syrup, pale skin with a few cutely placed freckles, and a figure like a pencil. His actual age I was left to wonder, though. Either he was terribly tall or he was really close to my age; his head was eye level with my chest. A nice place though, because my chin would be just comfortable resting on his mass of mop.

     

     

    Whatever way, he was petting my hair.

     

     

    I was left sighing, my eyes narrowing dangerously. Call it hormones, call it being a teenager, call it being a seventeen-year-old suicidal gay boy named Adam, but I couldn’t stand anyone for more than five seconds. His five seconds were up.  Yanking my hair away from his hands, I tossed it over my shoulders, safely out of his reach for the moment.

     

     

    “I suppose your parents aren’t here for you, no?” I said, honestly sympathizing with him a little on that part. Some people had cars, some people had parents that cared, some people had a gun to their head.

     

     

    I was far from surprised when he shook his head a little, saying quietly, “Dad never comes to get me.” 

     

     

    Snorting, I placed a hand on his head, ruffling blond spikes and gently petting them at the same time. Like this, he confused me, being so happy while surrounded by the world, but he was just a kid. He probably didn’t understand a thing. I wonder if he even knows what suicide is.

     

     

    I withdrew my hand slowly and let it hang limply at my side, just looking down at the nameless lunatic who was still staring at up at me, expectantly.  “Shouldn’t you be getting home or something, brat?” I finally asked, putting my hands on my leather clad hips, and lifting a brow at the kid.

     

     

    “Daddy would like for me to stay out more.”

     

     

    And it sounded like it had been repeated too many times, like it was rehearsed or something. It was creepy, and it made me ponder walking away from the kid really fast. The baggage he obviously had was honestly not the kind I needed in my already fucked up life. I enjoy watching people suffer, but I don’t enjoy being dragged into the suffering. 

     

     

    “Right, of course, so I’m going now, I’ll see you next week, brat.” And with that I turned on heel, waving a hand over my shoulder.  That was it, thankfully enough, and the kid didn’t follow me or even attempt to get me to stop.

     

     

    And from there on, the week proceeded normally. Monday came and school continued, teachers still assigning homework, and bitching when I came in an hour later. By Wednesday I had suffered enough of the shit, particularly after my first hour teacher threw a chalk eraser at me for sleeping. Overly, that I had been hit by a sixty year old lady with a chalk eraser and that I now had a nice amount of fucking chalk dust speckled through my black hair.

     

     

    Needless to say, I skipped my second class for an escape to the bathroom. For thirty damn minutes that’s where I stayed, cursing the bitch to hell, and trying to clean my precious hair of the obnoxiously white spots. It wasn’t all coming out, not without taking a shower that is. And my school being as shitty as it was didn’t have anything I’d care to shower in. Thus my resolve was a tattered dark purple headband I found discarded in some lonely corner of my book sack. It was decent though; velvety with a few interesting ebony designs.

     

     

    So that left me roaming the halls, spiting the teachers by not bothering to show for their classes. I wasn’t about to wonder the halls for long, though. While I knew the teachers were too damn lazy to get off of their asses, our principle rather enjoyed torturing students, particularly little girly gay students like me, and eating twinkies. Fat bastard.

     

     

    But that was fine by me. I knew the school like the back of my hand; being somewhere for four goddamn years generally has that effect. There were a number of rooms that were never to be used and a number of teachers that wouldn’t mind harboring me.

     

     

    Today though, with my book sack slung over one shoulder, I decided me and my art could use some solitude. That and I’m unwilling to show off my speckled hair, not even with the girly piece of clothe covering it. There is always the possibility there could be some other superficial way to fix it in my bag. That in mind, I make a bee-line for the first empty room, only to find it not unoccupied.

     

     

    So, do imagine my surprise, when not only am I greeted with a non-empty room but with a giggle-boy that isn’t smiling. The room was dark, the lights didn’t work, and there were desks cluttering the room, but the streams of sunshine running past the blinds and bits of open space showed me enough to get a clear understanding of what was happening..

     

     

     

    He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, his back against what was obviously the teacher’s hard wooden desk, his cloths are a mess, his shirt barely buttoned and certainly not in the right holes, and one of his shoes was completely absent. What really caught my attention was what he was doing. I didn’t notice it at first, but when I did, it took me all of three seconds to get to him and jerk his hand away. I heard the smash of the shard of glass hitting the wall, and saw several small splinters come sliding across the linoleum floor.

     

     

     

    In honest unshielded surprise he looked at me, eyes wide, and bluntly confused. It was only then I realized he was crying. It was hardly the same boy that had pulled my hair; he wasn’t smiling, his lips were swollen and broken, and bruises were scattered across his pale skin. My major concern was that he was bleeding, right now. The idiot had grabbed a piece of glass from the broken windows and had been intently sitting there slicing a nice clean line down his arm.

     

     

    “You fucking idiot,” I muttered already grabbing the clean cut and applying pressure. He wasn’t just doing this to hurt himself; he was quite intending to die this time. The kid hadn’t left anything undone; he was in an isolated place where people weren’t supposed to go, he had set himself up in a place his body wouldn’t be found for days possibly weeks, and he had cut right along with the vein.

     

     

    And I was completely torn at what I should do for a moment. The infirmary would turn this in... but... shit. Grabbing him I pulled him up to standing and then switched hands, so that I could place one hand on his waist deciding it would be easiest to usher him to the infirmary. My clothes were already bloodstained as it was, but holding his bleeding arm that close to me only proved to add more. My ash-colored shirt was turning a dark crimson.

     

     

    I wasn’t thinking about that though, or that he could possibly have some disease or something else irrelevant to the fact he could bleed to death. Biting on my lip, unsure of how to deal with someone else trying to commit suicide, I pulled him towards the door. He resisted; his feet were semi-firmly planted and he was intent on not moving. He had either cut open a vein or had come amazingly close to it, and he was refusing my help. Something about that pissed me off.

     

     

    “What the fuck is your problem?”

     

     

    My voice was rising and there was a good deal of malice laced in the tone. My eyes were on him, and it was then I regretted my words, having to see him flinching and quickly lowering his own gaze, wet traces of tears still evident on his face as were sickening blue bruises. Even in such a bluntly submissive position, he replied in the same soft voice he had used just days before, “I would be sent to an asylum.”

     

     

    That was a good enough reason, sure, but I wasn’t about to let him bleed to death. It wasn’t like I cared if he died or not... I honestly don’t know why I didn’t leave the instant I saw my space was occupied... I think, though, there are some laws about that sorta thing or something. I’d probably be labeled an accomplice in suicide or something stupid.

     

     

    But he was already taking care of the situation, surprisingly. All the energy and all of the good decent concern I had showed had been wasted. So I let him. He had pried my hand from his bleeding arm and was busy stealing the headband that was covering black hair with chalk spots. Once he pulled the dark purple cloth off, I actually heard him laugh. I honestly bristled at what he found humorous; bleeding to death or not, I don’t want him laughing at my hair.

     

     

    “It’s still pretty,” He quickly said, obviously catching the fact I took offense to his laughter. It was good to see him smiling again though.

     

     

      I snorted at him, sulking, but pulled the violet and ebony cloth from his red hands. Folding it appropriately before fixing it around his arm and tying it. It made me a little nervous; I needed to tie it tight so that a decent amount of pressure would be applied, but I probably shouldn’t tie it too tight and stop all blood circulation.

     

     

    But he grinned when it was finished, lifting his hand and stretching his fingers in and out, before returning his attention to me. I didn’t know why he kept looking at me, but it made me uncomfortable. I chose to ignore him this time; I busied myself with setting my book sack on one of the desks and rummaging through it. The last day the kid and I met I had spent the last of my money buying two packs of cigarettes; one tattered but precious package was in my bag and I well-deserved one cig for my days good deed.

     

     

    Once it was lit and in between my lips I turned my gaze back to the bruised kid, asking in a huff, “So what happen?”

     

     

    He smiled, a small meaningless upwards pull of his lips, and answered my question without falter. “I was late for class and three guys stopped me in the halls. I didn’t have any money.”

     

     

    In other words, all of this because of bullies. Looking at him though, it made me wonder just what all those bullies did. Was a beating really something enough to drive him to suicide? There was nothing I could do anyways, though, so I settled with another puff of hazy smoke.

     

     

    It wasn’t reason enough; his parents obviously didn’t care for him, neither did the school bullies, but he was a kid. Things would get better. Me, though, things would only get worse. Me and my parents fight, everyone hates me, I’m failing school, my bestfrind and love of my life uses me, and I honestly have nothing to live for. By the end of the year my parents already told me that they were kicking me out, so I had every intention of being dead by then.

     

     

    “I’m leaving,” I stated after a long, awkward pause. Cigarette firmly between my lips, I tossed my bag back over my shoulder and made for the door.

     

     

    It was a quiet question, in a shy voice, but I heard it. “Can I come?”

     

     

    That I had to think about. Like I said, I can’t stand anyone for more than five seconds. His five were up, but…  After a long drag of my cig, I took it between two fingers and glanced back to the kid. “I don’t see why you’d want to, but...” Letting my words trail off, I just shrugged, obviously uncaring if he came or if he didn’t.

     

     

    It might have been a show of indifference on my part, but the kid looked happy with my decision; a bright smile was already treading across his lips. I rolled my eyes at his behavior, finally exiting the room with him behind me this time. And he followed me in silence, down the stairs and out the back entrance and through the student’s parking lot. The nameless brat heaved a sigh of obvious relief once we stepped foot on the sidewalk that was safely out of school grounds. Guessing he’s never skipped before.

     

     

    I just ignored the boy’s innocence, casually flicking my still burning cigarette in some random direction… It would be interesting if it found someone’s hair to land in. But it didn’t. Instead it landed harmlessly in the middle of the road. Alas.

     

     

    And so the walk to my house continued on in silence. Well, not completely but... That was only because several people muttered and gasped at me and him. I’m not sure if it was because of me or my bloody shirt or even if it was the kids state of dishevel but either way I was content. But anyways, there were no words between the kid and me, which honestly says something because it takes thirty, forty minutes to get to my little house.

     

     

    Once we were there, things didn’t change much. I grabbed the key that was hidden behind one of the few plants on the porch, not quite caring the kid now knew how to get in my home, I opened the door for us both. I didn’t welcome him in or show him around, I just muttered something probably incoherent to him about this being the damnable house of hell. As always, my parents were both gone. Probably, with my mom at work and my father somewhere getting laid or stoned.

     

     

    I kicked off my shoes and socks and watched as the kid did the same before making a quick stop to the kitchen. I savaged through the fridge for a moment, only leaving it once I’d found two canned sodas. I tossed one to the kid who just barely caught it and laughed sheepishly at the surprise. With that I grabbed a bag of Doritos and left the room, the kid following closely behind.

     

     

    From there I made up the stairs to the safety of my room. Once we were both in I shut the door and locked it. No offense, but I didn’t trust my parents, home or not. Particularly my father.

     

     

    My room however, wasn’t arranged for me to have company other than my lovers. There was one chair and that one went with the computer. Altogether my room was small and dark; a small shelf of books in one corner, a computer in the center against the wall, and the window to the other wall. A majority of my room was empty; just an expanse of blue carpet.

     

     

    I didn’t much care though. I tossed my booksack to the ground, half-heartedly wondering what happened to the others bag. I didn’t have the decency to ask though; I figured it wasn’t any of my business. Considering that there was absolutely nothing in my room that would amuse him, I grabbed a notebook off of the self, or rather the sketch pad, and a box of colored pencils.

     

     

    He was honestly content with that, the coke, and the Doritos. And so I went about contenting myself. I indulged myself in a long hot bath and emerged in only a pair of silver leather pants; I had a special friend to meet with tonight. Well at least, so said an ‘urgent’ text message left on my cell. Thus I was quick to return to my room, you know, the room that holds most all of my meager belongings. Shockingly enough, I was rather surprised to find the crazed youth still in my room, sitting on the floor, happily drawing. The can of soda was empty and lying beside him and the Doritos were long since forgotten for the sheer pleasure of art.

     

     

    I paid him no attention and sat down on my bed and started reapplying my make up. First base, then blush, eye shadow and eyeliner, followed by lipstick, lipgloss, and any extras I felt the need of. Sparkles were for today. Glitter eye makeup.

     

     

    It took a while for me to finally accept the art piece my face had become, and then I set my bag of makeup back in it’s drawer and recovered my brush from it’s place of solitude. Dried tangles were hell to brush, thus, while my hair was still damp I was brushing it. And not putting it in a braid. I was sick of the little waves. My hair needed to be straight.

     

     

    Some time later, when I was just decidedly brushing my hair to be brushing it, as no tangles or snarls were left. I noticed the kid, still happily scribbling, blonde hair sticking in all angles, tangled and a mess. Horrible, naughty thoughts were invading my innocent mine and stealing it away. Aliens were attacking.

     

     

    “You.” He looked up at me. “Get over here,” Alien me continued with a small smirk, motioning for him to sit on the floor in front of the bed. Aliens were so taking over my brain; why else would I be concerned or even vaguely interested in making his hair less of a jungle? Bleh. Perhaps this was Brian’s fault. That was the answer... he always had some odd effect on me.

     

     

     He smiled in his confusion, but crawled over to the designated point. From there I moved him with my hands, forcing him to look forward, away from me. I settled him between my legs, letting both of my leather clad legs dangle on either side of him. And I started to brush the tangles out of his hair.

     

     

    I tried to be gentle, to not pull his hair, but it still pulled. And when I finished, I petted his hair for a moment. Enjoying this sense of closeness without question. There was no doubt, though we didn’t even know each other’s names there was still some bit of friendship... trust... in this twisted relationship.

     

     

    Running my fingers through the honey colored tresses that were hardly as soft as they looked, I drew him up onto the bed with me, even while making a note to give him some conditioner or something. Similar to before, I placed him right between my spread legs and pressed my bare chest to his clothed back. I draped one arm casually over his shoulder, while the other hand was still busily playing with his untangled hair, while he kicked his legs back and forth childishly.

     

     

    “How’s your arm?” I muttered, quietly realizing it had been hours since he had cut himself. Had he cut one of those arteries he would have been dead within minutes of it; obviously he hadn’t touched the precious things.

     

     

    He bowed his head for a moment, looking at his hand curiously. “It’s fine, I guess.” I could hear him smile, honestly. Fingering at the violet bandanna wrapped around said wound, he questioned, “I don’t suppose you want this back?” 

     

     

    I shook my head at the words, raising a brow at the cloth in question. “If you can get the blood out, I’m sure you’d look lovely in it. On that note, you need to take better care of your hair.”

     

     

    He laughed at my words, but wiggled out of my grip, bouncing back to the sketchpad and colors. “I have to leave,” He said, gathering up the objects into his arms. A small smile still on his lips he returned to the comfortable closeness we had previously had. This time though, it was a fleeting closeness.

     

     

    He kissed me.

     

     

    It wasn’t anything romantic or passionate. Just a brief, simple, and meaningless meeting of his lips to my painted ones.

     

     

    The could-be-kiss ended just as quickly as it began, with a chuckle from the boy. “I’m borrowing these! Thank you!” By the time the words were out, he was closing my door, leaving my house with my art supplies. Bastard. The soda can was still on my floor as were the Doritos. Bitch boy.

     

     

    Being myself, the kiss really wasn’t all that much of a shocker. I was left to blink in a bit of confusion for a second, but that was a quickly ended moment. In good mood, I clicked my tongue, breathing out a chuckle, “So he is a fairy boy.”


    Broken angel dream at 3:36 pm by Yume-no-Tenshi
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    Sunday, September 12, 2004
    Lose Your Innocence

    I didn’t see him until Sunday evening, our day for scheduled counseling. We didn’t talk and I was fine with that. He sat in his regular spot in the corner and I grabbed the seat on the opposite side of the circle. I was in another odd mood, this day, and it should have been pretty obvious to all of these people. They saw me often enough to know that I usually wore leather and other sorts of revealing, sparkling, and naughty clothing.

     

    I was dressed normal that day, and it was some wonderful miracle those adults must be thinking. In reality it was because all of my wonderful naughty clothes were dirty. Now, that says something considering I have at least three weeks outfits worth of ‘naughty’ clothes, all of which I forced to buy by myself. Alas, this week was cleaning week, meaning I already only had one or two weeks worth left.


    I’d been leading something of a double life this week, you could say. During the day I had school... But, Brian and I were meeting just about every night. If it wasn’t him that led me out, it was one of his friends. It was crazy, but it actually made me feel better. Even sitting Indian style in this shitty metal chair, wearing loose black jeans and a tight t-shirt and my poor hair damp and tied up in a moment of haste. I felt good.

     

    There was also a bit of surprising ‘tragic’ news, issued to us lovely loonies by some nerdy man. Our counselor was in the hospital with influenza. That made me grin. My week couldn’t get any better. There was however, a small sad fact in that. This nerdy man. He was the replacement. He was here “to make sure you have a shoulder to cry on.”

     

    I wanted to laugh. To laugh so hard, that I did need that shoulder to cry on.

     

    When the man, had to be in his late thirties with pink braces, turned to the supposed to be giggle-boy. He was addressed as junior and asked his name, age, and why he was here. Which was obvious; he tried to commit suicide. I couldn’t help but giggle.

     

    “Cain Lorelei, fourteen, and attempted suicide.”  

     

    He sounded so shy and the smile didn’t help his case any. It was one of those wussy, “please don’t hurt me” smiles. They drive me crazy. The words though, struck me a bit more than the smile. I realized, quietly, that I should have known his name this entire time and that the chances were, he knew mine. Every Sunday I heard his name and not once did I remember it... sad.

     

    Not that such a small thing could bring me down from my current high on Brian. I did however make a note to remember that giggle boy was Cain, whether or not I would remember such was a completely different thing.

     

    The nerdy dorky man, asked Cain a few questions, most of which were incredibly stupid. The conversation went something similar to...

     

    “What’s your favorite color?”

     

    “Blue?”

     

    “Do you like Marilyn Manson?”

     

    “No... I don’t think?”

     

    All with Cain answering quietly, smiling, but obviously confused with what the counselor was getting at. I couldn’t help but grin at the Marilyn Manson question though. I could have fun with this. I could give the poor man a heart attack. I also could possibly earn myself a few more months of counseling.

     

    After a few more pointless questions, the man decided the kid wasn’t too suicidal, and asked why he tried to do such. The answer was actually something I agreed with and all so simple, “Why shouldn’t I?”

     

    That caused the counselor a mini-heart attack and I laughed from my spot a few measly feet away from him. Oh yes, the people around me were already aware that the aliens had taken over, so their strange looks and whispers were completely disregarded.

     

    After a few minutes lecture and Cain meepishly agreeing he wasn’t going to kill himself today, though there was an argument with promising he wouldn’t kill himself this week... The counselor moved on to the next victim some poor young lady.

     

    With nothing to do, I settled for tossing a wink towards the still awkwardly blushing Cain and followed it up by opening my mouth and wiggling my tongue at him.. He obviously wasn’t use to my flirtatious good moods, because he withered in his seat, blushing.

     

    But I was feeling good. I liked feeling wanted, and so I was thrusting myself at him, knowing he wouldn’t discard me because of my odd mood swing. The feeling wouldn’t last though, Brian would have a full schedule starting next week, and so this feeling would be gone by then.

     

    Deciding Cain was no fun, the horrible innocence that he is, I just shifted in my seat, watching the counselor not working his magic and making people cry. A couple times I would add some spicy harmful words, and the counselor would scold me, saying if I kept it up I would be sitting in the hall way.  I giggled.

     

    Perhaps... someone had slipped something in my drink this morning? Probably Brian him being the loveable evil bastard that he is.

     

    Whatever way, the third time he warned me, I pouted and sulked. And so I applied what make up I had with me. I wish I’d brought a purse full, even though I didn’t actually have a purse. But, I did have an eyeliner pencil, a tube of eye shadow, and lipstick. When I asked to go to the bathroom, I think the man was actually happy to let me go. Of course, he was shocked when I returned with dark eyeliner on, blue eye shadow, and red lipstick. I just grinned and took my seat. 

     

    By the time the counselor got to me, I felt like I was on drugs; I wanted to bounce around the room. The man, still sitting in his cushioned chair while I sat in my uncushioned chair, looked at me. And I looked back at him. Bitch.

     

    “Do you want to know my damn name or not?” I finally snapped.

     

    “I supposed that be a start.”

     

    “Adam Maxwell, aged seventeen, here because I tried to blow my fucking brains out but I’m not very smart with a gun.” I grinned, oh yes the fun starts.

     

    “What’s your favorite color?” He asked, eying me like I was the crazy person I am.

     

    “Blood red.”

     

    “Do you like Marilyn Manson?”

     

    “Oh yes. He is one fucking beautiful fuckable man.”

     

    After he calmed down from his second heart attack today, he continued, “What do think of the president?”

     

    “He’s a homophobic bitch.”

     

    I think the man by then, was starting to realize I was toying with him, that or he was just trying like hell to calm his nerves so he could write properly. Hopefully my old counselor would disregard his notes if I told him I was having a really bad day and our counselor was a bitch.

     

    And so he went on, asking me if I did drugs, had any diseases (bitch!), had abusive parents, ever been raped… It all served to make me pissed off at him, but gave me more of a chance to play with his mind. So by the time counseling was up I was generally feeling crazy, while I usually just felt suicidal. 

     

    I think in the end I was grateful for my horrible attitude, because thanks to me, we were released a few minutes early. I left the building in my usual haste, not bothering to look back and not sparing a thought to Cain as I left; after all, I could hear thunder, I didn’t much care to hang around and get rained on. We hadn’t talked the entire session, I expected no differently now.

     

    Once I exited the building I was greeted with an image that made me both forget my name and remember the name of the loveliest man in America. Right in front of the buildings exit, right on the side of the street and in front of a no parking sign, was the lovely man of my dreams. Who just spared me a very long walk home with the possibility of rain seeing as my father had once again forgotten to pick me up.

     

    In my shock, I was slow to actually get in the car, but once I did I was met with one pair of very welcoming lips. And a tongue. Decidingly, we wasted a few good minutes in the no parking zone, while I tried my best to swallow his tongue.  We eventually parted, both breathing a bit heavy from the sheer intensity of the kiss.

     

    “Fuck, I love you,” I panted, sinking back into the passenger’s seat. Even though I was on a high, a little aroused really knowing what usually went with a kiss like that, I still noticed the fucking obvious flicker of pain across his face. Yes, I am a complete asshole. 

     

    He must have noticed me gasping like a fish, trying to find something to say to fix my words, because he gave me a small forced smile, my red lipstick smudged onto his own lips. “I suppose I should kiss like that more often. Maybe one day my godly kisses will win you over.”

     

      I chuckled, a sheepish uneasy sound. “It could happen,” I replied deciding to act a bit coy about the subject. I’m pretty sure he likes me acting coy; he also likes the teasing. I was left to thoughts of what going-ons would start once we arrived at my house; especially once we were on the road there. I was honestly feeling a bit giddy.

     

    My week couldn’t possibly get any better; at least, that was what I was thinking when Brian parked his car at my house. Did I mention his car is godly? It’s one of the those little sports cars. You know, the kind that usually cost half a million by the time everything is added together? Yea.

     

    Being the true gentleman Brian was, hell still in his black suit, he walked around and opened the door for me. I think it was then, when I was getting out, he first really noticed my attire. He raised a blond brow, but slipped an arm around my waist, already escorting us both to the house.

     

    “All of my nice clothes are dirty,” I explained, with something of a sigh. “I need to wash clothes but I’m always coming or going and never here long enough.”

     

    I paused just inside to lock the door behind us, once I turned back around though, Brian effectively pinned me against the door. It was probably a good thing my parents were never home.

     

    “That’s fine,” He said huskily, nipping at my neck in lazy, teasing manner. “For what I have in mind, there is no requirement for any clothes.”  I felt the refreshing feel of moisture on my neck, as he moved to suck on that particularly alluring spot, right over a vein.

     

    I moved my hands over his back, one climbing up into his styled tresses of beautiful blond. I purred as he sucked on my neck; he was doing that in such a rough manner I knew he was quite intending to make sure there was a mark. After all, I was his.

     

    Before withdrawing, he bit down on my tender flesh, and had I not been expecting such I would have jerked away. He always did love leaving bite marks on me. I found it romantic in some freakish way. I would have said something sarcastic though, had his lips not silenced me. Oh, but it wasn’t just his lips. He had a remarkable tongue and he always did the naughtiest things with it. I love his tongue.

     

    While he was busily fucking my mouth with his tongue, hips grinding together oh so nicely, his hands were already creeping towards the tie in my hair and before I knew it the entire mass were down again. Bastard and his obsession with my hair... he loved pretty things. But I wasn’t thinking of that. I was more concerned with him and his tongue that was half way down my throat.

     

    He relented, though, pulling away from my lips and starting back on my neck. Breathing a bit heavy, having forgotten for a moment to breathe. Gingerly, one of his knees pushed my legs apart, sliding nicely right between them and up against me. I groaned quietly, finally leaning back against the door with my full weight, my head thrown back against it as well only allowing the beautiful boy further access to the flesh.

     

    Another torture of a break was called for though, as he pulled my shirt up and over my hair, generally tangling my long hair in the process.  He tossed the cloth item in whatever direction was behind him and continued his assault on my body; this time my nipple fell victim to his teeth. Another hushed groan escaped my throat as he bit down on one nipple just a little to hard, but I was too aroused too much mind any pain he bestowed upon my body.

     

    Brian teasingly traced over the bulge behind the denim, before cupping it in his palm, squeezing gently. Moaning and breathing a good deal faster now, I arched forward, bluntly wanting something more. It didn’t come though; he was smirking, as he neglected my erection, withdrawing to busy himself unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. He left me to kick off the pants, underwear, shoes and socks, while he dragged his attention elsewhere; like biting and licking at my navel. He traveled back downwards with his tongue though and my cock twitched in something of a plea. He skipped right over it, teasingly, placing a few kisses and nips on my inner thighs. Bitch.

     

    His treatment of teasing and pleasing continued for a few moments and many gasps and half moans later, never bothering to touch my erection other than by ‘accidental’ brush of a hand or tongue. Bitch... but he was obviously too horny to prolong my torture any further because I was forced to my knees, on the cold floor, in front of the fully clothed man. I had half a mind not to do anything. However, master always gets what he wants. The exact reason he’s not naked with me.

     

    Graciously, the man took his belt off for me, carefully placing it on a nearby table. But he left the other obstacles to me, the evil bastard. But with much practice at this, I took control of this mini situation. I unbuttoned the pants with my teeth, which was not an easy thing and was actually a bit of luck, and then teasingly dragged the zipper down with my teeth, making sure to graze over his dick in retaliation for all of his teasing. And I just let his pants and underwear fall to his ankles, knowing he was just going to pull them back up after everything.

     

    Faced with the real problem of everything, I just glared at his arousal, silently blaming it. Actually, this close... I huffed a huge sigh of cool breath against the heated organ. I grinned. This time again, I blew a heavy and exaggerated breath, contently watching Brian’s reaction for a second, before nuzzling at the problem, purring.

     

    Finally, before Brian killed me, I tentatively licked at the tip of his cock, deciding playtime was over. A hand curled in my hair at the very action, so I continued on, gently swirling my tongue around it, tasting pre-cum as much as I didn’t want to. Slowly, though the hand pushing on the back of my head didn’t like that, I took him in my mouth completely. I didn’t need to look up to know Brian was enjoying this treatment, and I slid back away from him, before sliding forward again, this time, I took everything. By then I didn’t need to see Brian; I could hear him. He was panting, now, these odd little pants of pure arousal, bits of sweat probably rolling down, eyes closed in ecstasy, even... ending that there.

     

    It’s probably a good thing I lost my gag reflex a long time ago. Brian really was horrible at self-control; he was thrusting forward and his hand was fucking pulling my hair. I had half the mind to bite little Brian for it, but I was really too softhearted for that... Ne’er do I mind the rough treatment all that much...  It didn’t take long for him to cum, not in his state, and when he did cum, with the tip of his cock at the back of my throat. I choked on the nasty fluid.  I mind you that I hate swallowing. Brian usually leaves no choice, like this time. 

     

    Currently not concerned with his state of bliss, I sat back on the carpet, sticking out my tongue and making the most horrible face. I really do hate Brian sometimes. He is the most inconsiderate lover. And it’s not all right; I don’t care if he can’t control himself. I despise it.

     

    Imagine my surprise when he actually, just minutes after a blowjob, finished unclothing himself, taking off everything. My eyes narrowed, watching him suspiciously. I was still mad, after all. In my distrusting pause, he gingerly tossed the tie around my neck, using it like one would a dog leash.

     

    “Come on kitty, I’ll make it up to you,” He said, his tone as husky and as sexy as ever. I usually replied to things like that. It was the belt in his hand that made me pause again.

     

    Now I’ll tell you rather forwardly, that Brian has never laid a harming hand on me, at least, not a harming hand that I didn’t want. It’s his friends that are into the kinky stuff, the sm, bd, and all of that. Brian and I have a soft, master and slave thing going on you could say. Brian is well aware he’s the master and I’m just as aware that I’m the slave. That’s perfectly fine. He ties me up, I play coy, I call him master, I blow him when he wants and do what he wants me to, and he fucks me. It’s all good fun and games.

     

     However, I still have a scar from one of his friends, when I apparently had been a bad little slave or something along those lines. So should Brian want kink...

     

    “Relax,” He’s saying, tugging on the tie-made-leash. Finally, mindlessly, deciding I trust Brian enough, I follow him. I am the bitch slave anyway. Come one, come all. Bitch slave here, free blowjobs.

     

    Sniffing in offense, I followed him up the stairs to my own room of which I have and will be defiled in many times. Unsafely back in my room, the door is shut behind us and Brian drags me towards the bed, accidentally (or better be) choking me once with the tie. And before I know it, both of my hands are bound to the bedpost. Suddenly, kitty leash becomes kitty gag. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I hate you horny Brian.

     

    I admit it. It’s horrible. It’s uncomfortable. It’s completely embarrassing and so degrading... but it is kind of arousing. Being forced to do all this, even though I complain, I think Brian knows I honestly like things like this. Rough, impersonal, and everything wicked.

     

    Foreplay was all but skipped this round, I had to hand it to Brian he was easily the horniest rich person I’ve ever met and had the pleasure of being fucked by. He grazed his teeth over my already bruised neck, biting down at my collar bone, before dragging his tongue downwards. Swirling his tongue around a nipple, dipping it in my navel, licking a line from my dick to my neck. That was the foreplay.

     

    With that, he tossed one of my legs onto his shoulder, and without the least bit of preparation or lubrication, thrust his cock into me. Probably a good thing I had the gag and was bound to the bed, because I would have fucking hit him otherwise. But the pain faded, simply because need was numbing any other reasonable senses. The bitch didn’t even give my poor body a moment to get use to his rude intrusion either.

     

    But that’s not to say it wasn’t pleasurable. It was still godly. Any sex with Brian is godly. And any reasonable thoughts went out the window, when he slammed his cock against the particular place and suddenly I was really hard to breath and my body tingled it felt so good. Torn between crying and moaning, I just rocked in time with his thrusts, and when he deftly grabbed at my own erection pumping it in time with his thrusts, I decided he was a godly lover.

     

    It ended for too soon though and suddenly my vision was white. Only a few seconds later and Brian collapsed on top of me, his softening dick still in me. With hazy eyes, he removed my gag, and kissed me full on the lips, and my tongue didn’t mind coming out to meet him. Fuck, am I torn between loving him and hating him.

     

    Slowly, lazily, he went about untying me, before finally withdrawing from me and rolling off of me to lie beside me. I almost missed the feeling... It’s nice to feel complete, even if it’s only for one good fuck. Quietly, I rolled over to face him, just so I could settle my sleepy head on his chest, never minding the mess of stickiness around us. With his eyes closed, he didn’t say anything, just semi-wrapped an arm around me, that hand distractedly petting my ebon tresses.

     

    And we fell to sleep like that, with both of us sticky and sweaty.

     

    Once I woke up though, some hours later, I was alone and sweetly enough, cleaned of most all stickiness. I didn’t have to look to know he had left me and I didn’t have to look to see that he had left some sum of money on the pillow his head was supposed to be occupying. And it pissed me off.

     

    I love him and I hate him, but never will I seriously tell him I love him. Not while he treats me like a slut instead of a lover. I have too much pride for this shit... or at least, I wish I did. So I ignored the money and focused on the fact he brought up my clothes. Thank god. If by some miracle either of my parents came home... Fuck it.

     

    I slid on my denim jeans not even bothering to put on anything under them or anything to cover my chest. I was sulking. Quietly, I wandered downstairs, intending to see if by any ghost of a chance he’d left something... or maybe was still here. Last step now.

     

    “Why do you do that?”

     

    Fuck! Heart attack central! But... For an instant, a clumsy instance, I thought it was Brian; that he had stayed. Of course, it was a silly notion that might just never happen. However, the fact that Cain was in my house was unnerving.

     

    “How the fuck did you get in?” I snapped, any hints of my earlier good mood gone with Brian.

     

    Cain gave a small smile, the one that seems to be forever on his lips, “I’d been sitting on your doorstep for an hour and some and when your friend was leaving he let me in. Brian stayed and talked to me for a minute.”

     

    I hate him. He’ll stay and talk to a kid, but he won’t stay and talk to a man he says he loves? I hate him. Suddenly distracted I set off in search for the pack of cigarettes in my book sack. Thank god it was downstairs. I needed it now. Quickly lighting it, in full chain-smoker mode, I started my long drags. I needed to get royally smashed tonight.

     

    “Did he say anything of interest?” I asked between puffs of smoke, mentally repeating with each puff that I hate Brian.

     

    “He loves you.”

     

    “Fucking liar.” I retort it with all the spite I feel towards Brian, easily forgetting I’m talking to a fourteen-year-old kid. “He told me that too, that fucking bitch. He only fucking says it so he’s guaranteed an ass to fuck.”

     

    Cain honestly doesn’t seem fazed by me and replies quietly, “If that’s all his love is... then do something about it.”

     

    He’s so many years younger than me, but so fucking wise. It’s not hard to see what I should do, but it is fucking hard to do.  Easily enough, his calm words defuse any of my ferocity that was. Burnt out all that quickly and simply, my fragile walls of glass fall to the floor. 

     

    “But I want him to keep coming back and I want him to keep telling me all those pretty lies,” I reply in something of a whisper. Because it’s so fucking stupid and so fucking unreasonable.

     

    And Cain finished me off, with an even voice and down cast eyes, saying, “Because you love him.”

     

    “I hate him.”  The tone accompanying words should have been venomous, but they weren’t.  Had one missed one particular word, one would think I was agreeing, though a little tired.

     

    I was tired.

     

    Not physically, no, I had just woken up. Mentally, however, was an entirely different thing...

     

    Cain was obviously unsure of what to do with himself, so he just stood there, awkwardly shifting and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Quietly, just as hesitant, I watched him. Taking notice of the scabs and bruises still littered across the small bits of pale skin visible and that he was wearing a long sleeved shirt for some obvious reasons.

     

    Having no quarrel with the silence, I continued my observations, too stubborn to think about what he wanted me to. I found his clothes cute today. A dark blue sweater that was too big for him, a pair of flare blue jeans with a loosely worn rainbow belt, and a cat collar around his neck. Curiously, I could see his toes peeking out behind the end of the flared denim, so I’ll assume he lost his shoes and bag at the door, and his toes were curling in and out in what I can only guess was nervousness and much on purpose, seeing that he was looking downwards.

     

    His hair was tamer today.

     

    Much tamer. I can’t say he spent long on it, but it was brushed well enough and possibly even a little gel placed in the furry mass.

     

    “You know where the key is, right?” I asked. And with that the silence was no more.

     

    I got the reply I want, a nod of Cain’s head, which brought a grin to my lips. Quietly, I brushed a hand over his calm tresses of gold. “You can let yourself in any time.”  I only vaguely realized what I was doing, but I was too flattered by the fact that he was actually listening to me to care. 

     

    And he listened. For a quick second, he parted his lips, obviously intending to speak. He thought for a moment, and then pursed his lips in something of a pout, before rewarding me with a small smile. “Thanks.”

     

    It was such a small word, but used so often today... that it rarely met anything. Cain, though, used it when he meant it. I was slowly finding out, he didn’t lie. He might not tell the whole story, but he didn’t lie either. I could definitely appreciate that.

     

    “Don’t worry about it,” I said. I waved a dismissing hand at him, before motioning towards the living room. “Care to waste an hour killing our brains?”

     

    Apparently, he found my words amusing because he chuckled, grinning brightly and bounding off to the couch. I had asked for it...

     

     


    Broken angel dream at 7:44 pm by Yume-no-Tenshi
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    Friday, July 30, 2004
    Call me crazy; my double suicide.

    There were all of eight chairs pulled around in one happy circle, each chair occupied by some suicidal lunatic, and me in the middle of it all. This group counseling was supposed to make me not feel suicidal, but for some reason, sitting there, having to tell these loonie’s why I decided I needed to die, only made me want to try it again. This time though, I’d have to make sure the bullet went to the right place.

     

     

    There, again, was the irritating noise. That giggle. I mind you, this is group counseling for those with suicidal tendencies; and every week he’s here and every week he giggles. It’s always the same thing. He sits in the seat nearest the window and alternates between smiling, looking out the window, and giggling. Of all the insane people here, he is the most annoying.

     

     

    Sinking back into my uncushioned and uncomfortable chair, I sulked, glaring at the man who was so cheerfully taking notes as I finished my well familiar words. Being the youngest here, other than the giggle kid, their attention seemed to linger on me. Probably the reason I was forced to speak first today. And I hate these people so much.

     

     

    I don’t think I’ll ever understand the logic behind group counseling. How can listening to other people whine about their life make me not want to kill myself? The answer is, it doesn’t. I hate talking in front of groups, so it only makes me want to kill myself all that much more.

     

     

    But I silently thanked whatever god people were worshipping this week when it all ended. Furthermore, I damned him when I realized that it ended half an hour over the scheduled end time. Thus meaning my means of transportation was long gone.  I always knew there was no such thing as god.

     

     

    Unhappily I trudged forward, exiting the building that was hell, with every intention of walking home, but not before purchasing another pack of cigarettes. Imagine my surprise when I no more than five steps later, my hair was yanked, and I was pulled backwards at least two steps. Now I mind you that I like my body, I find my body attractive. I’m damn thin, I’ve nice fairly tanned skin, dark blue eyes, a nice figure, black hair...

     

     

    Particularly, though, I care for my hair. It tickles at the back of my thighs, so tending to it is no small job. Currently it’s pulled into a hasty braid, but I do not appreciate someone messing, much less, pulling my hair.

     

     

    My lips instantly pulled into a snarl, and I spun around on heel, hands pulling my offended hair around to soothe it. “Why the fuck did you do that?!” I was biting already, and I didn’t even know at who, but the words remained even when my eyes landed on the criminal.  Giggle-boy. Of course, what other crazy would pull on my hair.

     

     

    “It’s pretty.”

     

     

    Why thank you, my mind replied dryly, none too amused. So you see something pretty, do you have to pull it? Do you have to cause pain and damage and destruction to everything? That fucking hurt. No, there were not shimmering tears of pain in my eyes. I was not that much of a wuss. Growling, I turned my nose up to the kid, “Look brat, that’s a shitty way to tell someone they have pretty hair. It fucking hurts to be pulled.” 

     

     

    He didn’t seem to falter at my words though; he was still smiling up at me. Had he not been completely crazy, he would have been, actually, a little cute. Dirty blond hair, most unfortunately it was always a complete disaster sight, eyes that could pass for the color of chocolate syrup, pale skin with a few cutely placed freckles, and a figure like a pencil. His actual age I was left to wonder, though. Either he was terribly tall or he was really close to my age; his head was eye level with my chest. A nice place though, because my chin would be just comfortable resting on his mass of mop.

     

     

    Whatever way, he was petting my hair.

     

     

    I was left sighing, my eyes narrowing dangerously. Call it hormones, call it being a teenager, call it being a seventeen-year-old suicidal gay boy named Adam, but I couldn’t stand anyone for more than five seconds. His five seconds were up.  Yanking my hair away from his hands, I tossed it over my shoulders, safely out of his reach for the moment.

     

     

    “I suppose your parents aren’t here for you, no?” I said, honestly sympathizing with him a little on that part. Some people had cars, some people had parents that cared, some people had a gun to their head.

     

     

    I was far from surprised when he shook his head a little, saying quietly, “Daddy never comes to get me.” 

     

     

    Snorting, I placed a hand on his head, ruffling blond spikes and gently petting them at the same time. Like this, he confused me, being so happy while surrounded by the world, but he was just a kid. He probably didn’t understand a thing. I wonder if he even knows what suicide is.

     

     

    I withdrew my hand slowly and let it hang limply at my side, just looking down at the nameless lunatic who was still staring at up at me, expectantly.  “Shouldn’t you be getting home or something, brat?” I finally asked, putting my hands on my leather clad hips, and lifting a brow at the kid.

     

     

    “Daddy would like for me to stay out more.”

     

     

    And it sounded like it had been repeated too many times, like it was rehearsed or something. It was creepy, and it made me ponder walking away from the kid really fast. The baggage he obviously had was honestly not the kind I needed in my already fucked up life. I enjoy watching people suffer, but I don’t enjoy being dragged into the suffering. 

     

     

    “Right, of course, so I’m going now, I’ll see you next week, brat.” And with that I turned on heel, waving a hand over my shoulder.  That was it, thankfully enough, and the kid didn’t follow me or even attempt to get me to stop.

     

     

    And from there on, the week proceeded normally. Monday came and school continued, teachers still assigning homework, and bitching when I came in an hour later. By Wednesday I had suffered enough of the shit, particularly after my first hour teacher threw a chalk eraser at me for sleeping. Overly, that I had been hit by a sixty year old lady with a chalk eraser and that I now had a nice amount of fucking chalk dust speckled through my black hair.

     

     

    Needless to say, I skipped my second class for an escape to the bathroom. For thirty damn minutes that’s where I stayed, cursing the bitch to hell, and trying to clean my precious hair of the obnoxiously white spots. It wasn’t all coming out, not without taking a shower that is. And my school being as shitty as it was didn’t have anything I’d care to shower in. Thus my resolve was a tattered dark purple headband I found discarded in some lonely corner of my book sack. It was decent though; velvety with a few interesting ebony designs.

     

     

    So that left me roaming the halls, spiting the teachers by not bothering to show for their classes. I wasn’t about to wonder the halls for long, though. While I knew the teachers were too damn lazy to get off of their asses, our principle rather enjoyed torturing students, particularly little girly gay students like me, and eating twinkies. Fat bastard.

     

     

    But that was fine by me. I knew the school like the back of my hand; being somewhere for four goddamn years generally has that effect. There were a number of rooms that were never to be used and a number of teachers that wouldn’t mind harboring me.

     

     

    Today though, with my book sack slung over one shoulder, I decided me and my art could use some solitude. That and I’m unwilling to show off my speckled hair, not even with the girly piece of clothe covering it. There is always the possibility there could be some other superficial way to fix it in my bag. That in mind, I make a bee-line for the first empty room, only to find it not unoccupied.

     

     

    So, do imagine my surprise, when not only am I greeted with a non-empty room but with a giggle-boy that isn’t smiling. The room was dark, the lights didn’t work, and there were desks cluttering the room, but the streams of sunshine running past the blinds and bits of open space showed me enough to get a clear understanding of what was happening..

     

     

     

    He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, his back against what was obviously the teacher’s hard wooden desk, his cloths are a mess, his shirt barely buttoned and certainly not in the right holes, and one of his shoes was completely absent. What really caught my attention was what he was doing. I didn’t notice it at first, but when I did, it took me all of three seconds to get to him and jerk his hand away. I heard the smash of the shard of glass hitting the wall, and saw several small splinters come sliding across the linoleum floor.

     

     

     

    In honest unshielded surprise he looked at me, eyes wide, and bluntly confused. It was only then I realized he was crying. It was hardly the same boy that had pulled my hair; he wasn’t smiling, his lips were swollen and broken, and bruises were scattered across his pale skin. My major concern was that he was bleeding, right now. The idiot had grabbed a piece of glass from the broken windows and had been intently sitting there slicing a nice clean line down his arm.

     

     

    “You fucking idiot,” I muttered already grabbing the clean cut and applying pressure. He wasn’t just doing this to hurt himself; he was quite intending to die this time. The kid hadn’t left anything undone; he was in an isolated place where people weren’t supposed to go, he had set himself up in a place his body wouldn’t be found for days possibly weeks, and he had cut right along with the vein.

     

     

    And I was completely torn at what I should do for a moment. The infirmary would turn this in... but... shit. Grabbing him I pulled him up to standing and then switched hands, so that I could place one hand on his waist deciding it would be easiest to usher him to the infirmary. My clothes were already bloodstained as it was, but holding his bleeding arm that close to me only proved to add more. My ash-colored shirt was turning a dark crimson.

     

     

    I wasn’t thinking about that though, or that he could possibly have some disease or something else irrelevant to the fact he could bleed to death. Biting on my lip, unsure of how to deal with someone else trying to commit suicide, I pulled him towards the door. He resisted; his feet were semi-firmly planted and he was intent on not moving. He had either cut open a vein or had come amazingly close to it, and he was refusing my help. Something about that pissed me off.

     

     

    “What the fuck is your problem?”

     

     

    My voice was rising and there was a good deal of malice laced in the tone. My eyes were on him, and it was then I regretted my words, having to see him flinching and quickly lowering his own gaze, wet traces of tears still evident on his face as were sickening blue bruises. Even in such a bluntly submissive position, he replied in the same soft voice he had used just days before, “I would be sent to an asylum.”

     

     

    That was a good enough reason, sure, but I wasn’t about to let him bleed to death. It wasn’t like I cared if he died or not... I honestly don’t know why I didn’t leave the instant I saw my space was occupied... I think, though, there are some laws about that sorta thing or something. I’d probably be labeled an accomplice in suicide or something stupid.

     

     

    But he was already taking care of the situation, surprisingly. All the energy and all of the good decent concern I had showed had been wasted. So I let him. He had pried my hand from his bleeding arm and was busy stealing the headband that was covering black hair with chalk spots. Once he pulled the dark purple cloth off, I actually heard him laugh. I honestly bristled at what he found humorous; bleeding to death or not, I don’t want him laughing at my hair.

     

     

    “It’s still pretty,” He quickly said, obviously catching the fact I took offense to his laughter. It was good to see him smiling again though.

     

     

      I snorted at him, sulking, but pulled the violet and ebony cloth from his red hands. Folding it appropriately before fixing it around his arm and tying it. It made me a little nervous; I needed to tie it tight so that a decent amount of pressure would be applied, but I probably shouldn’t tie it too tight and stop all blood circulation.

     

     

    But he grinned when it was finished, lifting his hand and stretching his fingers in and out, before returning his attention to me. I didn’t know why he kept looking at me, but it made me uncomfortable. I chose to ignore him this time; I busied myself with setting my book sack on one of the desks and rummaging through it. The last day the kid and I met I had spent the last of my money buying two packs of cigarettes; one tattered but precious package was in my bag and I well-deserved one cig for my days good deed.

     

     

    Once it was lit and in between my lips I turned my gaze back to the bruised kid, asking in a huff, “So what happen?”

     

     

    He smiled, a small meaningless upwards pull of his lips, and answered my question without falter. “I was late for class and three guys stopped me in the halls. I didn’t have any money.”

     

     

    In other words, all of this because of bullies. Looking at him though, it made me wonder just what all those bullies did. Was a beating really something enough to drive him to suicide? There was nothing I could do anyways, though, so I settled with another puff of hazy smoke.

     

     

    It wasn’t reason enough; his parents obviously didn’t care for him, neither did the school bullies, but he was a kid. Things would get better. Me, though, things would only get worse. Me and my parents fight, everyone hates me, I’m failing school, my bestfrind and love of my life uses me, and I honestly have nothing to live for. By the end of the year my parents already told me that they were kicking me out, so I had every intention of being dead by then.

     

     

    “I’m leaving,” I stated after a long, awkward pause. Cigarette firmly between my lips, I tossed my bag back over my shoulder and made for the door.

     

     

    It was a quiet question, in a shy voice, but I heard it. “Can I come?”

     

     

    That I had to think about. Like I said, I can’t stand anyone for more than five seconds. His five were up, but…  After a long drag of my cig, I took it between two fingers and glanced back to the kid. “I don’t see why you’d want to, but...” Letting my words trail off, I just shrugged, obviously uncaring if he came or if he didn’t.

     

     

    It might have been a show of indifference on my part, but the kid looked happy with my decision; a bright smile was already treading across his lips. I rolled my eyes at his behavior, finally exiting the room with him behind me this time. And he followed me in silence, down the stairs and out the back entrance and through the student’s parking lot. The nameless brat heaved a sigh of obvious relief once we stepped foot on the sidewalk that was safely out of school grounds. Guessing he’s never skipped before.

     

     

    I just ignored the boy’s innocence, casually flicking my still burning cigarette in some random direction… It would be interesting if it found someone’s hair to land in. But it didn’t. Instead it landed harmlessly in the middle of the road. Alas.

     

     

    And so the walk to my house continued on in silence. Well, not completely but... That was only because several people muttered and gasped at me and him. I’m not sure if it was because of me or my bloody shirt or even if it was the kids state of dishevel but either way I was content. But anyways, there were no words between the kid and me, which honestly says something because it takes thirty, forty minutes to get to my little house.

     

     

    Once we were there, things didn’t change much. I grabbed the key that was hidden behind one of the few plants on the porch, not quite caring the kid now knew how to get in my home, I opened the door for us both. I didn’t welcome him in or show him around, I just muttered something probably incoherent to him about this being the damnable house of hell. As always, my parents were both gone. Probably, with my mom at work and my father somewhere getting laid or stoned.

     

     

    I kicked off my shoes and socks and watched as the kid did the same before making a quick stop to the kitchen. I savaged through the fridge for a moment, only leaving it once I’d found two canned sodas. I tossed one to the kid who just barely caught it and laughed sheepishly at the surprise. With that I grabbed a bag of Doritos and left the room, the kid following closely behind.

     

     

    From there I made up the stairs to the safety of my room. Once we were both in I shut the door and locked it. No offense, but I didn’t trust my parents, home or not. Particularly my father.

     

     

    My room however, wasn’t arranged for me to have company other than my lovers. There was one chair and that one went with the computer. Altogether my room was small and dark; a small shelf of books in one corner, a computer in the center against the wall, and the window to the other wall. A majority of my room was empty; just an expanse of blue carpet.

     

     

    I didn’t much care though. I tossed my booksack to the ground, half-heartedly wondering what happened to the others bag. I didn’t have the decency to ask though; I figured it wasn’t any of my business. Considering that there was absolutely nothing in my room that would amuse him, I grabbed a notebook off of the self, or rather the sketch pad, and a box of colored pencils.

     

     

    He was honestly content with that, the coke, and the Doritos. And so I went about contenting myself. I indulged myself in a long hot bath and emerged in only a pair of silver leather pants; I had a special friend to meet with tonight. Well at least, so said an ‘urgent’ text message left on my cell. Thus I was quick to return to my room, you know, the room that holds most all of my meager belongings. Shockingly enough, I was rather surprised to find the crazed youth still in my room, sitting on the floor, happily drawing. The can of soda was empty and lying beside him and the Doritos were long since forgotten for the sheer pleasure of art.

     

     

    I paid him no attention and sat down on my bed and started reapplying my make up. First base, then blush, eye shadow and eyeliner, followed by lipstick, lipgloss, and any extras I felt the need of. Sparkles were for today. Glitter eye makeup.

     

     

    It took a while for me to finally accept the art piece my face had become, and then I set my bag of makeup back in it’s drawer and recovered my brush from it’s place of solitude. Dried tangles were hell to brush, thus, while my hair was still damp I was brushing it. And not putting it in a braid. I was sick of the little waves. My hair needed to be straight.

     

     

    Some time later, when I was just decidedly brushing my hair to be brushing it, as no tangles or snarls were left. I noticed the kid, still happily scribbling, blonde hair sticking in all angles, tangled and a mess. Horrible, naughty thoughts were invading my innocent mine and stealing it away. Aliens were attacking.

     

     

    “You.” He looked up at me. “Get over here,” Alien me continued with a small smirk, motioning for him to sit on the floor in front of the bed. Aliens were so taking over my brain; why else would I be concerned or even vaguely interested in making his hair less of a jungle? Bleh. Perhaps this was Brian’s fault. That was the answer... he always had some odd effect on me.

     

     

     He smiled in his confusion, but crawled over to the designated point. From there I moved him with my hands, forcing him to look forward, away from me. I settled him between my legs, letting both of my leather clad legs dangle on either side of him. And I started to brush the tangles out of his hair.

     

     

    I tried to be gentle, to not pull his hair, but it still pulled. And when I finished, I petted his hair for a moment. Enjoying this sense of closeness without question. There was no doubt, though we didn’t even know each other’s names there was still some bit of friendship... trust... in this twisted relationship.

     

     

    Running my fingers through the honey colored tresses that were hardly as soft as they looked, I drew him up onto the bed with me, even while making a note to give him some conditioner or something. Similar to before, I placed him right between my spread legs and pressed my bare chest to his clothed back. I draped one arm casually over his shoulder, while the other hand was still busily playing with his untangled hair, while he kicked his legs back and forth childishly.

     

     

    “How’s your arm?” I muttered, quietly realizing it had been hours since he had cut himself. Had he cut one of those arteries he would have been dead within minutes of it; obviously he hadn’t touched the precious things.

     

     

    He bowed his head for a moment, looking at his hand curiously. “It’s fine, I guess.” I could hear him smile, honestly. Fingering at the violet bandanna wrapped around said wound, he questioned, “I don’t suppose you want this back?” 

     

     

    I shook my head at the words, raising a brow at the cloth in question. “If you can get the blood out, I’m sure you’d look lovely in it. On that note, you need to take better care of your hair.”

     

     

    He laughed at my words, but wiggled out of my grip, bouncing back to the sketchpad and colors. “I have to leave,” He said, gathering up the objects into his arms. A small smile still on his lips he returned to the comfortable closeness we had previously had. This time though, it was a fleeting closeness.

     

     

    He kissed me.

     

     

    It wasn’t anything romantic or passionate. Just a brief, simple, and meaningless meeting of his lips to my painted ones.

     

     

    The could-be-kiss ended just as quickly as it began, with a chuckle from the boy. “I’m borrowing these! Thank you!” By the time the words were out, he was closing my door, leaving my house with my art supplies. Bastard. The soda can was still on my floor as were the Doritos. Bitch boy.

     

     

    Being myself, the kiss really wasn’t all that much of a shocker. I was left to blink in a bit of confusion for a second, but that was a quickly ended moment. In good mood, I clicked my tongue, breathing out a chuckle, “So he is a fairy boy.”

     


    Broken angel dream at 4:37 pm by Yume-no-Tenshi
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    Friday, June 18, 2004
    I think there's still a piece of my heart on your face; how does it taste?


    ::dances the jig:: XD Luna-sama be commin' to visit me! ::continues dancing the irish jig::

    ::her brain bounces up off the floor, and climbs into the computer chair:: I'm scared, now, scared for my sanity. She, alone, is horrible. She abuses me, time after time, with her hallucinations and insanities... but the two of them together?! I will die from the abuse.

    ::Crystal finishes the jig and returns to the computer, throwing the small slimy thing that was in the chair, her brain, into the blender:: ^_^ Farfie always did love these things... @.@ ::watches as the brain is thoroughly cut into fine bits:: I see why, now. How gorey. XD

    ^.^ Luna be comin'! XD She is soooo going to terrify Bogalusa, more so than me. XD It'll be the shibbiness. I must get a camera. We need to take pictures.  <3 She gets to see X! And and Yami no Matsuei and and and and... ::dramatic pause:: Gravitation!  ... Whoa... maybe not that big. It's scary. It scares me. How about...? Gravitation!Okay that still scares me. I don't see how people could use those font sizes... they scare me. Thery're all big and intimidating. ::hides:: Oo

    ^_^; But yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!! Luna is coming! Luna-Lauren-Luna-Lauren... and dammit! Oo;;; I need to clean! Ehhyesh! And, crap. Clean. Clean. Clean. I should clean my room too. ^^;; I think it needs it... I might should sweep and mop it too... ::stares in horror at the unidentifiable objects on her floor:: Indeed a scary task. But it must be done! XD All for Lauren! LAUREN!!!! WHHHHHHHHHOOOT! Rawr! ^_^ Much love to ye all... not that anyone it reading this, but I don't mind, I need go cllllllllllean! ^_^ Lauren-Lauren-Lauren!




    Much Love,
    Crys

    Broken angel dream at 10:47 pm by Yume-no-Tenshi
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    Saturday, January 03, 2004
    .the future breaks your heart and crushes your smile.


    And after that nice depressing Weiß quote, a little bit of something about me.

    [Birth Name] Crystal
    [Alias] Crys - Yume - Macia
    [Age] 15 (joy <<; )
    [Height] ...not even five foot. ::dies::
    [Weight] Ninty, give or take a pound.
    [Where do you live?] Louisiana. Bogalusa.
    [Birthplace] Louisiana. Bogalusa. Hospital. ><
    [Hidden Talents] ^^ I'm an okay yaoi writer...
    [been in love] Never seriously.
    [cried when someone died] I don't cry when someone cries and I don't cry during the funeral... For me, it takes a while to realize I'll never see that someone again, that someone really is -dead-.  I usually cry the night after it all... And it hasn't been too long since someone died.
    [fallen for your best friend of the opposite sex] Who said I fell for the opposite sex?
    [been rejected] Once, maybe twice.
    [rejected someone] Several times... But don't get me wrong, I don't do the date thing. n.n; I'm anti social, leave me be.
    [been cheated on] Never.
    [done something you regret] ...Ah... not too long ago. 
    [Been In Jail]  Never.
    [Ran away from home] Once... But I came back of my own free will. 
    [Hit a Boy] Never.
    [Hit A Girl] Never.
    [Broken A Bone] Never. n.n
    [Broken Someone’s Heart] Once...
    [Cheated On A Test] Just a few times... I think...
    [Let a friend cry on your shoulder] More than once.
    [Fell asleep in the shower/bath]  Never.
    [Walked in on someone changing or showering] <<; Not going to even think of that. It was scary. 
    [Gone to Church] Years ago...
    [Never slept during a night] Just a few days ago.
    [Seen someone die] Too many times.
    [Thought you were in love] I don't really... fully believe in love.
    [Screamed at someone for no reason] Never... I'm a calm person. ^^;; Except when I'm hyper.
    [Stayed up till 4 am on the phone] <<; That would mean I'd actually have to get on the phone.
    [Four songs that could make you cry] "Perfect" by Simple Plan. "Someday" by Nickelback. "Invisible" by Clay Aiken. "My Last Breathe" by Evanescence.
    [what do you notice first?] facial expressions. ^^ 
    [first person you slow danced with] Zack...
    [last person you slow danced with] Ah... Oo; I don't know his name... 
    [worst thing to say] "It's not what it looks like"
    [do you have a crush]  <<; No.

    What comes to mind...
    [Homosexual] Normal.
    [Love at First Sight] For the beautiful people.
    [Abortion] I'm for it, really. As long as the baby is very young. 
    [Pot] Crack head stupid kids, wasting their lives.
    [Eating disorders] For the depressed people...
    [Rape] Happens...
    [Suicide] Is one way out...
    [Drinking] Makes people stupid.
    [Life] Is entirely too long and overrated. n.n
    [Memory of the year] ...Eh... ... <<; Nothing has happen.
    [Food] ^^ Pocky.
    [Favorite movie] Gravitation.
    [Favorite book] Demon Diary
    [Favorite type/s of music] Alternative, rock, punk...
    [Favorite Saying] "Angels that are forced out of heaven, become demons."
    [Favorite Fast Food] Popeyes. ^^;
    [Favorite Ice Cream] Cookies and Cream.
    [Favorite Television Show(s)] Inuyasha... <<;
    [Your Ideal BF/GF] Human. n.n;

    WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU...
    [Read a book] Not long ago...
    [Cried] Months...
    [Watched a Disney movie] Months... 
    [Recieved a hug] Months...
    [Where You Want To Live] Not in Bogalusa, pleeeeasse.
    [How Many Kids You Want]  <<; None... But I might adopt one.
    [What Kind Of Job Do You Want] ::sigh:: One I like.
    [i wish] The world was different.
    [i love] No one and anime.
    [i miss] ...nothing.
    [i fear] <<; eh... Losing someone close to me.
    [how do you know its love?] And you are asking the one who believes that love is an animalistic desire.
     


     


    Broken angel dream at 7:27 pm by Yume-no-Tenshi
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    New year, same stuff


    Nothing new, not really. School starts back Monday and I'm dreading it. <<; We change classes, meaning I have Geometry, Civics, Jrotc/health, and French... x.x All classes I wish I could drop and none I actually can. Not to mention, I'm still vaguely mad at Blaire. As soon as I go back, she'll be bugging me about borrowing Gravitation. No offense, I love spreading the Gravi Love... But she's already borrow it before (for several weeks I might add) and I'm not particulary trusting of her. Before she has lost one of my graphic novals and a tape of Gundam Wing... I just pray she leaves me alone.

    And I'm at the very end of Final Fantasy X, which I just got... It's sort sad though, I should be defeating Sin, but instead I made a new man and got a blitzball obsession. I keep using the excuse I just don't want to see the game end, but really, I doubt I'll be able to beat it right now. My characters do great damage, Auron sometimes managing 9999, but they don't even have 5000 HP... And I'm horrible at customizing armor. >< I need to go level up or bang my head against some hard wall.

    As for my new Kingdom Hearts game... Ah, I can only sweatdrop and apologize to the bishies. ^^; I'm at the very begining. >>; I'm an rpg person, not an action adventure person. I need numbers and status, and strategy... ::sniffles:: I can't do the no turn thing! It kills me. I can not beat Cerberus for the life of me; I'll never make it anywhere!!!

    Oohh, and did anyone know that next month, on the tenth, TokyoPop releases the first volume of the Get Backers... ^^ It sounds so shibby, too! Just as TokyoPop said, here:

    "The job of a retriever is not a very lucrative one, at least not for Ginji Amano and Ban Mido. Unable to attract even one client, they're so down on their luck that they've ingested nothing but water for the past three days. They attempt -- unsuccessfully, we might add -- to land a date with some girls in the hopes they'll buy the starving duo some hamburgers. And having lost their last yen to a maliciously dysfunctional vending machine, death by starvation seems imminent ... until a homeless man takes pity on them and shares some of the food he's been able to scrounge.

    Upon learning that Ginji and Ban are the GetBackers, he offers them all he has left to get his daughter back from the Yakuza ... and so begins our saga ...
    "


    I can just see that, and the manga art looks great, too! ^^ Ginji looks so adorable and Ban just looks as Ban-ish-bishie as ever. Of course, I feel sorry for them and their unfortunate selves, and I've already marked the day it comes out. n.n As matter of fact, I've been wanting to buy the anime subbed... I found a place that has a great price on it too. $29.99 for episodes 1-21... Alas, I'm eagerly waiting to get my money and buy it... Hopefully I'll have it soon. But, I'm still torn between buying the GetBackers or buying Saiyuki... I've been wanting Saiyuki since forever, but it's much the same with GetBackers... Eh, I'll probably end up getting Saiyuki for my birthday though, and getting Getbackers now. n.n

    Other than that, I'm just laying around the house, being my usual anime-loving, anit-social self. <<; Haven't talked to anyone not related to me since I got out for Christmas. Sorta sad, but I like it this way. ^^; Other people bother me... And online people don't count. They don't require me to do anything but type a bunch of words and make happy faces with odd characters.  XD Now, I've made an entry, you've read it, I feel satsified.


    Broken angel dream at 5:44 pm by Yume-no-Tenshi
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    Tuesday, December 23, 2003
    Neee, gomen-gomen nasai, Ken-kun!


    Konnichi wa minna-san!... And gomen nasai for the long wait!  It's been a month since I last updated... And it's now the day before Christmas Eve-- of course, for me, today is much like Christmas Eve. Tomorrow, once my day gets home, I get all of my presents... Alas, it's a playstation two and a game. ^^ But that's all I really want! I'm getting Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy X! Yes- Finally!

    Kingdom Hearts

    A story of light and dark, good and evil... And old war, not to mention, well known, but with a spin. The main character is the sweet and adorable and oh-so-very naive Sora. He's only fourteen, but after everything, I think it's safe to call him more mature than most adults. He's nothing like people now days; he's selfless, kind, and brave. Sora is everything you want in a hero; and we're not talking about those cold-hearted bastards like Squall and Heero.  Sora really is a hero, both in heart and mind, even though, he doesn't really want the title of a hero. Honestly, all he wants is his friends and peace.

    And Riku is easily the best villian I've seen in a while.... honestly, I hate to call him a villian, because he really isn't. He's just trying to get back his friends... in his own way. Kairi, I really don't think Riku likes her, I think he just wants to keep his rivalry with Sora... Keep Sora focused on him, to remain 'better' than Sora. But everything blows up in his face. "Sora, lets you and me go there together...We can leave Riku." Or  so Kairi says. That was a major blow to Riku's ego right there with that rejection of Riku... But even more she was trying to steal his best friend, the only one who looked up to him, the only one who idolized him. And Riku wanted to stay an ideal... Everything just blows up in his face though.  I really love his character though, and I can see where all those Riku loves Sora/Sora loves Riku stories come from. I just... don't see how it can happen. Riku screwed up big time, and though Sora would easily take him back... Would Riku really give up all of his honor and go crawling back? Could he?


    Final Fantasy X

    Haven't really played this game much, but... It's the story of Tidus, a superstar blitzball player. He's also an uber lovable character. I think I really love him for his cheery-disposition and for the fact he's not perfect, not even near it. Basically, he ends up in Spira, another world that's being attack by Sin. It's adorable how lost Tidus is of some of their customs, and the relationship Wakka and he has is also just.. aww... Wakka's brother is dead, and Tidus reminds Wakka so much of his brother. Half of the time, it's like Wakka took Tidus under his wing. And Tidus repays him! Wakka is also a blitzball player, but his team... whoa, hasn't won in an uberrrrrrr long time. Alas, Wakka is going to be quitting it soon so he can dedicate himself to being Yuna's guardian. Tidus, however, volunteers to help them win this championship just for Wakka! Amazingly, if you do it right, they do win, which is just uber spiffy.

    As for Tidus and Yuna as a couple... I suppose you've all figured out I like guys together with guys, not with girls. Love just seems so much real when it's two guys admitting their feelings... But, this couple, Yuna and Tidus, is a good couple. Tidus always tries to be cheerful, Yuna is the supporting characters, they just work so well together. ^^ I think me liking a straight couple most mean something. ::sweatdrop::

     


    Broken angel dream at 7:35 pm by Yume-no-Tenshi
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