Alone and Empty
by Lori J
It's not about the sex.
At least that's what he tells himself night after night.
It's not about feeling needed for a change. It's not about being
wanted. It's not about how fucking good it feels just to be fucking
*touched.*
But it is.
And yeah, he knows its fucked up. It's fucked up and so is he. But
does he say no? Does he push away the cool body that crawls into his
bed?
No.
He welcomes it.
Begs for it.
Begs to be kissed, fondled, fucked. Because maybe it will make this
hollow feeling go away. Maybe for once in his life he'll feel
complete. Maybe.
Just. Maybe.
Maybe it won't hurt so bad in the morning when he wakes up alone.
Alone and empty. Two of the most horrible sensations in the world.
Alone because he just doesn't *fit* anywhere these days. But has he
ever really fit anywhere? He wanted to, can remember a time when
fitting in was everything. But lately he's doing more existing than
fitting.
Empty because just existing sucks you dry. He doesn't have a purpose,
a direction.
He has a vampire lover who really isn't a lover. Lovers...love you.
They make love to you. They talk to you. Lovers don't crawl into your
bed and fuck you whether you want it or not, all the while never
saying a word.
He never turns his psuedo-lover away. He could.
But he doesn't.
And hey, sometimes he learns the hard way. He pays for the slayer's
rudeness, the slayer's constant dismissal of his nighttime visitor.
He lets his mind wander on those nights. It's easier than being All
There. He'd rather deal with the pain alone then during.
He learns lots of things.
Like if you're not All There, pain can be inflicted without causing
his vampire damage.
He's become a willing victim and he knows this. But it's easier,
sometimes, playing the victim. And he plays the victim so well. *Is*
the victim.
He supposes that if the others were to find out they would stake
his 'tormentor.' They won't find out, though. They'll never look
close enough to see that something isn't right. That something is
wrong with their friend. They're frighteningly easy to lie to.
Sadly enough, he can't even hate himself for being like this.
He vaguely realizes that he needs... Something that he can't have.
Can't seem to ever have. He doesn't know what that something is but
he knows he's not any closer to getting it.
So he'll lie awake at night listening for the door to open and he'll
strain through the darkness for a glimpse of his downfall. For that
brief flash of blond hair that looks silver in the moonlight.
He'll wait, listening to the soft sounds of clothing dropping to the
floor, trying not to react when his mattress dips with the extra
weight. Trying not to show his need when those rough hands touch him.
But he will, just like he always does.
And he'll hope that this is the night that he doesn't feel empty.
That this is the morning he doesn't wake up alone. That he might hear
his name spoken for the first time. That he's more than just
something to fuck. That he's not a replacement for her.
The hope is all he has.
But little by little the hope is starting to die. He clings to it
fiercely but it's slipping away from him. There isn't going to be any
happy ending, he knows that. His life is many things, but it is not a
fairytale.
Maybe this time when he wakes up alone and empty he won't mind so
much.
End
