by Drue M Scott
“Sorry,” Mikale’s child-like response was clear; he hadn’t been totally aware of what was happening. “Let’s just go get food.”
“May I ask you a question?” Stewart spoke up as he turned the water off and pulled the shower curtain aside. “I’ve avoided it several times and purposefully do not venture into those thoughts within your psyche, but lately, my own thoughts have been plagued by curiosity and I...”
“Why am I gay?” Mikale quickly interrupted. He wasn’t offended by the inquiry, but his lack of patience for it was obvious.
“Actually, no,” Stewart chimed in abruptly. “I’ve a pretty good idea as to why that is. Just as I am brought into existence with an attraction for the opposite sex you are attracted in the same way but to the same sex. We are all energy, and so from a primal need, we connect with whatever energy best fits our own. Time on Earth may shift our frequencies, and we may intermesh with one more than another. Over time, events can fundamentally change our flow, but you could no sooner change the sun’s polarity than you could choose to love one sex over the other.” His flat almost medical explanation of the matter shut down Mikale’s inpatient composure.
“Sorry. I’ve just been asked that question so many times it has grown bothersome to answer. Please excuse my interruption and ask away.”
“In the time we have been together, you have been approached by several handsome suitors. I am certain that you could have, on many occasions, enjoyed physical contact with them, but you shut them down so quickly it’s as though you have no feelings for satisfying carnal needs at all.” Transitioning from the bathroom as they dried the last droplets of water from Mikale’s body, Stewart continued. “Though, apparently, those needs are still there.” He laughed a little referencing what had just taken place. “I know that you miss Jason,” Stewart paused to correct himself, “Ken, and I am sorry to bring him up, but I fear that if you continue to neglect physical contact, you might be causing more harm than good.” Pulling on a pair of pink and light blue trunks, Stewart abruptly paused. “What the hell, Mikale, is this a joke? Pink?” His host simply laughed.
“Please continue with your sexual talk. I am quite interested in your opinion on matters related to my dick.” The sarcasm was more than audible; it had a physical presence in Mikale’s stance as he shifted his penis within the pink and blue underwear. “and…?”
“I did not mean any offense. Now, I am sure you can see why I have avoided it for so long?” Stewart took brief control over Mikale and quickly pulled jeans on. “You have had me here for so long that you have begun to neglect physical contact with those around you. I realize there is a comfort with having me here, and I satisfy your needs for socialization, but I cannot be your only social contact.” He paused as if to think about how best to continue. Stewart knew Mikale might already be addicted to having him there constantly, and he would have to move forward with the conversation delicately. “I am not a normal human being. I mean I am normal, but I am, for all intents and purposes, only in your head. You need to…”
“I know what I need, Stewart.” Mikale interrupted “I just… I’m just…” Sighing heavily, Mikale dropped his shoulders. The idea that Stewart would be so concerned felt good, but the knowledge that he was truly without his love, and he had not even looked at another man since drove hard upon his heart. “I’m scared.” Tears threatened to rise up over his eyelids, “I don’t want anyone else. I only want my Ken.”
“Fair enough, my friend. I will prod no further.” Stewart knew the situation would most likely have to be addressed again but accepted that this was clearly not the time to delve any deeper than they already had. “Let’s just throw on a shirt and go enjoy some dinner.” Stewart felt a sudden rush of excitement. “Can we order pizza again? I have to say I really like pizza.”
“Pizza it is then,” Mikale answered with a half-smile while pulling his fitted graphic t-shirt on. It was a soft cotton shirt that Stewart loved the feel of, and Mikale enjoyed how it made his chest look. Turning to admire his form in the mirror, Mikale half whispered, “Sharing your energy has done wonders for my body.” They both smiled.
“Yes, but do you really need to wear pink undergarments?” Stewart threw out the question as a joke.
“What does it matter? No one is going to see them besides you, anyway.” Mikale laughed back sneakily adjusting his package through his faded blue jeans as he winked his eye.
Chapter IV
Vengeance
Somewhere Off in Time
His eyes were like fire; the memory of the night, which changed everything for her, played out in time with the drunken man sitting across from her as he spit his way through some terrible pick-up line. Eyes, which swam from the abundance of Jack and Coke, were quite nearly identical to the eyes she remembered. She could recall what he looked like, the man in her memories, but couldn’t be sure of his appearance. Like having the words at the tip of her tongue, she struggled to fully pull his features from the deepest places of her thoughts. They were intense, his eyes, scorching with the embers of hate but as hollow as a dead tree rotting upon the earth for many years. This man seated beside her, or is he in front of me, shared many similarities to what she could remember. He was identical in stature to the man in her memory, that perfect sweet spot of not too bulky, not too thin, but this man, inebriated as he was, awkwardly fumbled his drunken words in hopes of winning her affections. In that respect, he had little in common with the man she could recall in form but not by name. Misshaped beard and cheap looking rag-tag clothes, obviously picked up at a trendy shop, gave further evidence of the drunken man’s need to fit in with the “now” crowd. Pathetic really. She interrupted herself with thoughts of pity for the aggressively intoxicated fool. He’s probably not been laid in months. She further mused lifting the vodka tonic to her soft, rose-colored lips, a natural hue of the darkest pink that, when under the right lights—the lights this insane nightclub was providing—would appear red. Made up with only a small amount of drug-store bought facial products, Haley insisted on keeping herself as natural as possible, she sat quietly brushing her long hair over her shoulder while continuing to drink. She hardly needed the assistance of make-up, anyway. Her features were supple and young. Auburn hair and soft brown eyes were perfectly matched with her sun touched skin. She was only 5 foot 2 on a good day, but she always appeared taller because of her strong confident posture. Maybe that’s why nearly every man in the club had made some kind of advance or inappropriate glance at her in the two hours she had been sitting at the bar. It didn’t bother her; in fact, she took it all in as a compliment considering she was celebrating her birthday. What birthday was it again? She had completely forgotten how many years had passed. It had to be a great many though. I guess that’s a good sign. She mused for a moment. It was humorous to see how the different decades had changed the way 20-somethings acted.
Temporarily content with setting her train of thought aside for the moment, Haley shifted her position in the uncomfortable bar stool crossing her right leg over slowly. More than just the drunken man seated near her took notice. She was only 22 when the man from her nightmares raped her, robbing her of her innocence and stealing her life. Not the most pleasant of thoughts but in a roundabout way, she felt thankful for “some” of the events that took place that night. Over the years, she had amassed such power and skill that the old her—the shy girl—would have never accomplished. Though she knew her abilities were a far cry from what true power was, she also felt quite competent in her talents. Her mentor, beautiful and strong, taught her well, and she felt proud to be using what she had learned. What was his fucking name? She berated herself wondering how she could have ever forgotten such a name. He was, after all, the man that changed everything for her. Not that she was really going anywhere. Her youth was wasted on laziness. Sometimes, she felt that her lack of inspiration was worse than the ladies prancing around the formal gathering she had snuck into. Dolled up in their corsets and billowing dresses si
tting at a table with tea, or whatever the hell they were drinking, waiting and praying for the attention of the right gentleman, they were ladies she never fit in with and to be honest they disgusted her. She was determined that this would not be her fate. Destiny obviously agreed. She could remember his smell, the way his lips tasted when they kissed, she could even recall the way his manhood felt as he entered her, but his name—his fucking name—was just not there.
Caught off guard by the brush of the man’s hand across her bare knee, Haley snapped back to the current environment and quickly slapped his hand away. Her memory of the intense gentleman from her past suddenly broke with a realization he was never really very gentleman-like. Rarely had she ever allowed herself to be so easily distracted from what was happening around her; attentiveness was a necessary survival skill when you are an entity living out life cheating death through the clever use of borrowed energy. A tinge of shameful anger welled up in her.
“Whatever in the world gave you the idea that it was okay to touch me?” She leaned in towards the drunken man with anger hidden behind her stern smile of kind rebuke.
“I was saying how beautiful you were and just wanted to get your attention.”
“You have it now but for all the wrong reasons. I would suggest you finish your drink and seek out another less aggravated girl to slobber over.”
He leaned back so far in his bar stool, shocked by her response, that Haley thought he would tumble over backwards. Unfortunately, he did not. That would have been entertaining. As he twisted in his seat away from her and clumsily lifted himself up from it to leave, she noticed a two-inch scar neatly hidden behind his right ear. The same mark Jonathan had. His name blanketed her memory nearly blocking out all else. Jonathan, his name resonated within her. His eyes, the fire-burned eyes of hatred, had pierced her deeply. He was such a handsome man, at least he was right up until the minute he started strangling her. Funny how murder changes your perspective on who’s hot and who’s not. She laughed at the foolishness of her own jest. How had she forgotten his name? His distinct smell was a mixture of masculine musk and aggression; she knew aggression had no real aroma, but if you were to assign it one, he definitely had it. It was equal parts arousal and uneasiness; it was absolutely distracting. His skin seemed perfect: taut to his muscles and dark enough to accentuate every toned line. He was the perfect man for her, at least that is, until she realized he wanted nothing more than to fuck her and kill her.
The flush of her memories reminded her again what his lips felt like against hers. He was certainly skilled at what he did, and she loved it. They had only just met, and times were certainly different then. It was frowned upon to be so publicly engaged in affections, but she couldn’t have cared less. His fingers knew the way beneath her dress and undergarments as though they had been trained to do so. She arched her back as the first one slid in gently. Seizing the moment, he pulled her in tighter to his body. The surrounding crowd nearly gasped audibly. The look on those prancing girls’ faces when she had scored the most handsome man at the gathering was priceless. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she faintly heard one of them call her a “street woman.”
Twisting her head to the side briefly, Haley with bated breath attempted to stop the leaving man and yet not give away her sudden interest in speaking to him.
“Hold up a second,” her voice softened as she called to him. “I have a question.”
He turned back surprised that, somehow, he had her attention again. “What did you say your name was?”
Unable to break herself free of the memory, how soft Jonathan’s finger was as he glided up into her more deeply, Haley found that her arousal and anger were growing. Which one would boil over first, however, she didn’t know, but she was willing to take the chance if for no other reason than to blow off a little steam. After all isn’t that what street women do?
“It’s John,” The drunk hipster wanna-be slurred out his response as he took his seat again next to her.
“Interesting, is that short for Jonathan?” Her question came in time with her own orgasm in memory. It was frustrating to be bouncing back and forth between her past and the present. It felt like both timelines were in sync but being volleyed back and forth. Blurred between the feelings of what it was like to feel such exquisite pleasure and anger for knowing how the monster from her past turned it into a hellish torture of pain and death, Haley tried to focus her attention back on the drunken fool next to her. She felt pretty certain her floating between memory and reality must have appeared as drunkenness to him, and so she dismissed any thoughts that she might appear odd or out of sorts.
“Would you prefer to call me, Jonathan?” His answering a question with a question stirred up something entirely different in Haley. Not only was she feeling arousal and hate, anger and lust, curiosity and maybe a mild buzz from drinking, she was becoming increasingly fascinated with this fool’s way of flirting.
“Well, I guess if it’s the only thing that is short about you, John will do just fine.” Before she could stop herself from speaking the terrible flirtatious line, the words fell from her lips; his smile widened. Maybe those dumb bitches were right, her flustered mind chastised, I guess you really are a street woman.
Audience to Murder
A noticeable rise in body temperature twisted Brennan’s attention to a power that was calling out to him. Beckoning to his anger, it fused itself within his lust for chaos and pulled him from his contemplations. His mind was carried far from the meadow and was intent upon a flurry of heated sexual rage. He could feel where it was coming from and knew what it meant, even though he could not have articulated any form of an explanation if he had been asked to. Though his curiosity was still piqued by the voice of Jason—Was it really him?—he couldn’t help but be ensnared in the fire-storm of dark energy pulling at his corporeal form from within.
“Go.” A word of permission pulsed in his chest. Or was it in his mind? He was unsure. He knew that more than his own energy powered his soul, but what influence it might have or implications that might result from it, he couldn’t comprehend. Changes were happening, some faster than others, and increasingly, he felt like the Brennan he knew, the man he had been proud to be, was no longer there. He was, in form, the same, but his mind and his motives felt alien. Each passing moment, he was becoming stronger, more powerful, but there was a decidedly darker shift to his desires. Setting his concerns aside, almost unwillingly, Brennan allowed his focus to return to the fiendish pulse of dark energy. Fading off easily into the warm air carried on the breeze, he shifted his energy intent on the location, from which the darkness called to him. He was becoming rather skilled at moving between locations in such a small environment as earth. Traveling between destinations on this spinning rock of water and soil was instantaneous, and because of his growing power, it required very little energy. In most circumstances, it was as simple as focusing his attention on the desired location and shifting his form momentarily.
“You shouldn’t go,” his own voice, but softer and more reserved, echoed in his mind, “remember who you are.” The words felt foreign to him but sounded genuine. The dark call, however, was becoming stronger and more urgent; it began to block out every other thought. Existence gave way briefly to the ethereal then, just as quickly, thrust itself back into formed existence as though time itself had paused allowing him to traverse great distances with the blink of an eye. The ripple effect reverberating away from his form drifted away slowly as he caught his breath. Do I really have to breathe? Brennan questioned himself, pondering the idea that he was possibly more energy now than flesh. A question for another time, I suppose. He answered his own thoughts as he contemplated why they felt more his own now than they had before he phased out of the meadow. His jump from the peaceful place into a darkened room seemed to have gone without notice, but the naked flesh writhing heavily upon the muted black, cotton sheets certainly grabbed his attention quickly. The room was small, barely large enough f
or the queen bed and sizeable dresser that occupied it, but the corner he now found himself standing in was just far enough away that the light from the small candles set on the windowsill opposite him could not fully penetrate the darkness and its cover. The aroma of sweating bodies saturated the space, and though it wasn’t a foul scent, it did cause Brennan to pause. Breathing still held a fascination for him; the idea of pulling air into his lungs filled him with a sort of mild satisfaction. The jump had drained him more than he had anticipated, striking him as odd since teleporting was a relatively simple task. Is something else at work here? The thought bothered him, but he shrugged the whole thing off as not recharging enough after the avalanche incident with Mikale. He paused; his mind floated off to his once friend.
“Mikale,” The name rolled off his tongue. He swore it was audible, which frightened him slightly because the couple lustfully entwined on the bed might have heard him. And what IF they heard me? He thought pushing his previous concerns to the side quickly allowing excitement to takes its place.
“Do you have any idea how badly you have hurt him?” The question shot through his other thoughts and musings demanding attention. Without warning, his mind began to feel less like his own again. Dark lust, however, overpowered all of his senses quickly.
Intently watching as the young man thrust himself deeply into the welcoming woman, Brennan smiled. He knew something was about to go horribly wrong for one of them. He wasn’t sure which one would be the bringer of violence, but he knew he would not have been drawn there had it not been for the climactic rage that called out to his hate. Was there no one in Idir that could answer the call to save the soon-to-be fractured soul? His thoughts wandered momentarily again. Which ones were his and which ones were the new him were becoming less decipherable. All of them, though, yielded to his growing angst. There was no discernable origin of his rising of anger, but he knew that it grew in strength daily. At times, he had even given thought to the idea that it might grow to such strength that he would be wholly consumed by it. Either way, scratching the itch felt good; besides, what harm could possibly come from simply watching the violence that would inevitably occur whether he was present or not.