When it all comes down to it, I suppose the obvious conclusion to draw is that I am the one to blame. It would not be exaggerating to say that I have a lot on my conscience, a lot of lives, or rather, deaths. But nothing has been quite so heavy to bear as the burden of the knowledge of what I did to Reno, what consequences sparked because of what I did to him.

I just couldn’t stop. He was like a drug. With all the streaks of pleasure, escapism and fleeting euphoria. And with all the ensuing nightmares and fanatic addiction. But it would be more correct to say that I got the nightmares, he became the fanatic addict. Maybe the needle wasn’t sharp enough to puncture my skin, or his, it never got to the vein. As long as it was only us, there would be nothing but scored flesh, just scraping the protective layers. An obscure existence, numb but secure, just enough pain to feel alive.

I should have recognised that wild spark in his eyes the first time I saw him. Sometimes I think his only crime was his desperate desire to be loved. By anyone, even someone like me. And realizing that makes me even more ashamed for what I did to him.

*****

The boy leaning against the bar looked as if he was too young to be on the premises. I watched him through a haze of smoke, stabbing out my cigarette to light a new one. He was not eighteen, maybe close, but he still had a year or two to go.

He shouldn’t have been there. It wasn’t only his age, but his appearance alone should have been enough to have the owner personally come down to give him a hard kick out the door. Slum trash, no doubt. I knew his kind well, or so I told myself.

He wore a tight t-shirt, almost to small even for his skinny frame. A pair of jeans and military boots. Not at all what the dress code prescribed.

He was there for business, and dressed for it as well.

I remember wondering how Shinra would feel about kids from the slums turning tricks in the fancy restaurants topside. It could have been a perfect time to remind the owner of the place that certain activities had to be restrained to certain places, with license for it. And what the fine for operating without one of said licenses was.

But I got distracted. Or maybe I just thought that I could get something more out of this than a slap on the back from Shinra.

I held him steady in my gaze. He wasn’t looking but I was certain that he knew I was watching him.

His lips twisted slightly, but he hid it by sipping from the bottle in his hand. I expected him to come over to my table any second now.

But instead he leaned back against the bar, taking another sip, sucking slightly at the tip of the bottle before putting it down next to him. He flicked his red hair out of his eyes, his blue gaze wandered over me, as if looking at someone far behind me. Then he lowered his eyes, looking straight into mine and gave a quick smile before looking away.

“May I have the check, please,” I stopped a waiter rushing by.

“Of course, sir.”

In the corner of my eye I saw the redhead squirm into his worn leather jacket. With one last glance at me he strolled out of the restaurant, hands deep in his pockets.

The waiter returned with my check and I put some bills on the table. I usually pay with a card, but cash always come in handy when you don’t want to delay your stay any further than necessary. As I left I slipped my shades on.

He was waiting outside, just around the corner, smoking. Something about it reminded me of a kid, smoking in secret where his mother can’t find him. As I approached him he used a copy of the smile I’d seen at the bar.

“Let’s go,” I said. He didn’t move.

“Don’t you want to know the price?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I stalked off, hearing him follow me. I guess I lost some advantage there already. If he’d told me his price I could have bargained, or just settled with it. But now he knew that I didn’t care, and he could charge me as much as he liked. Frankly though, I didn’t care.

He looked like the kind of kid that would start smart mouthing at the first given, or taken, chance. But he kept his mouth shut. Experience, I assumed.

“Nice car,” he commented as I unlocked it and opened the door.

I shrugged. It was nice, though. A week old from Shinra’s factories.

We got in and again, I felt his gaze on me. “What do you want?” he asked, but I had no doubt he’d already figured it out for himself. This was just a part of his show.

“Not here.” I started the engine.

“Alright.” He tried to play it cool but I could see that my request had made him uncertain.

“My place,” I said.

“Uh-uh, I don’t do that.”

For a moment I considered kicking him out of my car, wondering if this would be worth the hassle.

“I know a place,” he said when he saw my doubt.

“Fine,” I shrugged, “where to?”

“Wall Market.”

*****

The girl in the reception of the inn seemed to know him, she handed him a key and a smile.

I followed him through a corridor dimmed with smoke. A red, stained carpet covered the squeaking wooden floor, peeling off in the corners. Outside one of the rooms laid a pile of dirty sheets that the maid had yet to attend to.

We stopped by a door with a sign saying ‘room 21.’ It unlocked with a tired click as he put the key in and jigged it about for half a second. The kind of lock that took some knowing to get it to open.

“So,” he said, once inside, “I’ll need cash upfront.” He stopped and looked at me as if to size me up, to see what it would be worth.

I put down 3000 gil on the small table next to the chair in the room. “That will cover it?” I asked.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the money, but he just shrugged and started taking off his jacket. “Sure.”

It was getting dark outside, only the light of a back alley street lamp streaming in through the window. He didn’t turn the light on, and neither did I.

His t-shirt fell to the floor. I watched him as I sat down in the cushion covered wicker chair by the window. Slowly he walked over to me, standing between my legs. I put my hands on his jeans clad hips and pulled him closer, kissing the cold skin stretching over his abdominal muscles. His hand reached up into my hair, brushing it gently behind my ear. He shivered slightly as my breath grazed over his skin.

When I pulled away he fell down to his knees, looking up at me, that smile twisting his lips again. He was about to say something when I put my finger to his lips.

“Shh, don’t speak,” I ordered, my voice nearly cracking.

His fingers where cold as they touched my stomach when he fumbled with my belt buckle. But his mouth was so wonderfully warm when it closed around my length. My head tipped back and I closed my eyes. I’d probably never have noticed that he’d rolled on a condom with his teeth and lips if I had not looked down later and seen that my cock had suddenly turned neon green.

Someone had trained this boy well.

I reached out and tangled my fingers in his fierce red hair. A contradictory confusion of softness and stiff hair gel. I let go and traced my fingers down his scarred cheek as his head moved up and down my length. He was marked, probably by whoever claimed him as their own property. I tried to remember if I’d ever heard of any pimp who marked his whores with twin slashes under the eyes.

But every thought got harder to hold onto, evaporating into nothingness before it could take on it’s complete form.

I took a handful of hair and yanked his head back before he could push me too far.

He stayed on his knees as he started pulling off my shoes, my socks, only rising slightly to pull off my trousers, then boxers. My shirt was already unbuttoned, but I couldn’t remember when he’d done that, and he pushed it down off my shoulders.

I reached out and took his mouth. If it made him uncomfortable he didn’t show it.

“Lie down on the bed,” I whispered, and he obeyed.

“Bedside table,” he said, pointing over his head, “lube.”

Briefly I cast my eyes in the direction he pointed. “Ssh,” I said, “I just want to watch you for a while.”

I touched the marble skin. Others had left their marks on him. Bruises, all shapes and colours. The shadow of someone’s fingers was still on him. I placed my hand over it, wanting to see what they had seen. I held it there, just like someone else had done before me, and I wondered if he relived that moment like I did.

Cigarette burns, mostly on his arm, but I saw two on his neck, just below the ear, as I pushed his hair away. I didn’t need to touch them to relive the burning pain and smell of burnt flesh.

A jigsaw of faded scars mixed with coagulated blood on the pale arm. He was right handed, not a guess, just cold fact.

His body tensed as I started tugging off the jeans.

I watched for a little longer as he lay naked before me, then I reached over to the bedside table.

The red tube made me quirk a brow. ‘Scented and flavoured,’ the label read. Just as I was about to open it he reached up and took it out of my hand.

“Not that one,” he said. “Makes my farts smell like strawberry for days, so I only use it for the other hole. There is another tube on the table.”

Something was broken. The air was thicker than before. I sat back, suddenly feeling very naked. Thoughts were getting harder to grasp, getting stuck in a mushy grey. Too many thoughts, with too many feelings hooked to them. Not the pleasant confusion of euphoria. It was something else.

“I told you not to speak,” I mumbled, but my voice was distant, I could barely hear it myself.

The darkness was thick, like the air. Like the sticky moist he squeezed into my open palm. I watched it, I watched him, the only thing in the room the darkness hadn’t swallowed.

“You’re not hard,” I commented, looking down on his soft cock.

He sighed. “Look, you haven’t paid for all night, so we should probably…”

I shook my head, not negating, just trying to get my thoughts back, to fill my mind again.

He peered up at me. “You’re not on something, are you?”

“No,” I shook my head again, “no.”

The cold substance sipped between my fingers and I noticed that my hand had curled into a fist. It dripped onto his stomach, and he flinched as the colourless fluid hit the skin.

I continued staring. My strange behaviour seemed to make him uncomfortable. I didn’t want that, but somehow I just couldn’t pull myself together. I wished I had his scars and bruises. I wanted the pain. I wanted to feel again.

“Do you know what it is like to kill someone?” I asked suddenly, my voice still distant. I wasn’t even sure if it was my voice anymore.

I could feel his thigh against mine. He was laying on his back on the bed, and I sat next to him. Our thighs rubbed together on the small bed. I hadn’t noticed before. It was very cold.

“No,” he’d disappeared into the darkness now, only his voice and thigh was still there.

“Have you ever wondered what it is like?”

Silence, the touch was gone. For a moment I thought he’d slipped away. Then the touch was back.

“Haven’t everyone?”

“Why?”

“I guess some things are enjoyable to destroy,” he said.

“But what if you destroy what you don’t mean to destroy. What if you enjoy destroying so much, that you destroy what you enjoy, what you love.” I didn’t know I wasn’t making any sense. It was so clear to me.

“Look,” he was closer to me now, I could feel his breath on my face, “I don’t know what kind of game you want to play.”

I blinked, and the darkness slowly faded. Once again the street lamp gave light to the room.

“No games,” I said, with a voice that sounded more like my own.

“Ok,” he smiled, his hand circling my cock, applying a generous layer of lubrication.

I held his head hard as I kissed him. I felt him trying to pull away, and I felt him giving up.

“What’s your name?” I pushed him down again.

“Make one up,” he offered before his mouth was caught in mine again.

“Rufus,” I breathed, “you are Rufus.” I parted his legs.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “I want to know so I can scream it.”

I pressed my thumb into one of the bruises on his arm, and he choked back a surprised yelp. “That’s not what he would say,” I said, looking down on the redhead with disgust. “He’d never say that.”

He grunted as I pushed into him. Other than that he stayed silent until I was finished.

And this is where it all started.