fool's gold {ark and krys} blitz

 k  r  y  s  t  a  l ✶  a  m  b  r  o  s  e  

In another world we could have been friends. In a world where he didn't use the murder of my best friend for his own gain- who forced an addict to put his job on the line (arguably, the only thing that made him happy anymore) to get him stupid drugs. Ark is the worst kind of person- selfish and willing destroy anyone who might stand in his way.

He might also be the only constant in my life for two years now.

But that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

"You are." His voice reminds me of frozen honey, unmistakably pleasant and it pisses me of to no end. Nonetheless I give him a smile, batting my eyelashes and puckering my lips. (Good.) "What do you what?"

For one, I'd like to stop being blackmailed. I'd like to be able to sleep through the night. I'd like to forget all of this ever happened. I want my best friend back.

Ark doesn't care. I bet he doesn't know a damn thing about me. To him, I am a doll. To him, I am yet another toy to be used up and thrown away. That's just how guys like him are.

(I would know, Taylor was just the same.)

"Honestly, I was having a shit night and wanted to make sure you weren't having too much fun." My arms find themselves pressed to my chest, a desperate attempt to shield myself from eyes that I fear might see right through me. "So I hope you weren't planning on fucking anything tonight, babe." (I had a nightmare and I don't want to be alone. So please don't leave me alone.)

 k  r  y  s  t  a  l ✶  a  m  b  r  o  s  e  

He really makes it too easy. Eyes not leaving mine as he downs a glass of bitter poison. "You care that much about my sex life?" My lips curl, slight pout tugging at the corners of my lips. Perhaps I think about Ark too much, perhaps I have a thing for guys that are bound to ruin me- I'm not sure. More than anything I'm hellbent on revenge, if I'm going to be fucking miserable so is he. And I hope I'm getting on his nerves because there is nothing I would love more than to be a thorn in his side, a pain in his ass. I want to make him hate me.

"I tend not to bother with things that won't last more than ten seconds." I know that's a lie. Ark is strong, well-built from years of career training. And honestly, I don't care if what I'm spitting is utter bullshit because that's what I'm best at. Lies fold off of soft lips, expression left blank as I run my eyes down the length of him.

Carefully, I reach out, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. I feel like I'm taunting a dragon, running a finger down prominent collar bones and listening to the music swell behind me. This is what I live for. Adrenaline. Poor life choices and irreversible mistakes. Maybe I don't have to be drunk to get this high, a giddy warm bubbling from somewhere in my stomach.

More, I need more, near pressing my body to his and finding my lips only centimeters away from his ear. "And I hope you treat your guests better than your employees." A smile is stitched to my lips by the time I back away.

The night is not yet ruined, it seems.

 k  r  y  s  t  a  l ✶  a  m  b  r  o  s  e  

I've never told anyone about it. The nights I spent curled up on the floor, pain crawling through poisonless veins, literal agony as I waited for yet another wave of nausea to pass. And it was perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done to this date. Separated myself from sweet temptation- and I've always had such poor impulse control.

More than anything, I wanted to give in. I wanted to stop spilling my guts into the toilet bowl and down the bottle of whiskey I'd sat beside me. (Just in case.) I wanted to overdose- to die right there on the floor. Because even death was better than the pain. I've never been the suicidal sort either, never had the urge to string myself up from the rafters of my apartment complex. It was just that bad, just that painful.

"I don't drink." I give Ark a tight smile, backing up against him to avoid a drunk couple currently sewn to each other's faces. I can't help the way my lip curls, obviously irritated as I blow long hair out of my eyes and wait for their obnoxious giggling to fade. I hate those sorts, drunk hookups are one of the absolute worst experiences I think I've ever had. They're messy and careless. I don't even remember enjoying it, let alone the name of the guys I woke up next to. And yeah, I've never done anything that wasn't a drunk hookup but I imagine it'd be something better than a morning of bruised waists and sore hips. "But I do swallow."

 k  r  y  s  t  a  l ✶  a  m  b  r  o  s  e  

People usually have to be inebriated to deal with me, it's something I try not to take personally. I'm not a sweet guy, both my bite and bark are something nasty and cruel and I always aim to kill. It's so much easier to push people away like that- to bear my thorns so that no one has the chance to get to know the withering thing that I have become, or moreso that I always was. I am really quite weak, downright submissive when you get to the root of it. Probably stems from being used most of my childhood by an asshole I've put on a pedestal.

Taylor really wasn't a great guy.

Sure, I'm fucked up. I seek out the company of guys who won't give a shit about me, hell who might even hurt me simply to avoid any chance of attachment. And it's not that hard to be stronger than something as small as me. (Sometimes I wonder if I stunted my own growth by getting so fucked for so longs; last I measured I was somewhere around five-foot four-inches. Pathetically small. Weak. Not exactly the ideal type in a society who worships strength.)

"You should demonstrate."

I could most certainly do that.

"Point out a guy and I'll make quick work of it, I'm not picky." Another lie.

I look down at the hand on my waist and I swallow the laugh that forms a painful lump in my throat. People usually have to be inebriated to touch me, it's something I try not to take personally.

 k  r  y  s  t  a  l ✶  a  m  b  r  o  s  e  

My heart catches somewhere in the back of my throat when his hand slides down my body- a certain kind of electricity that sets my blood to a not-so unpleasant boil. Shit. He's really drunk. Really, really drunk. And the touch of another feels really fucking good after so long that I cannot help but lean back into him, letting out an annoyed huff that I hope he believes is meant for him.

I know his sort- possessive. I guess I am his for the night and he is not so eager to let me go suck another guy off even though I'm sure it'd be a thorn out of his side to get my whiny ass out of his way but drunk Ark is quite an amusing Ark. Perhaps some part of him wants me as more than an employee. Ah, no that's a ridiculous idea. I must be drunk off this atmosphere.

He presses his lips to my ear, sending icicles down my spine and shit. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to fuck me."

Which means I would win this little game we're playing.

So go right ahead, Ark.

I give him a smile, one stained with sugar and lean my head against his shoulder and it is strong and warm and I don't think I'd have a nightmare if I fell asleep here. But I don't think about that. 

I really don't.

 k  r  y  s  t  a  l ✶  a  m  b  r  o  s  e  

Physical touch is intoxicating, sending shivers down my spine and suddenly I cannot see anything but the tension sewn between us. It's hard to think with this music making its way into my chest; turning my heartbeat into an obnoxious base and it hurts. But I suppose I have lingered so long past my expiration date that even something as simple as human interaction has become twisted and corrupt and treacherous.

Would it be so hard to burn a few fucking bridges? Swallow my pride for once in my life and forgive Ark for taking advantage of me like he did? But what kind of person does that- takes bloodstained palms within their own and promises salvation only at the cost of their freedom. It's not like I could have said no, I wouldn't have survived the detention center. I was too small, too frail. Too easy to look at and see nothing but a withering flower whose petals are meant to be plucked by whoever's thumb and forefinger I might find myself trapped between in the near future.

I can't do it. I can't do it.

I'd rather die alone and in pain- rather die with a bottle once again pressed within my palm to admit that I am so weak. So pitiful. There is something so awful about the prospect of handing myself over completely to fate. Control is all that I have left. It's all that is keeping me going and perhaps it will be the reason a curtain is finally drawn upon this train-wreck of an act.

And I hate him. I hate him so much that I cannot feel a damn thing anymore. There is nothing but his heartbeat and mine. I'm too fucking tired to do this. I'm too fucking hungry and cold and too busy self destructing to worry about bringing another person down with me.

"Fuck it." I mutter, placing long fingers upon his cheeks and forcing his gaze to my own. "Let me stay the night and I'll do anything you want."

And I mean it.