In the Name of Love

A Story by Aixel Syd

A short and sweet little love story

He blinks hard as he allows deathly cold water simply to run over his hands, over soft, nimble fingers, numbing them down completely with its cold sting. He hates the pain just before something goes numb, loses all feeling; he loathes it, despises it, and yet he wants nothing more than to lose contact with everything around, to be unable to feel anymore of this pain, this hurt. That disgusting, stabbing sensation always takes hold of him when he wants it least; when his mind is close to slipping off into unconsciousness; when someone calls him worthless, pathetic, weak, pitiful, even if that someone is just himself.

And yet there's always that one person, that one shining light, that beautiful, delicate angel who reminds him of just how much he's needed, of just how much others would hate it if he'd let all this get to him. He should just be strong, be powerful, overcome this, and soon everything will be alright. She promises him that nearly every day, when his mind rushes to thoughts of sharpened razor blades and open windows leading straight to the ground; of rope tied neatly into a little noose, just perfect for his head to fit through, and for the tender skin of his neck to rest against. She's a true, true angel; a goddess who wants nothing more than his own good, who is even willing to take the mortal wound for him. Anything.

And other times she's like an overbearing mother, and he forgets that she cares for him so very deeply that it's almost unreal. He doesn't recall the kind words, the warm hugs, the soft, gentle kisses on his cheek which remind him that he is loved. She grabs him by the ear and pulls him away; away from those things that he's only dreamed of doing for years, and it makes him so angry, so very angry that he can hardly even contain himself. Sometimes he wants to hurt her, but he knows it's wrong. He knows it's evil.

But once that all simmers down, he remembers that he loves her, and that she loves him. And he wants nothing more than to be with her for all of eternity.

And as he finally cuts off the water and stares at his hands, perfectly clean but still tainted, still soiled, still dirty and filthy, he continues to wonder what he had just done, and a shadow of regret still lingers over him, threatening to completely envelop his entire being. But he jumps back from that guilt, from that regret, as he spots the dark red fluid still on his wrists, and proceeds to lap it up with his tongue as though he were a dog licking the wounds of his owner. It tastes so good, and his mind slips into utter euphoria and bliss as he feels the viscous liquid slip smoothly down his throat.

He takes another look at her as she lay in the corner of the room, completely still and silenced, covered entirely with that beautiful dark red. He loves it so much he can hardly even contain it, and that guilt begins to enclose him once again as he rests his eyes upon her, perhaps for thinking that she is so beautiful, or maybe because he is sad that he must cease conversation with her for a little while. Or maybe it is because of that bone-chilling scream she let out, which he tried so very hard to calm and quench, using only the most compassionate, caring words he could muster.

But all that was gone now, and she was at peace.

"I love you," he whispers.

He looks once more at her and smiles, eyes dancing wildly with ferocious, undiluted joy as he plunges the knife into his own heart.