“I am so alone...”
Indeed the boy was...like an angel with broken wings. While his friends and brother were inside, talking and eating, he sat outside upon a grassy knoll, leaning against a tree, watching shards of the blood red sky dancing upon the water. The sun was setting and, were it not for the fact that he was severely depressed at the moment, Marron would've enjoyed the gorgeous view. The sun still peeked over the horizon, kissing the boy’s hip-legnth raven hair with marmalade. As a light breeze swept over him, errant ribbons of hair blew across his face, drying what could’ve been tears. He blinked and could feel more itchy moisture collecting in his startlingly gold eyes. Marron numbly lifted his hand and pulled back the left sleeve of his kimono, exposing a slender, lily-white arm, and the horrid, bloody handiwork on its soft underside. At least twenty gashes, each ranging from a half-inch, to two inches in length, decorated his ivory flesh from elbow to wrist in a strangely intriguing crisscross pattern, like glyphs of his misery. It wasn’t that Marron wanted to die. He just felt so wretched and empty inside.
Something derived from this feeling drove the boy to cutting himself. Perhaps feeling pain, and seeing warm, red blood seeping out of his arm reminded him that he was still young and full of life. However, it didn’t convince him. Ever since that horrific experience two weeks ago, he felt as though he had been robbed of something he could never get back, which was, in a cruel way, true. He undid a clasp on his kimono, reached inside, and retrieved a stiletto. The hilt was red with rubies and the blade was red with blood; his own blood on his own dagger. While the blade was in his left arm, the haft was in his right hand. Marron gave a short gasp as he felt a stinging pain in his arm. He looked down, from his right to his left. In one trembling hand, he clutched the dagger, whose blade now had a wet hint of crimson on its tip, while blood was seeping from a new cut on his arm, making a sharp contrast to his pale skin. Marron stared at the wound for a moment. He wanted to make another, and then more after that, but something inside was holding him back. “No”, that little voice said from deep inside, “hurting myself won’t do any good.....even if it does...make me feel better...” Within the next minute, three more cuts were glistening below the first, and drops of blood were falling from his arm, going plip-plip as they hit the grass.
“Hey, Marron, are you okay?” a familiar voice approaching from behind made Marron jump and he hastily pulled his sleeve down, but it was too late. The muscular blond saw the dagger, wet with fresh blood, in the boy’s right hand, while scarlet blossomed on the white fabric over his left arm. Marron looked up at Gateau, whey-faced. A cold sweat broke over him as they locked stares and wounded gold met stricken blue. As Gateau took a few steps toward the boy and knelt at his side, Marron lowered his eyes in shame, and bowed his magnificent head. Gateau gently took Marron left hand into his, enclosing the delicate appendage with his own strong fingers, and lifted his arm. He carefully pulled the bloodstained sleeve back, just past the elbow, and grimaced when he saw what had become of Marron’s forearm.
“Oh God, Marron...” Gateau breathed. He looked at his friend and used his free hand to tilt the Marron’s head so that he faced him. His sky-blue eyes revealed worry and concern as they bore into the boy’s mind like blunt drills.
“Why?”
That question was small and soft, but it seemed to stab Marron with a blade bigger and sharper than that of his stiletto. Marron closed his eyes to shut out Gateau’s and tear fell on the man’s hand. Without a word, he pulled away, staggered to his feet, and ran blindly back to the tavern, where the group was staying. Marron couldn’t see very well. His vision was blurred by unshed tears and it was nearly nightfall, but he kept running, desperate to escape that heart wrenching gleam in Gateau’s eyes...
Suddenly, Marron collided with something...only to realize it was a someone, for he immediately recognized the shrill cry she emitted. Marron looked up. Less than a foot away from him, stood his red-head team mate, Chocolate Misu, her face flushed and angry, nearly the same shade as her hair.
“What the hell...?!” she shrieked. Marron noted that the contents of the coffee-cup she held in her hand had left their rightful place and now covered her favorite pink shirt. Marron gasped, looking from her coffee-drenched front to her eyes, which had evidence of her fiery temper burning in them.
“Chocolate...I-...I’m sorry-”
“Oh, feck-off, Marron!”
As she turned on her heel and stormed away, the boy could only stare, numb with shock and hurt. He’d made one of the few friends he had angry, and she’d told him off so harshly... Overcome with grief, Marron half-walked, half-ran into the tavern, to his room. He went inside, slamming the door behind him, pulled off his kimono and threw himself on the bed.
Marron shivered, but not because he was cold. It was the middle of the summer and the breezes that crept over him from the open window were warm and gentle. There wasn’t a blemish on the velvety night sky, the full moon glowed serenely from its perch in the firmament. But even the warmth and quietude of the night brought no comfort to the boy who shook feverishly beneath his bed sheet. Though it had happened about two weeks ago, Marron could still feel those calloused palms sliding like sandpaper, over his bare skin. The presence of that steely grip over his throat wouldn’t leave him either. Not to mention that hand roaming around inside his kimono, exploring places it shouldn’t...Marron shuddered and folded his arms protectively over his bare chest. Those horrid memories just wouldn’t fade away. They were as vivid as they had been two weeks ago, and had remained pristine since.
Big Momma had once said that is was the gentle ones who were given the greatest burdens. How right she was. Marron felt his chest heaving as he sobbed, while the memories of his childhood revealed the truth of the diety’s words. He saw a frail five-year-old boy, much too short for his age, and quite underweight, with chin-legnth raven hair, milk-white skin, and soft, golden eyes with a quizzical gleam in them. There were many memories that involved this little one being chased by brawny neighborhood bullies and taking beatings that ran the gamut from punching and kicking to being struck with stones or sticks, and even being forced underwater. All of these instances lacked fighting on the boy’s behalf. Marron had been abused long enough so that he could take take the torture without battling it. After all, he couldn’t. But that had been his childhood. Even now, people were taking advantage of him because he couldn’t and wouldn’t fight back. Marron looked himself over. Two graceful arms connecting to perfect shoulders, a smooth chest, abdomen, and hips that tapered into a perfect hourglass figure, following which were his long, slender legs and dainty feet. This body, barely sixteen years old, had already been invaded and dominated, against its owner’s will. Marron heaved a sob and wept bitter tears as he shuddered in disgust. He looked under the sheet again. Out of the waist of his black britches, (the only article of clothing upon him at the time) protruded the jewel-encrusted hilt of his stiletto. He drew the small knife and extended his left arm. He dragged the sharp blade against a free spot, flinching at the pain. Marron watched as the crimson blood began to brim at the new cut. He was about to make another, when a knock on the door startled him. He hastily sheathed the dagger and put it on the bedside table as the door opened.
“Marron?”, Gateau’s voice called, sounding more timid than usual, “Is it okay if I come in?”
Marron didn’t speak. He remained on his side with his back to Gateau, who, upon not receiving an answer came to the side of the the bed, and set a tray down upon the table. Gateau sat down on the edge of the bed and Marron felt the mattress descend with his weight. For a moment, there was silence, then Gateau spoke.
“Turn over on your other side,” he said quietly “I’d like to take care of that arm.”
After a long pause, Marron did as he was told, and drew the sheets up to his neck. Gateau reached toward the tray he’d brought in, taking from it a bowl and a pitcher. Into the bowl, he poured warm water. Then took a slice of lime and squeezed some juice into the water. He placed the bowl back on the tray, took a kerchief from his pocket, and held out his hand, expectedly. Marron hesitated, then slowly extended his abused arm. Gateau, making sure not to touch any wounds, carefully took hold of Marron’s slender wrist. He dipped the kerchief into the bowl, then dabbed at the cuts. Marron winced as the citrus stung him. Gateau tried to be gentle as he worked his way down Marron’s forearm. Marron let out a small yelp as Gateau blotted the cut he’d just made.
“Ssshhh...easy, easy...” Gateau soothed as he examined the wound. “You've cut yourself again, Marron, “ he stated quietly, “This one is new.”
Marron nodded and lowered his eyes in shame. Gateau sighed.
“Why are you doing this?”
The boy remained silent. There was a long pause, blanketed by thick silence. Gateau placed the kerchief on the tray and then enclosed Marron’s hand in both of his own.
“Marron, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Gateau said quietly, looking down at Marron, who didn’t look up at him, “This abuse, this...atrophy...it has to stop. I don’t know what sort of evil has driven you to do this...”
Marron blinked in surprise as Gateau gently kissed his hand and held it to his face.
“...but you have to fight it. Whether or not you feel the same way about me, understand that I love you, and it hurts me to see you hurting yourself.”
Marron looked up at Gateau, unable to speak. As he was processing these verbal sentiments, the older man tenderly cupped Marron’s face with his hand.
“You’re so beautiful, in every way. How can I allow you to defile yourself? I just can’t. You mean too much too me, Marron-Chan.”
Marron-Chan.
That was it.
The three syllables echoed in Marron’s mind as he felt his emotional crucible boiling over. Marron shrank away from Gateau and turned over on his other side as bittersweet tears that he could not suppress beaded on his eyelashes. Marron sobbed softly into his pillow as he held the sheet tightly to his trembling body. The last time he could recall hearing a truthful voice telling him he was beautiful was when he was a pitiable youngster, being fawned over by his mother. All his life, his been harassed and belabored for his appearance. But somehow, Gateau’s voice possessed the same integrity as that of Marron’s own mother. He couldn’t help but trust it. Marron didn’t make any move to stop Gateau as he carefully pulled the sheet from his body, baring his back and chest. Gateau did his best not to grin moronically as he beheld the object of his deepest fantasies and desires. The moonlight shone bright upon Marron’s pale flesh, making it look like his slender frame was limned in silver. The pearly moonbeams played upon Marron’s silky, jet-black hair, and Gateau swore it looked like a silvery halo encircling his head. Gateau extended his hand and Marron felt the man’s fingertips roaming through his sable tresses, stroking them into place.
“Marron, please confide in me. What are you are afraid of?”
But Marron didn’t answer. All he could do was inhale deeply and sigh as the tears continued to stream. Gateau’s hand moved to Marron’s face, tracing the salty streaks that gleamed with a poignant radiance upon his soft skin. Gateau then proceeded to move downward. As he was caressing the boy’s neck, stroking Marron as though he were a fragile creature, the boy felt little shivers of esctasy racing up and down his body. It felt good. As Gateau's hand moved on yet again, this time gliding over Marron's shoulders and nape, he was filled with elation. In the past, Marron had rejected any and all of Gateau's approaches, but now, he'd done more than let Gateau come up to him, he'd allowed the older man to touch him. Gateau knew that this was a rare gift offered to few, for usually it made Marron uncomfortable when someone else made physical contact with him, so it gave the blond a special feeling.
The man's hand moved lower on its own volition, to the small of Marron's back. As he looked down at Marron's hips, where the waistline of his black britches made a clean contrast to his pale skin, Gateau's fingers itched to undo that drawstring. He used every ounce of resolution he had to harness those cravings. Marron was already being generous, and he didn't want to blow it by moving too fast. There is a time for all things, he reminded himself, and now is not that time. So he resumed rubbing Marron's back until the boy's sobs subsided. He lay still upon the bed, his chest rising and falling with his soft breathing. Gateau still felt there needed to be something more. The cake needed icing, if you will.
Marron was emotionally and mentally exhausted, so he didn't protest when Gateau slid his arms beneath his body and easily lifted the boy into his lap. Gateau wrapped Marron up in a warm embrace which took them both by surprise. Marron had never imagined that this man could hold him in such a way. He'd never thought that these hands, that could easily tear spellbooks in half, could be so gentle, and these arms, hard with muscle, could enfold his fragile frame like wings...Marron had never fathomed the notion that a man as powerful as Gateau could possess such mansuetude...on the other hand, Gateau was expecting Marron to pull away, or at least try to resist, but he didn't. Needless to say, Gateau was pleasantly surprised when Marron rested against him and nuzzled his neck. Although Marron, appeared to be relaxed, his mind was a mess of nervous contemplation; Is there more to Gateau than meets the eye? Can his love for me really be that deep? Is it possible for a guy to love another guy like that? Or rather...is it wrong for a guy to love another guy like that? Marron was too tired to try to answer these questions, so he just laid his head on Gateau's shoulder and closed his eyes contentedly. Gateau then buried his face in the ebony mane before him, his heart full of silent joy. Marron was at ease as he laid in Gateau's arms, feeling the older man planting soft kisses on his forehead...
On that halcyon summer's night, nothing could disturb the two, as a misunderstood youth held a dream in his arms, and tasted and angel.
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