When I'm With You, I'll Never Be Found

Above my head, there was a tattered flier for some band or another, most likely bad. The ones that spent their advertising money at the local Kinko's most always are. It was odd that this was the foremost thing in my mind, at the time. You'd think I'd be more concerned with the guy laying against my shoulder, his clothes tattered. 1

That wasn't my fault, by the way. I didn't beat him up, and I wasn't the one who. . . well, that's not important, is it? Well, I suppose it is then. 2

He was raped, alright? I'd probably laugh too, if it hadn't been true. If I hadn't seen it all. If I hadn't been left holding onto him when they were done with him. From what I gather, they thought he was a girl. He does look kind of effeminate, doesn't he? If I didn't know better, I'd be saying he had the most kissable looking lips I've ever seen. . . What am I saying? Anyways, what gets me most is that they didn't even slow down when they found out they were wrong. There were six of them, and you'd think one of them might have changed his mind, right? They all took their turn though, and then took another, and two or three at a time, even. 3

I was watching the whole time from around the corner. I couldn't move. I thought about saving him, but I knew I couldn't take all of them, and I wanted to run away but couldn't stop watching.4

A beautiful woman showed up, and I thought it was finally over. She'd break it up, maybe? I didn't see how, but I wasn't exactly thinking clearly. They'd more likely just rape her too, right?5

I was understandably, I think, surprised when she encouraged them, pushed the smallest out of the way, and climbed on top of the boy and began choking him. I was even more surprised when he cried out to her - "MOTHER! PLEASE!" Then she kissed him - on the lips, rather hard. He didn't seem at all surprised or offended by that either. I was pretty shocked on my part. More so when she followed it up by stomping on his face until he was unconscious. The thugs who had been raping him just kind of packed up and left, having finished their fun. 6

She walked off, and I snuck out. I know you're not supposed to move injured folk, really, and I should have gotten him to a hospital, but I wasn't really thinking. I dragged him over to where I had been and propped him up against the wall, and sat down. His head fell against my shoulder, and I stroked his hair, like comforting a child.7

He just wasn't waking up, and as I said. . , he really does have the most - yeah. I kissed him. It couldn't do any harm, right? He was unconscious, and I mean, it wasn't worse than rape, surely.8

Well, evidently, I hadn't read enough fairy tales as a child. The kiss must've did it. Well, seeing as he kissed back, anyways. Hard. I could see why his mother did it, his lips really were great. I felt so filthy, but I kept on kissing, and he kept on giving, his arms curling around my torso.9

His eyes were so blank, though. Like he wasn't even there. His lips moved, and sounds came out but they weren't any kind of words. I knew what he meant though. It was permission. Encouragement. Begging. 10

By the time I realized what I was doing, it was daylight, and it was all done, and he was asleep or unconscious again, clinging tightly to my body. I got up and carried him home to my place, straightening out both of our clothing before I left.11

When I got there, I put him down on my bed. stripped him nude and followed suit. This time just to sleep, I swear. When I woke up that evening, I wasn't so sure that was all that had happened. His head certainly wasn't where I left it, but he was still completely knocked out.12

I left him there, got dressed and left. I needed to be certain of something. Pretty girls passed as I walked down the street, and I took notice. I always had, and I still did, enjoy just looking at the unattainable women. I wasn't the most appealing man on the block. I think my new "room-mate" may have turned a few more heads than I. What I didn't find myself doing was feeling attracted to men I knew were physically appealing. I didn't know whether to feel comforted or disturbed that I wasn't suddenly gay or bisexual, or something. It was confusing, and I felt conflicted.13

His image, those empty eyes, those senseless but seductive sounds - they were all forcing their way into my head. His taste, so sweet and intoxicating. He was driving me mad, in quite a literal sense, I feared. I stumbled back home, my head cradled in my hands. I got to the door, and I opened it, and I was greeted by him, standing there in clothes too big for him.14

For lack of a better word, he looked adorable. He parted his lips, and those noises came out again. Those maddening words. I wanted him. Needed him. Then I took him, and he gave to me. This time he was still expressionless, but he was far from inexpressive. His body told me everything I needed. He was broken and damaged - no longer the boy he was before the scene that made him mine. He needed a caretaker, someone to use him in all the right ways. He wanted me, and he made me want him. Some part of me still knew this wasn't quite real, that the attraction was part of a bigger problem.15

Still, I gave in. I wanted to own him, control him. Still, he controlled me. Those words rang in my ears, those horrible, wonderful words. I still didn't comprehend them, but they made me do everything I did.
It sounded frighteningly insane, but it was true, and I enjoyed all of it. 16

Every day I spent with him, submitting ever further to his madness. I had long since crossed any boundaries of sexuality. There was nothing I hadn't done to him, nothing he hadn't made me do. I was the definite aggressor, but he was in control.17

My former life wasted away. I forgot everything. No one came to check on me, even though I had disappeared from friends and family's view almost instantaneously. Maybe it was part of his spell, the magic by which he enslaved me. Maybe no one really cared.18

It didn't matter to me. I didn't want them, I wanted him. Only him.19

Then one day, they came to take him away from me. So I killed them. I don't know who they are. Just that they wouldn't understand that I loved him so. They wouldn't let me keep him. They tell me he's not alive, that I imagine his passion his vigor. That his heart still beats, but there's nothing going on.20

And I'm supposed to be the insane one. Clearly there needs be some redefining going on here.21

So I have continued to express my love for him. I ravaged him all day and all night, and he wanted every inch. I could tell, because he told me. With those words. Those magic words. The words that held me to him, a thrall of his desire. 22

As we speak, I still hold him. We're taking a bath, and I have a bottle of nice wine that we both drink, I from the bottle, him from my lips. We're soaking, and we have been for a long time. 23

It has to have been days by now, you'd think. I don't care that the water is tepid and brown. The world is always beautiful, and no one can touch us. No one knows where we are. 24

But we're not lost, we're just hiding. I know where we are. . . wait. . . someone tell me. This isn't my home. Not my tub. This water isn't from the tap, but run-off from rain. Is there anybody there? Please tell me where I am. Please wake up, love.25

Where are we? Tell me what we've done! Where have I taken you?26

27

28

Oh, well. It doesn't matter, as long as I die with you.29