Signs of Attachment - Ch. 1

Summary: Having an auditory processing disorder never slowed you down, but it mean you were confined to the Temple when the Clone Wars started. Will the frustration of not understanding people at times make for a rather lonely existence?

Pairing: Obi-Wan/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G (for now)

Warnings: Hard of Hearing Reader, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first Star Wars fic, so have mercy on me. This request was for my friend, Jaime, who gave me all sorts of information and I’m forever indebted to them for it. The timeline is probably very off, but…oh well!

To clarify before we start:

“Text.” Means someone is speaking.

“Text.” Means someone is speaking and signing.

Text, Means someone is signing.

Chapter 1 - Effort

I slid the last tool into place and closed its drawer, the Halls of Healing finally back in order after the last rush of injured Jedi passed through. I thought bitterly about the war that I was barred from, except for the occasional medic deployment to forward operating bases. My saber hung uselessly at my side despite every test I passed to prove my worthiness to the Council.  It’s not that they didn’t have faith in me, they just saw me as a liability, which is probably just as bad. Despite how hard I tried to explain it, they were convinced that I could never be focused enough to be on the front lines. Yet, I passed every test while purposely being fully deafened and even being both deafened and blinded, which was somehow easier than the former.

Being assigned to the Halls of Healing seemed almost harder than combat, considering I had been far better at fighting than healing throughout my entire knighthood. Semi-dangerous solo missions before the wars? The Council saw no problems. A full scale war with plenty of droids as target practice? A big problem, apparently.

I was so consumed in my thoughts that I had barely registered someone, no two someones, or rather their force signatures, entering the Halls.

Swoosh

I didn’t even have a chance to decipher any of what they were saying as their words and voices started to blend together immediately due to their arguing.

“Sop.”

“Yaioyu satowep beeineg doifficultat.”

“Lletat muoe gaorn.”

“No."

“Atnakin, ei doon'tat noeead tolorn beoe heneroe.”

I glanced over at my Droid for help, but its signing was a mess as both voices talked over each other. I eventually stopped looking at it and took a deep, calming breath. I tried to pick apart the voices and focus on one but both faded in and out, making it nearly impossible.

Shove. Scuffle.

“You do…”

“Eeim f—ine”

Slap.

“Yu figelol otan muoe.”

“Ei tolrippead.”

“Muaster, poleasoe tolelol heniem.”

Silence.

“Muaster?”

More silence.

“Muaster…?”

Oh. The closeness of the strongest signature was behind me now, poised and ready to—

Tap.

I turned and faced the two, rather loud, intruders to this calming place. My Droid wasn’t yet in place behind them, so I couldn’t quite get everything but I got enough. I had never gotten quite good at lip reading with Master Plo as a teacher, so he had learned Basic Sign Language to help supplement what was missed in speaking. I relied on my droid to sign to me quite heavily when dealing with patients to understand what was wrong with them, but it was only helpful if one person was speaking at a time. Definitely not whatever this train wreck of a duo was.

“Master?” the spikey-haired Padawan asked, staring straight at me.

“Forgive my Padawan, he toakess atfteer muwy Muasteer,” the older Jedi rolled his eyes, noticeably leaning on his Padawan and clutching his side.

“I do not.”

Feeling another round of arguing bubbling up, I held my palm up, “Both of you stop, please, and start from the top.” My Droid finally stepped in place behind them so I could see the signs over their shoulders.

“We just landed back at the temple, everything was fine—"

“Things are fine,” the Master snapped.

“—and he just collapsed on me. He wouldn’t let me check over him—," the Padawan continued.

“There’s nothing to check, Anakin.”

Ah, yes, the infamous Master Kenobi and his Padawan, Anakin.

“Obviously theroe iss.”

“Eim fignoe.”

“Stop,” I sighed and closed my eyes and opened them after centering myself. “Padawan Skywalker, please leave us.”

“B—”

“Now, please,” I urged, not bothering to give him an explanation. Not that I needed to give him one.

The Padawan made a face of displeasure before bowing to both of us and leaving the room.

“—overreacting—,” Kenobi sighed.

I blinked at him, then glanced at my droid, who filled me in on the whole sentence.

Anakin is overreacting, really.

“Master Kenobi, please sit and take off your tunics and tabards,” I ask and look away, not that it was going to matter because I was going to see him shirtless regardless.

I tried to ignore the broad expanse of his chest, littered with scars and copper hair. My eyes lingered a little too long while raking over and looking for injuries. I was just being thorough.

When I saw the wound that caused this whole ordeal I sucked in a breath quickly. The skin on his side was badly burned and the wound was at least a few days old, so naturally it had infected because he neglected to take care of it.

“It’s infected,” I shook my head almost hurriedly grabbed the large tub of bacta we kept on hand.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” He brushed off my comment, obediently lifting his arm when I nudged it.

“Have you looked at it recently?” I scoffed as I further inspected the wound.

He was silent for a moment, making me look at my droid confused as if I had missed something but the Droid confirmed that I hadn’t.

“Master Kenobi?”

“The less I acknowledged it, the easier it was to manage the pain,” he grumbled back. “And surely, you can call me Obi-Wan, we were in the crèche together.”

“That hardly constitutes a first name basis,” I squinted at him. “I don’t even recall speaking to you. They were troubling times for me, it was easier to keep to myself. Less to…process.”

“Oh, believe me, that message was loud and clear,” Obi-Wan chuckled, making me roll my eyes in an attempt to not focus on the way it lit his face up or brightened his eyes. “I also seem to remember that you were one of the best saber wielders out of all us.”

“A lot of good that did me,” I gestured to the sterile room.

“You still have the honor of humiliating an advanced saber instructor in class while being completely shut off to auditory and optical input.”

A blush rose to my cheeks, “Ho—”

“Every Padawan in the temple knew about it…”

“Well, it couldn’t have been that impressive if it wasn’t enough for the frontlines,” I slipped bitterly.

“They’re not all fun, unfortunately,” he murmured.

“I’m a guardian trapped as a healer, Obi-Wan, anything is better than this.” I took a deep breath, “Anyway, you might feel some discomfort.”

I closed my eyes and hovered my hand over the wound and focused on purging the infection first, feeling it attacking the cells around it as I finally attuned with said infection. I pulled the infection away from his body, pleased when there was no resistance and it begun to trickle away. I tilted my head as I sensed another pain but in his leg, so I investigated without breaking the healing I was already doing. The pain visualized as five red dots, the cause hard to place while my mind was otherwise occupied.

Then, it dawned on me that he was gripping his own leg so tightly as a distraction to the pain in his side that even I could feel it. Blindly, I found his knee and then his hand clenching his thigh. His hand relaxed slightly as mine touched his, allowing my hand to worm under his for him to squeeze instead. With the infection released into the force, I focused on knitting the wound back together. In response, Obi-Wan’s hand squeezed mine even tighter. If I could have sent something calming to him, I would have, but didn’t want to break my concentration when I was almost done. Instead, I let my thumb brush back and forth over his knuckles.

Finally, the wound was completely covered with new skin so I let the force healing trickle away. I blinked my eyes open, a little woozy but nothing I wasn’t used to, especially after a long day of healing.

“—that—pleasant,” I vaguely heard through the humming in my ears. It always took a while for the force to stop thrumming in my head after force healing, only amplified by my condition.

I knitted my brows at him, knowing it was anything but pleasant and then looked over at my droid.

Stars, that was not very pleasant.

“Oh, well, yes I suspect the day it becomes pleasant will be the day that Jedi actually seek out treatment, rather than avoid it,” I stressed the end just for him.

“Sorry, I should have waited until you opened your eyes.”

“It’s fine,” and really it was, I was used to it by now.

“I’m sure it gets tiring having to have a conversation with someone over their shoulder,” I didn’t get to appreciate the sincerity in his eyes because I had to glance at my droid again, only proving his point.

“Well, it was a little hard to learn to lip read growing up with Master Plo…,” my mouth turned up into a smirk, clearly trying not to laugh.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, didn’t hold back and snorted; laughing immediately after, “Sorry, sorry…”

“But, he did learn and teach me BSL, so at least I have something. Even if no one else here knows it, the droid helps. Though, in the field I don’t bring it, so I just tell everyone to shut up at let me work.”

“That’s…unfortunate.”

“It gets taxing, if only because I don’t always catch everything so conversations are hard to carry without the droid. Especially if someone starts talking to me without getting my attention first.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head like he was deep in thought, “Maker knows we learn enough languages here, they should teach BSL, too,” Obi-Wan squeezed my hand, making me realize I’d never actually let go of his hand. Though, with his hand now squeezing mine, I’d have to rip my hand away and to be honest? I didn’t want to.

“I don’t think we have anyone fluent enough to teach besides myself and Master Plo…”

“Hmm, I’d still like to present it to the Council. Someone has to be able to teach it,” he smiled gently.

I had no words to express how grateful even the thought of presenting it to the Council meant to me. So I didn’t speak. Instead, I sent my feelings of gratitude through the force and our joined hands. I took the time to read the genuine twinkle in his eyes as I hadn’t been able to this whole time, and the subtle way his eyebrows relaxed as he realized what I was doing. My eyes drifted lower to the way the corners of his eyes and cheek wrinkled just slightly with the upturn of the corner of his mouth, a subtle smile for me. Lower still, to the coppery mustache and beard on his face, with flecks of gray from the war. Or his Padawan…probably his Padawan. I let my eyes drift over the endearing way his mullet curled just behind his ears and rested against his shoulders.

He was right about one thing; I had taken for granted just looking someone in the eyes as they spoke to me. It was something that was necessary for BSL, and while Master Plo didn’t have the most expressive face, it gave me back a semblance of normalcy to be able to carry on a conversation face to face. It helped bridge the gaps between any words I had missed and ensured I had the whole picture, even going so far as to express words or ideas I was having trouble expressing with speech.

I cleared my throat, realizing I was staring far longer than I should have been, “Sorry, um, here…”

I reluctantly untangled our hands and grabbed the container of bacta, scooping a generous amount on to my fingers. I applied the cool gel to the new, pink, raw skin, which looked far better than the angry, red and purple open wound he had come in with. He jumped at the first contact, whether it was because of the cold or not, I didn’t know, but his sigh of relief after was a good sign.

I wiped my hand of and grabbed a new travel bottle of bacta for him, before pausing and grabbing two more, “Here, try not to lose these…”

He took them gratefully, knowing we normally didn’t give that much to just one Jedi, “Thank you, I—I didn’t lose mine. I gave it to my men, they needed it more.”

His men, his clones, whose health he put above his own.

“I’m not surprised,” I shook my head, “but do try to take care of yourself. They need you to lead them as much as you need them to succeed.”

“Of course, Y/N.”

My brain halted for a moment, my eyes widening slightly. This was the first real conversation I’d had with him and yet he knew my first name without hesitation.

“You shouldn’t be all the surprised, our masters were good friends after all. Master Koon, talked about you a lot with Master Jinn. He just never brought you along, I suppose,” Obi-Wan shrugged.

I hummed, “He was quite protective of me and tried to overwhelm me as little as possible…”

“I wish he had brought you, though. You would have gotten along well with Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan had a far away look in his eyes that I almost missed.

“I’m sorry, about…”

“Nonsense,” Obi-Wan shook his head and smiled. “Now, I should get out of your hair lest my Padawan get into trouble.”

I stepped back to allow him to stand and handed him his discarded clothes from earlier, before turning and giving him privacy.

“Thank you,” he murmured, casually watching the droid out of the corner of his eye as it automatically translated into sign language.

When I turned back around, he was fully dressed again and stowing away the bacta in his belt, “Have a good rest of your day, Obi-Wan.” I bowed my head slightly to him.

“And you, Y/N,” he smiled, waiting for me to meet his eyes.

Thank you, he signed with a small smile adorning his face.

He bowed his head and took a a couple steps backwards and exited the room, offering a wave just before the doors closed behind him. My stomach flipped as I replayed the scene over in my head, realizing he had mimicked the droid in order to sign.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2

Mishti rukho. Abir called out to a rushing mishti who just ran out of the car without giving a damn to the thunderous rain.  Abir ran behind her and finally caught hold of her hand just before her house's door. Abir: No mishti.Not today.U can ignore me about anything, u can avoid me for all my ajeebness.But not this.U have to answer my this question today. Why you said sorry back there?What was that crazy stunt u pulled off back there?Before everyone mishti!u just apologised for something u never did  Mishti,humiliating yourself.  Mishti: Tum cop ho? Hindi serial ki angry young hero ho? Iss society ka security guard ho? To phir mujhr aise kyun pakad ke rakha??  Abir: I'm doing what is right and I dont care if I look like some roadside romeo or some bigshot criminal.Right now I'm doing what a Guy  have to do for his....for someone he cares.1 And I care about you Mishti.Tell me what happened.U are not a person who'll do whats not right.And u know very well it was not right to beg pardon for something u never did. Kuch to baat hain. Areh,If someone told me I did something wrong, i would agree even if I have no idea about it .Because I dont have that much confidence in me.   But Mishti.If everyone, i mean everyone around me starts shouting mishti did something wrong , I wont believe that.Thats just not my mishti. Lips trembling with the rainy shower,Mishti looked upto the guy with reverence."What is this guy made of?How much more he can sweep her off her feet?” Some more tears leaked from her eyes.    Abir could still see those pearls amidst of all the raindrops. Abir:And now you are crying like those abla nari type which clearly shows u also dont agree to ur own action.  So now tell me why u made my mishti do something she wont ever do?  Suddenly there was a thunder and Mishti grasped about their situation .With great inhuman strength she uttered something to get her out of this emotional turmoil.       Mishti: I'm not your mishti.chodo mujhe. Abir: main tumhe pakad kaha rahi hu? Shocked,mishti looked down to find Abir had let her hand go,perhaps long ago. Abir: I never hold onto something which is not mine.areh,I could not even hold onto things that were mine by birth right.    That last line got Mishti go wide eyed.Damn her mouth.What did she just say?How could she made Abir remember all the thing which made him feel less about himself. Then just like that there was a switch in the whole surrounding.    Abir: Why wilI I hold onto u?Tum koi kitkat ka box ho ki pakad ke rakh du? I just wanted to stop u and make sure u are Alright.I wanted u to share ur pain.I knew u were upset that's why I kinda charmed ur driver.umm.dont scold him,oka? Us bechara ka koi galti nehi.U know nobody can easily escape my charm?Haina?  Abir added with a trademark abir smile.    Mishti's face was loosing color by seconds.She can see through that smile now.How many times he did that in his life?How many times he covered his agony under this smile? Oh my God. The guy she knew as a happy soul,whose smile was his most constant thing,how many of those moments were real in his life? Mishti shivered with the thought. Noticing mishti's pale face,Abir hurried her towards her door. Abir: Enough for today angry chorni.Just go and change. U will catch cold in this rate.       Mana ki tum violent ho par aj ka barish tumse bhi zyada violent hain.Jaldi ghar jao.   And with a boyish smile which broke every corner of Mishti's heart,Abir Rajvaans turned around.  Mishti :Sunoo.. Abir turned back and there was the longest seconds of silence Between them. Abir waited some few more moments expecting to hear their customary "kuch nehi,jao" and quirked his eyebrows as if waiting for that sentence only. Gulping down her emotions,Mishti mumbled, "U are totally drenched Abir.Come inside hurriedly.You can catch a cold too." As soon as Abir opened his mouth to deny Mishti gave him the LOOK. Mishti:Maine puch nehi rahi hu,bata rahi hu.Jaldi aao. Abir meekly followed his angry chorni knowing very well her violent avatar. Changed into a kurta-pajama of bade papa,abir came out of the bathroom to find Mishti in kitchen and approached her. Hearing the footstep mishti turned back and scowled immediately. Mishti: Abir.I told u to dry yourself unless u wanna get a damn cold. Are u a kid?Cant u even dry ur hair? With a stern voice she added,"Just go back and get a fresh towel from the cabinet and get rid of the damp..... " Abir:Jaa raha hu meri ma and raced back to the bathroom,too afraid of her scolding.  1 After some minutes,abir came  to the kitchen massaging his head way too vigorously with towel  to ensure it was clean of any dampness and found mishti pouring hot chocolate in two mugs. "She is just like a flower." Thought an enthralled Abir.  "Fresh,Newly bloomed,full of purity,few dew drops here and there...wait a minute.drops!water!” Abir looked closer to find out water dripping from her long hair wetting her changed new dress again .  Exasperated,Abir exclaimed loudly," mishtiiii!",grabbed her close and  started wiping her hair,the towel of his hand in action again.   Startled out of her wit,Mishti's hold on the mug's rim tightened.This sudden invasion of her man in her very personal territory shook something inside her.     Totally unaware of her condition,Abir went on ranting. Abir: What's this Mishti?U have been getting so hyper over my condition,what about u?Why u are always taking care of others?Take care of u too sometime.Whats all this ruthless behaviour?Jumping into fire,going inside a soon to be explosive car,fighting the goons even before guns.Pagal ho kya?Aur aab?now u are even doing things against ur own character.Maafi mangne chali gayi?aur kunal ko thikse jawab tak nehi de rahi ho,woh bhale bure kuch bhi keh de.areh Tum to apni courtship ka waqt mein bhi itni meek nehi thi.kyun kar rahi ho aisi harkate?kyu khudko vul rahi ho? Mishti:Tumhara liye. Abir almost missed that soft whisper with his continuous rant but one soft touch of mishti's hand on his hand stalled him. Mishti loooked into his eyes and replied firmly again, "Because of you.I'm doing everything Mishti never did because of you. Because of you I said that sorry.I wanted to apologise to your mother and keep ur brother satisfied with that.I dont care if its kunal,munal or joynal.I dont care whom I'm bending to.I dont care if its related to kuhu,barsa aunty,bade ma or anyone of the world.Areh,I was not even interested in the whole kuku rishta.I just helped them coz u thought they are good together. I only care because its related to u.I needed to ease the tension with your family.I didnt want u to feel bad about ur family member's plight due to this party or worse,I dont want you to fight for me against them.  I know u are very much capable of that.I know MY ABIR that much. Abir's eyes sparkled at that. Mishti: kyunki baat tumhara hai Abir.jabtak baat tumhara hoga,maine aise hi aag main,dariyo main kya toofan main jump karne wali ho.Tumhara violent Mishti hoo na?Mujhe bhi dekhna,kaise meri samne se tumhe kisi cheej se chot poucha ta hain. Because of you I can do anything  as I know u can do way much more beacuse of me. Abir kyunki baat jab hamara hota hain,tab hum dono bas samne wale ko bare main soochta hoon.Now dont u even think of denying that.Its a fact. Well established one actually.  Watching Abir gone mute,Mishti smiled a little and offered him the hot chocolate. Abir took the mug,drank it,took his bag of wet clothes and rushed out.Just as he stepped on the thershold of Maheswari sadan,Mishti gripped his hand and said, Mishti: Areh,ajeeb rajvaansh.Take the umbrella this time.wanna get drenched again? As Abir tilt his head towards her,Mishti was blown away by the vulnerable look on his face.He looked like he could crumble down anytime.    The shayeer in him couldn’t do Justice to the storm of emotions  inside his heart. Believe it or not,Abir was never a greedy child.He learnt to share,to let go,to get even neglected since the very begining of his childhood.He knew he cant have the world at his service. He had been bereft of everything over and over that it doesn’t even surprise him anymore.    All the time he had been asking his silly questions to mishti,it was just to get a signal.Something which allows him to the way of her heart.Something which ensure him that perhaps this time he can get something instead of nothing at all.     He wasnt expecting something way out of ordinary from the girl who is anything but ordinary.Abir just wanted a drop of her affection,he just wanted her to acknowledge his presence in her life,he just wanted to bask in her sunshine like warmth,he wanted to be a part of her soothing aura,he just wanted to get a space beside this shiny star of universe named Mishti. But instead,she just declared him her universe. With all the adoration of the world,Mishti crooned in a thick voice, "Abir!” And the dam broke.     Abir Rajvaansh,not the happy go lucky guy abir but the 7 years old lonely,abandoned,ignored and forgotten boy named abir fiercely hugged his precious and burst into tears.Tears of years of longing,tears of separation,tears of all the blame-lie-betrayal game,tears of gratitude,tears of hope.   1 Tomorrow he will scold mishti about all the self destructive proclamations she uttered few moment before.  Tomorrow he will make sure nobody dare change his mishti.  Tomorrow he will make hundreds of poetry and  woo mishti. Tomorrow he will hold her hand and let his heart bare before her.+ Tomorrow he will put his life on her mercy.     But,today the banjaara just cried in his home... ItsFlora

http://jodifiction.blogspot.com/2020/08/mishbir-os-wajah-tum-ho-yeh-rishtey.html

#TheKingOfPain 1983. CBGB, New York City, Sometime after midnight ||

I had walked the streets for an hour or so, my long legs taking the snow-wet pavement in stride. The whole city was lit up for the holidays, but the streets were full of dirty slush, and the cold sank into my bones.

Humph. Holidays. Bah humbug. If it weren’t for all the decorations, I’d never have known Christmas was so near at hand. I had nothing to celebrate, and every holly jolly song rang hollow in my ears. “I’ll be home for Christmas.” Yeah...fuck you, Perry Como. Just fuck you.

When I was human, Christmas had been a religious festival, a simple and small affair designed to make the worshipper feel humbled by God’s mercy. Now, however, the United States had turned the holiday into a commercial extravaganza, and every television show was designed to make people feel a nostalgia for “the good old days” at home with the family. That was a feeling I knew I’d never experience, and it set my teeth on edge.

Earlier in the evening, people were still rushing about getting last minute gifts, but as the evening stretched on during this, the darkest night of the year, the traffic thinned, leaving the streets to the lonely, the drunk, the depressed...the ones like me who had no reason to wish anyone a merry anything. All I...all any of us wanted was to find forgetfulness and a place where no one expected us to ho-ho-ho.

It was hard not to let the open maw of despair swallow me whole and leave nothing but hollow bones behind.

As for emptiness, I had that in abundance. Not just in an emotional way, but literally. Physically.

I realized I hadn’t had so much as a drop of blood since Damon left. It hadn’t occurred to me, but as I stood there outside of CBGB, watching the taxis hurry by along the Bowery, I suddenly felt the ache of hunger so fiercely I clutched my stomach, and my eye teeth slid down, cutting into my bottom lip. I desperately needed to feed, and I knew I didn’t have the luxury of patiently hunting down the perfect victim. Three days without drugs, booze, sex, or drugs. This wasn’t going to be pretty, and I was pretty sure I’d be filled with regret afterward, but I was too far gone to let my conscience stop me from finding what I needed. Someone was going to have their last Christmas, and it was going to be me who delivered them to their maker.

The inside of the bar was dark, and though the crowd was thinner than usual, I recognized some of the regulars. Damon had been coming here for years, tapping the veins of the youthful patrons and then wiping their memories of the event. It was convenient snacking, but it wasn’t going to slake the thirst I felt.

I remembered the stories Damon had told me of his brother Stefan. Of how he’d been a ripper, leaving bodies arranged with an artful and macabre flair for the dramatic. That wasn’t my style. I hadn’t committed a proper ritualized killing in a very long time. Oh, sure, Damon and I had killed. Even done it for sport. But the art of it...I’d given that up. Being with him had rendered my need for serial murder unnecessary. Whether or not Damon knew I had abandoned my murderous ticks, I couldn’t say. I hadn’t drawn his attention to it for fear he might ridicule me or take it as a sign of a softening in me. I wasn’t ready to be soft with Damon. The two of us together had edges that could slice a man in half. He had admired my savagery once, and I hated to change for fear he would find me boring.

The Police had been on the rise all year, making several appearances, not just here, but worldwide. Initially, I had found the fact that they heralded from England reason to filled with hate, but Damon had told me to shut up and listen. Had said their lyrics would appeal to my poetic soul. He’d been right, of course. Damon knew me. Their songs spoke to me, and as a result, I was willing to forgive and ignore their nationality. They were here, playing one more night before they left for Europe. Each song was one I had heard a thousand times before, but there was still something about them that resonated with me, and I found myself caught up as the first song of the set began.

“Once that you've decided on a killing

First you make a stone of your heart And if you find that your hands are still willing Then you can turn a murder into art…”

Ironic, really, those lyrics. Almost as if they’d seen right through to the center of me and knew why I was there, the monster lurking among his prey.

I couldn’t belly up to the bar. I’d promised, and though I begrudged that promise, I intended to stick to it all the same.

That’s why instead, I stepped out on the dance floor, letting the swarms of die hard music lovers, stinking of cheap beer and marijuana, surround me. The neon lights flashed, and I moved with them in a kinetic way, letting my inhibitions slip away and becoming one with the music.

“Now if you have a taste for this experience If you're flushed with your very first success Then you must try a twosome or a threesome You'll find your conscience bothers you much less

Because murder is like anything you take to It's a habit-forming need for more and more You can bump off every member of your family And anybody else you find a bore…”

The heat in the room rose as all those bodies moved en masse, and I closed my eyes, singing along with the chorus, the words speaking the truth only I knew. It was my confession, though no one else would realize my sardonic intent as I crooned the lyrics in a sort of mesmeric haze, lost in the moment. The drums echoed the heartbeats of a hundred potential victims, and I let it move through me, arms waving over my head with abandon.

“Because it's murder by numbers, one, two, three It's as easy to learn as your ABC Murder by numbers, one, two, three It's as easy to learn as your A, B, C, D, E”

Repeating the words again and again, emotion ringing in every line, I kept dancing until I felt a tap on my shoulder, gentle but insistent. The guitar was still strumming as I turned, the words still on my tongue, and I found myself face to face with the one person I’d desperately hoped to avoid.

My dealer. Mitch.

He was looking at me as though I was his Christmas gift come true. Tonight must have been slow for him, and he was hoping meeting up with me would make up for sales he thought he’d lost.

For once, I wasn’t looking for what he had on offer, but as he began trying to make small talk, he made the mistake of asking after Damon, and the question ran through me with a jolt of pain worse than any gunshot wound I’d ever suffered. In that moment, I knew what was going to happen.

“He’s out of town,” I said, allowing him to see the briefest glimpse of sadness before leaning in as though whispering conspiratorially. “I’m looking for a little something. Maybe you can help me out.”

“Yeah sure, man. Of course. You know I’ve always got what you need.”

His supercilious smile nearly made me growl, though I’m sure he couldn’t have heard me over the din in the place. It was all I could do to keep the monster in me caged. Resisting the urge to bury my fist in the center of his smug face and splatter brain matter over the dance floor, I smiled back. Only his greed kept him from recognizing the deadly intent in my expression.

“Not here,” I said. “In private. I’ve got something special to give you. For old times sake.”

“Christmas present?” he asked, and he laughed as though he’d made the funniest joke of the year.

“Something like that,” I replied, turning on the charm and giving him the same smoldering look I’d used with a thousand other meaningless one night stands before I’d met Damon. Lip curled in a crooked smile, I stepped a half step closer and palmed the front of his jeans, never taking my eyes off his.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

I saw his expression change from one of startled disbelief to a flame of a lust he’d never have admitted out loud. He licked his lips, and a bead of sweat broke out on his forehead as he nodded in acknowledgement, and even over the music I could hear his breath catch.

“A-alternate payment, maybe?” There was a nervous squeak in his voice, his eyes open wide in anticipation.

“Sure. You could call it that,” I said, grinning and reaching to put an arm over his shoulder as though we were best buddies.

That was how he let me lead him away to one of the private VIP booths. The curtains closed around us, hiding us from view, and I dropped down onto the couch, my fingers tugging at his shirt to pull him close into a kiss.

It was the last thing I wanted, but seduction would let me get closer than any other approach, and goddammit I needed to slake my thirst with this asshole’s blood.

He leaned into me and kissed me back, his hand fumbling awkwardly with my collar. My fangs cut his tongue, and he pulled back with surprise, staring in confusion.

“You’re fine,” I said, catching his gaze and exerting my influence on his mind. “You want me to suck your cock, don’t you? You can admit it. Everyone does. Even women. They wish they had one so I could drop to my knees and suck it.”

Panting, he nodded.

My gaze turned to steel, the smile becoming something much more sinister as I commanded. “Drop your pants. Now.”

I doubt he’d ever moved so fast in his life. In seconds, his jeans were down around his ankles.

With a dark laugh that became something of a growl, I rose to my feet again, still gripping the front of his shirt, and in one fluid motion I turned and shoved him down onto the couch where I’d just been sitting.

“Sit there, Mitch. You’re going to get what’s coming to you. Don’t move. Don’t scream. Don’t speak. In fact, I don’t want to hear a sound from you. Just shut up and take it.” I could have taken away his fear before I bared my fangs. I could have made certain he didn’t feel the pain of what I was doing to him. But I didn’t. I wanted him to feel all of it.

Because of him, I’d been high more times than I could count. That was part of why Damon had left. I didn’t have any respite from the pain of that, and therefore, I didn’t have any mercy on Mitch either.

My favorite sweet spot to drink from wasn’t the neck. No. I prefered something much more salacious. Tapping the vein high on the inner thigh, especially when a man’s cock was hard...there was nothing better than that.

I dropped to my knees in front of him, guaranteeing that anyone who chanced to peek a head behind the curtains would step right out again, assuming they’d walked in on us en flagrante delicto, in an amorous moment. Nothing could be further from the truth for either of us. No sexual pleasure would be derived from the experience either for him or for me, but I wanted to be absolutely sure we were undisturbed.

My lips curled up and I could see the horror in his eyes as realization hit. He knew in that moment he wasn’t going to get what he’d expected, and the terror in his look gave me a thrill. I clasped his cock in my hand, knowing he couldn’t help the reaction my touch would cause. More blood rushing south. Just like I liked it.

One more malicious laugh, and then I snarled, “Goodbye, Mitch,” before I tore into the vein at his groin, blood spurting into my mouth like a fountain, making me moan with delight.

He did as I’d commanded. Sat silent and still as I drained him dry. I heard the moment his heart gave a flutter and died.

I let go of him then and sat back on my haunches to look at my handiwork.

He was so still and pale, he looked almost as though he were sleeping. Yet the way he was sitting was clearly lascivious and lurid, the bite mark high and intimate on his thigh, pants at his ankles. The monster in me reveled in leaving him just like that for someone to find. Let them explain that to the cops.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, I pulled out his wallet and snagged the cash there. Nearly three hundred and fifty dollars. “You won’t mind if I take this, will you, Mitch? Hmm? For old time’s sake. Merry Christmas.”

With that, I stood, tossed the empty wallet into his lap and wiped my lips with my pocket handkerchief.

The music swelled outside the curtains, and I left him there in that darkened corner, making my way back out of the bar onto the street. Only when I was back in the apartment did I realize I’d left behind his stash of drugs. Maybe old habits could change after all. 

Tossing my jacket onto a chair, I sat down at the kitchen table, resisting the urge to crack open a beer. The place was so empty and cold. I’d forgotten to turn on the heat in spite of the winter chill and snow outside. But having been inside the warmth of the bar had reminded me what I was missing.

Damn you, Damon. Damn you all to hell.

Except I didn’t want that at all. I missed him more than ever.

Now that I’d satisfied my hunger, I had the strength to truly feel the loss of him. I wanted so badly to call him. There was no point, though. I didn’t even know if he’d be in, anyway. Yet sitting there alone was a torture.

There was so much I wanted to say to him. Needed to say.

Dammit. He should be here. All I wanted was to bury my head on his chest and hold him close. We didn’t even have to fuck. I just wanted the intimacy we shared. The quiet acceptance that went unspoken between us. Or at least it had.

I clenched my jaw, muttering curses under my breath. My vision swam, and I swiped at my eyes impatiently with the back of my hand.

Sniffing, I cursed again, then got that notebook again, scrawling off another letter with anguish and sadness overwhelming me, and as a result my words were far more raw than I’d have ever let myself reveal.

“Dear Damon,

Come home to me. I need you. I miss you. Dammit, it’s Christmas. Wherever you are, come back. I’m dangerous without you.

I’ve followed your request to the letter. I haven’t given in to my addictions. God, I wanted to, but I didn’t. I’ve even made sure my easy access has been cut off for good.

Now that I’m sober, all those feelings I repressed are rushing in on me, though. I’m such a fucking mess, Damon….”

My hand paused, pen in hand, and I stared down at the page. I was on the verge of admitting the depth of my feeling for him, but as I sat there I realized the futility of such a confession. He knew I still harbored feelings for Jasper. I’d told him as much long ago. What I felt for Damon wasn’t the same as that kind of emotion. It wasn’t the love at first sight sort of thing. But still, it was love, and deep nonetheless. My love for Damon was something I couldn’t lie about to myself, but using that word to describe my need for him was an exercise in futility. How many times had he told me he couldn’t love? Not anymore. I’d seen the picture he still carried of Antonio, and it was obvious that I was never going to mean that much to Damon. Still...no. I had to cut off that little voice of hope at the root. Letting myself want what I couldn’t have...well...that was Jasper all over again, wasn’t it?

I was also filled with the urge to confess what I’d done to Mitch. There was a time when he and I would have laughed at the poetic justice of the way I’d left his corpse. But now I wasn’t sure he’d see the humor in it. Truth be told, my guilty conscience was already starting to eat at me in spite of all my bravado and certainty that Mitch had earned that death. Conscience. I hadn’t missed feeling that. What kind of sick monster feels pity for an asshole like that?

I sighed, then began writing again, cutting my words short in order to keep myself from saying things I knew I shouldn’t.

“Just come home. I need your body next to mine. I miss your scent and the sound of your voice and the way you touch me in the dark. I miss your smile and those blue eyes of yours. I miss the way your hair falls across your pillow. I even miss that goddamned new British invasion music of yours. Come home, and I will never complain about it again.

Come home before New Years. I want someone to kiss at midnight.

Yours,

G.”

I tore the pages from my notebook and folded them carefully, then stuffed the letter inside a Christmas card I’d bought when I’d thought he was going to be here. I still had his gift tucked away in my rucksack, and if...when he came home, I’d give it to him.

Dawn was creeping at the horizon as I made my way to the mailbox again, and this time, I didn’t feel any worry about sending it on its way. || #KingOfPain