Warning: Language.

Disclaimer: I own everything about this story that can be owned.

AN: Just a little something new.


You've spent an average of years wrapped up in nothing but confusion. An uncertainty of something always swirled around your sexuality, your career, and your love life. You lived in a bubble of confusion and after a while, you just began to accept it. You accepted the suspicions of cheating lovers, not minding to look the other way; in some instances, you felt you enjoyed the heartbreak. It made you feel alive; it made that small part inside of you that died so long ago shiver with something other then fear. You accepted anything that came your way; bowing to whatever wish that was commanded while you waited for that pinprick of something that would make everything stop spinning.

Why try to make sense of the things that make your little bubble of life work?

Then he came along, his tan skinned body throwing yet another wrench into the confusion that was your life as he lived around you, every movement taking your feeble breath away as you watched. He seemed so perfect. He seemed to be the one thing that would make you step out of your self-imposed hell.

He would become your world because you just knew he would make you make sense.

So you fell in love.

Four years, five months, and three weeks later, his hand was finally being held by yours and your world finally stopped the off-kilter spinning you had become so accustomed to.

It was supposed to be that moment, that incredible instant when everything around you and everyone inside your fucked up world began to make sense. You could almost go as far as to say that it would be so right simply because it would feel so fucking good.

It did and for once, for one beautiful moment, your world wasn't filled with dark clouds, glaring suns, or the insanity of an aching reminder of a damning confusion so deep that you never knew if you could actually live.

It was perfect, he was perfect, you were perfect, everything was perfect.

Except for the fact that in the wee hours of the morning after, he shied away from your touch and your lips when you joined him in the shower, his excuse leaving you feeling flat and not quite as perfect as last night. The ever-present confusion returned. Muscles began to stiffen under skin and the sickening realization smacked you in the face one morning after he simply smiled and walked away when you asked him if he wanted to go find someplace to eat real food. You'd decided to ask him as a friend but he spurned you as if you were a hated lover, striding purposefully away from you while you stood there, heart lying in a pool of blood on the floor at your feet, the evidence of what his smile did to you.

You wondered what went wrong.

Did you hurt him? No, you can say for certain that you didn't. You'd asked him if he was sure and he said yes. He said he wanted you. He said he wanted nothing more than you. You were gentle, you were sweet, you were everything a lover is and he seemed to like it. He seemed to like the way you watched him as skin slid across skin and fingertips searched for that matching pair or at least something to keep bodies grounded while spirits soared. He didn't frown or pull away when you asked him to do it again. But you frown when you realize that he slept on the other side of the bed, away from you when the light was finally turned off.

These thoughts and something else echo in your mind for two weeks, haunting you whenever you close your eyes, whenever you search for that solitary moment of peace. His body and heart didn't always freeze when he was beneath you and between his words and the silent pitter-patter of feet across the floor as he slipped into your bedroom and into your bed, you were given no other reason to think otherwise. You could say you were happy because you felt you could answer the question that everyone was finally asking. You could say that you were with him.


It was different for him. Very different and unfortunately, you found that out the hard way, your breath leaving you in a rush of hot air when you rounded the corner and saw him kissing someone else, someone that obviously wasn't you.

He lied.

He used you.

You loved him. For four fucking years, you loved him.

Suddenly, in that split second between anger and the aching heartbreak, everything made sense.