InsaneJournal

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When he and Luther had coupled for the last time, when he had taken his lover’s life, he hadn’t expected himself to fully take the lead, to express what he truly felt in the form of his movements. True enough, he loved him; true enough, he hated him; true enough, Luther was destroying him. Luther had left him with no choice; Fayt had to eliminate him before Luther had taken him down first.

It seemed cold to him, almost inhuman, but it was the only way he could cope with it. How could he kill his beloved tormenter? The act seemed incomprehensible, improbable, insane, and maybe he was, but he didn’t realize it yet. He was still trying to understand; the feelings hadn’t sink in the way he sank to the floor, hands still covering his face, and he wanted to break, to cry, to do something, but he couldn’t.

Albel was standing over him, but he wasn’t any help to him.

Fayt rose shakily, one of his sweaty palms pressing against the wall, his other hand gripping the sign. The memory was too fresh; the inescapable and all-consuming warmth of their bodies moving together still made his skin tingly; the kisses they had shared left him wanting; even the pain, no matter how disturbing it was, aroused something in him.

He slowly opened the door and entered the dorm room, leaving the sign on the floor. It was a mess; too much of Luther’s blood on the carpet; the mess alone signified a struggle, but they had always been struggling--whether for power, for dominance--it didn’t matter. They would never be satisfied and now that Luther was dead, that didn’t matter either.

He was still kind of numb, emotions still repressed, but as he walked around the messiness of their dorm did his emotions began to surface. First he felt revulsion, then disgust, hatred, love, despair, and now guilt. He had been the subject of Luther’s perverse experiments, and now he was also the murderer. The curious, cynical part of him questioned how long until the others would find out; how long would they look until they discover that Luther’s body was still in this very dorm.

He bent down and started to pick up the numerous devices-- the discs, the prototypes-- all sorts of machines. He stared at the blood stain on the floor and blinked; he needed to clean that up. He put the devices away, storing them in one of the boxes he had around the living room, and began to wipe the blood off the carpet by the scrubber from the bathroom.

He tried so hard to make the carpet normal again, trying to get rid of the stain, but even after the work he did, it remained pink. He should probably use a better soap for this, or maybe he should just change the carpet all together. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and then released the breath.

Albel was still there, standing by the door with his arms crossed, but he ignored him.

He’d admit now that it was Albel’s influence that had allowed him to do what he had done. Of course, other people would probably argue that there were other ways he could have dealt with his problem, but those ways, whatever they were, just didn’t apply to him--were not real options to him. He doubted he could have handled the utter humiliation, the immense regret and fear if he had ever told the experiences he had with Luther to anybody.

Then again, there was Albel, but he had told Albel because he knew that his rival didn’t give a rotten damn about him. Or maybe he did, but Fayt had been too good, trying to protect Luther, only in the end, the shield he had used became the cage that had ended Luther’s life. He still couldn’t get over that; he doubted that he would. He blinked his eyes again, momentarily distracted from his thoughts, and rose up once more.

Now to take care of the body. Said body was still in their bedroom, and the memories returned to his mind. After the knife had stabbed Luther, he had taken the blade out. Blood had gushed out of the wound and stained his shirt, and he had brought himself, dragged himself all over the room until he made it outside and taken down the sign...

The memories were still fresh…

He wanted to stop it, but they kept coming and he was already in the bedroom, and they became more vivid, and he was biting his bottom lip, almost to the point of hurting himself, and he was looking at the carcass of his sick, twisted tormented lover, and…

He sank to the ground again and moved closer to the body.

Just stop stop stop why why hate you love you hate you--

“Luther…” he murmured, bringing a bloody hand to his lover’s face. He caressed Luther’s cheek and he wanted to--

--why why why did I do it? I hate--

--kiss him still, and he didn’t make any sense.

“I…” he trailed off, but he shook his head. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, so he stood up and left the bedroom. He went to the bathroom and turned the shower on. He stripped his clothes and entered the tub. He could remember the times Luther had pinned him against the wall of the bathroom, kissing the breath out of him, fondling with his--

“No…” he murmured and shook his head in dismay. He adjusted the shower, making it hotter, the drops of the water speeding up and colliding against his back like hot bullets. Pain didn’t matter to him; he was too used to it. Words hurt more.

He scrubbed the blood off his skin, and shampooed his hair.

“Should have died…” he said to himself, “probably deserved it.”

“Ridiculous fool, are you done with your prattling?” a familiar voice cut through his dark thoughts and Fayt snapped his head up. The voice became louder as he spoke, and Fayt could hear the footsteps of the speaker coming closer. “Next thing you know, if you’re not careful, you’d have your own knife jabbed at your own heart.”

“I’d probably do it myself,” Fayt muttered under his breath, biting his lip again. Reality seemed so surreal to him now; he wanted to get rid of the body, and another part of him wanted to confess, but not only was he going to be expelled from the university for that, he’d be in jail for murder.

The consequences were too dire; his life was no longer free, but it never was in the first place because of the way he had let Luther take over him. After he washed his hair, he placed a towel around his waist, and suddenly felt so sick in his stomach. Now he wanted to vomit; now he felt regret, and he braced himself, fingers holding the edges of the porcelain sink, and finally threw up.

Moments later, he found out that the body had already been wrapped up and concealed in a black trash bag. He stared at Albel who had picked up the body, hauling it over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Fayt asked.

“Ridding of the evidence,” Albel muttered and rolled his eyes.

He wondered if Albel was disturbed by him; he also wondered if Albel had ever killed anybody. If he did, Fayt wouldn’t be surprised. “…How?” Fayt inquired, because the repulsed part of him wanted it out of his life. Maybe he could start anew, even if the past would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Don’t ask,” the other told him. “You’re staying here.”

Fayt wanted to protest, but Albel silenced him with his traditional glare. He watched the peculiar red-eyed man walk out of the dorm room. He closed the door behind him and asked himself whether he could really trust--

No, Albel would get rid of the body. His hatred for Luther proved that.

Fayt decided to clean the dorm room. He started with the bedroom, getting new sheets for the bed. Then he vacuumed the living room, getting rid of the specks of dirt. He scrubbed the carpet again and the pinkish stain finally faded away. By the time he was done, the livingroom was spotless. The bedroom was organized and clean. Too clean, in fact.

He heard a knock on the door and returned to the living room. He blinked and wondered who’d visit him. Placing his hand over the knob, he twisted it, and opened the door. Albel was standing in front of him, a grim look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Fayt inquired softly.

Albel narrowed his eyes. “Nothing.”

It was a lie, but he’d believe it just to balance himself.

“…Thank you.”

Fin.

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A/n: Writing’s one of my ways of coping. /rocks back and forth/ Don’t ask me why I wrote this. :D I might write other parts of this, depending on my moods. I broke another one of my rules, and also my writer's block for one-shots. Woot!