Untitled IX

So I wrote this poem for a scholarship (open topic)…and I had this brilliant idea for it before I actually wrote it. But then it turned out being this short. And I didn’t actualize my thoughts. But it feels complete. And I like it.

…

I don’t normally write poems

Because it’s not my thing;

I write stories, in traditional prose,

Jagged, invisible outlines on

Bright, ruled sheets.

Thousands of blue pages

Hide in my binder, in my folder.

They seem to say:

“Laura, give us a home.

Tell us where we belong.

Give us our space.”

And so I follow their pleas,

With my trusty pen, or pencil, or marker:

Whatever is available to me,

I use to fulfill their needs.

10. Fag Boys

It was my first day of school — senior fucking year. I made it this far and I was proud of myself.

My First-Day outfit astounded everyone and almost got me expelled — it also established me as the official Fag Boy at my high school.

My jeans were double zero in size and rode on my hips. My shirt ended at my belly button and exposed a dangling black spider web. My pink stackers made me significantly taller. I started backcombing my hair to give it that messy “I don’t give a fuck” look. “Indecent exposure,” my ass.

The principal made me turn my Alien Sex Fiend shirt inside out.

The morning classes — calculus, fashion, and chemistry — bored me into lunch, where I went to my usual tree and sat down, just as lonesome as the past three years. No one bothered to befriend the Fag Boy, and the Fag Boy was very much pleased with that.

I sat there undisturbed throughout the lunch period, happily munching on an apple, spotting two of my ex-boyfriends on opposite sides of the courtyard — one glancing my way, the other happily flirting with other people.

I was happy for them.

The afternoon classes — teacher’s aide for the artsy guy, European literature, and economics — bored me into the end of the school day, where I received hoots and catcalls and shouts and disgusted looks but whatever. Who gave a fuck, anyway?

Why did it matter if I was a fag?

Why did it matter if I looked like a chick?

Why did it matter if no one believed I was a boy?

I told myself that as long as I followed through with what I wanted, and achieved those things, and found the right guy — it would be fine. This last year of school was shit compared to life — a miniscule portion too insignificant to notice.
Senior year would be a breeze, I decided — because life was just starting.

…

AN: Decided to post the turning point in the story (the “climax,” I suppose we can call it — although it’s not very climax-y) before I neglect posting for a while…so we’ll see how this fares.

9. Kraven’s Two-Cents

Kraven’s here.

I just finished reading that crap account on my brief interest in Kristoff Detlev.

I’ll be the first – or second – to verify that all that did in fact occur.

I say it’s a “crap account” because he’s a crappy storyteller — he totally captured my voice in his story. He’s unoriginal.

As for his accusation on my dishonestly — I don’t care what he really says. I am honest — but I’m also bias. I don’t know what goes through his narrow mind — and I don’t want to. You can decide whether to believe me or not.

Kristoff doesn’t know what happened after we hooked up — which I totally understand because he walked out of my life the moment he walked out of double M. We haven’t seen each other since.

I can tell you what happened. I can, really — in that clipped way Kristoff claimed I tell my stories.

Well, let’s have a stab at it: Kristoff left. He went back to Berlin. Marck needed a place to stay because he couldn’t pay his rent. I let him live in my old apartment for three weeks. It was clear he still had a thing for me. Glenn came back the day after Kristoff left. He asked why Kristoff left, and when — and did anything happen between us? I told him it was something between said person and me.

Of course, that’s spoiled now. Kristoff – sneaky snitch he turned out to be – revealed the forbidden and unacceptable.

I can go ahead and tell you the detailed version of what happened — you know, a detailed account so I can put Kristoff in his place for lying about my prose — but what for? What needed to be said is already in print — and what people were probably wondering has been verified.

I expect you to be content with what’s been revealed in both this note and the entire story itself.

Now is the time to read the next installment or — if it isn’t up yet — wait patiently.

Auf Wiedersehen.

8. Kristoff [part three]

The rest of the day was uneventful. I lazed around the upstairs bedroom, flipping on the TV, booting up a random notebook I found.

My mind kept going back to the conversation I had with Kraven. I thought of the lie — the one we both identified — and told myself to stop thinking about it. I needed to stop thinking about him. I had to stop calling him a girl — ‘cause in my head, he was a girl. He was Glenn’s girlfriend — and I hated myself the moment I realized I actually wanted Kraven.

I wanted to know everything about him — his favorite band, his favorite ice cream flavor, his favorite color, his past–

I also realized I couldn’t have him. He was obviously Glenn’s boyfriend. He was a boy — he was a boy. I didn’t like boys except platonically — but there was something about Kraven that turned straight guys the other way. I couldn’t place a finger on what it was — but I needed to see Kraven. I needed to walk downstairs and find him.

It was right around midnight when I finally convinced myself to go down. I needed to enjoy myself, find a random girl if I really wanted Kraven out of my head.

A group of Deathrock chicks stood by a wall, making plans — just in case they got lost or needed help. I watched the group until it dissolved. I went up to a girl wearing a leopard-print skirt that left nothing to the imagination; she looked easy enough.

“Do you want to dance?”

“Are you Glenn’s brother?”

“No,” I lied, because otherwise when we had sex later, she would be thinking of him. “Dance? Drink?”

“Let’s dance!”

We were on the floor for three songs before her legs gave out and she fell into my arms. I carried her out of the crowd and onto a couch, where we sat for a few minutes, questioning each other — trying to make sure the other wasn’t dangerous.

I asked her if she wanted to go upstairs and she looked at me stupidly, wondering, “Are you sure you’re not related? You look just like him. You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone else–”

I offered to buy her a drink — and she said yes — but I ditched her instead.

I really couldn’t stop thinking of Kraven — especially when he stood ten feet from me. I could tell he was staring — and as always, I returned that stare. He wiggled his fingers at me, a greeting from afar. I gave him a tight wave — and he pushed himself off the wall. He walked toward me.

“Was she your type?” he asked.

“Why does it matter?”

“I saw the whole thing from over there. You didn’t look really into it.”

“That’s because I wasn’t.”

“She looked easy.”

“She was. She was too easy. She kept talking about Glenn so I left her.”

Kraven smiled, laughing a bit. “Poor Kristoff. All the people he goes after can’t keep their eyes off Glenn.”

I looked at him expectantly, wondering if he was going to add more — but he didn’t. He only stared, biting his lip.

I had to say it. “Do you — want to go upstairs?” I just had to suggest it. I wanted to know what he would say. I needed this.

“Sure.”

Up the staircase and into a narrow hallway we went. I closed the door behind him and he sat down on the couch, nervously playing with the hem of his skirt — ironically enough, it was leopard-print.

Kraven bit his lip, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. How did I know this when his hair covered his face? I don’t know. It felt right.

“So what now?” he asked, leaning back on the couch, slouching.

“I don’t know. Do you want something to drink–? Oh shit. I don’t have anything up here so never mind–”

He laughed, a smile lingering on his face. He looked — amused.

“You should have tried that line downstairs.”

“I realize that now — but thanks anyway.”

He patted the spot beside him and said, “Just sit down. We’ll think of something.”

So I sat down next to him, and an uncomfortable silence dropped between us. He toyed with stray frays and I pinched my skin for being so stupid. The guy I was interested in was sitting right next to me — but I wasn’t doing anything. I couldn’t even talk–

Kraven turned to me — and I turned to him. We did more of that staring thing we were so used to. He frowned and I just needed to see his eyes — so I moved his fringe away and he winced.

Red eyes stared back at me — cold eyes I really didn’t expect to see. His frown grew impassive and his fingers rose to touch my face. We were touching each other’s face. I didn’t want to let go of his hair — but I did it anyway. My hands slid down his face, down his neck, and dropped limp on his lap. Our lips met.

His hands clutched my shirt as his mouth forced mine open. I removed his hand — responding to his kiss — and pushed him back onto the couch, holding his arms above his head. He smiled into our kiss, placing one of his legs over my body, behind my body, on my back.

We moved against each other and it actually felt nice — much better than in my dream.

“I thought you didn’t like guys,” he teased, biting my bottom lip and sucking on it gently. I pulled away and kissed him forcefully, shoving my tongue inside.

God — his tongue stud turned me on.

“You’re not a guy.”

He laughed, moving his head to the side, letting my mouth kiss and suck the white strip of flesh available to me.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

One of his hands escaped from my hold and stroked my skin, lifting my shirt and digging under the waistband of my jeans. I stopped kissing him when his fingers touched the light hairs under my belly.

As if he read my mind, Kraven softly voiced, “We don’t have to, you know.” I stared into his red eyes and kissed his mouth.

I let my actions speak my thoughts. I wanted to see where this would end. I wondered whether he would go all the way — or if he was just teasing me. It was hard to tell with the firm hold he had on my dick. I bit his tongue and he whimpered.

He was panting when we parted. The small noises he made went straight to my dick.

“Is this going to be your first time?”

“Fucking a guy? Yeah.”

“Do you have any condoms?”

“Do we need any?”

He shook his head, his hand slacking on the job. “Kristoff, sit up.” I sat up and his disheveled hair turned me on. His entire body — flushed pink — turned me on.

Kraven kneeled in front of me and undid the button and zipper on my pants. I helped him remove them. He smiled at the little lions printed on my boxers, taking them off and staring at my hard dick. He lifted it, delving his nose deep into the bush of hair and breathing in deeply before taking my balls into his mouth.

He moaned softly. I just watched him in amazement, already feeling myself heat up. Oh God — it was sexy. He was sexy.

I pushed his head further in, groaning when he bit the sagging skin. He stopped playing with my balls and licked my dick, pausing at the tip — he took it in. I couldn’t help jumping and fucking his face — I don’t think any of the girls I dated would have let me do this with them.

He sucked on it until I came inside his mouth. He took me out when it wasn’t quite finished — so some splattered on his face. He pulled me forward for a kiss, our tongues attacking each other. I joined him on the floor, tackling him into the carpet, deepening our kiss because it was possible.

He helped me take off all the ridiculous layers of clothing he wore — skirt, tights, binder, and finally a small pair of panties hardly covering anything. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to go all the way with a guy.

And what made it worse was that the guy I was going to fuck was my brother’s guy. It made things ten times worse.

Kraven lifted his legs for me, his eyes pleading, his eyes telling me that yes — this was going to fuck things over for everyone. But really, lust wins over everything, right? When we’re this close to it all, it’s hard to back out.

I slid in and he clutched the carpet in his palms. He moaned lowly, pushing me further in.

“Is it supposed to go in like that?” I asked, amazed at how easy it was — just like a girl.

“Yes. Now move.”

I moved, pushing myself all the way in — and out. In and out. We did this until he came onto my shirt and I came inside of him. I hesitated in pulling out completely. I didn’t know whether he wanted me inside or not.

He laughed, panting heavily and moving hair away from his sweaty face.

“You were good for your first time,” he said, offering me a delicate smile. “I’m impressed.”

“It really isn’t so different from doing a girl.”

I tried pulling out but he said, “Stay. I like it. You feel good.”

I flipped us around so l laid on my back; he sat on top of me.

“Is it okay if I fuck you?”

“Do you want to fuck me?”

“Yeah.”

Then he started fucking me — moving himself up and down, my hardening dick the only thing keeping us together. I helped him out by thrusting up into him when he looked too tired to move. I came again.

Kraven plopped down beside me, sliding my dick out of him — and laughed again. He turned to me and asked, “Do you like me, Kristoff?”

“You’re an amazing person, Kraven. Yes, I like you.”

“Not just because you liked fucking me?”

“No, not just because of that. You were a nice fuck — but that’s not it.”

I pulled a cigarette from my discarded pants and lit up. I offered him a drag, and this time he took it. We smoked there on the floor, our shirts the only things covering our otherwise naked bodies, regaining our stolen breaths, thinking about how fucked up things are.

“And you don’t, do you?” I asked out of nowhere.

“I don’t what?”

“You don’t like me.”

Kraven and I stayed silent for a minute or two, letting my question settle and linger.

“I like you, Kristoff — and you’re a great fuck — but there’s not much we can do about it. Don’t beat yourself up, though; you’ll find someone else.”

This time I laughed. He stared at me as though I was insane — but I couldn’t blame him. I can’t blame him.

That was the only time we had sex — and I don’t think Glenn ever found out about it. Unless he reads this, he probably won’t ever know. But if you are reading this, Glenn — I want you to know that I’m sorry, baby brother. I didn’t mean to fall for him. Remember our conversations over the phone? I always told you I hated him. I didn’t like him — and in a way, it’s true. I hate Kraven.

I hate Kraven because now I’m obsessed — and some of you know how obsessions go.

Some say it’s actually my fault — and that’s also true.

What happened with Kraven and Glenn after I left Hamburg a few days later — I don’t know what the fuck happened. I’m just wallowing in my own stink.

8. Kristoff [part two]

The following morning, I searched the kitchen for food — but to my great, revolting disappointment, there was no food. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten dinner the day before, depriving myself of food because of Kraven’s words. I had to think about what he said.

I went downstairs and nearly went back up — an all-too-familiar blonde sat at the bar in solitude, drinking

“Kristoff — did I say anything stupid yesterday?” he asked, a painful wince evident in his voice.

I thought about it. After he called me a nice guy, I called him a drunk again and he stood, wobbly on two platformed feet. He gave me a parting glare and walked away. So no, Kraven — you didn’t say anything stupid.

“No. Did I?”

I remembered exactly what I said — I was just humoring him.

“I don’t remember.”

I approached him carefully. I said, “What are you drinking? More absin–? Oh, well would you look at that. You’re wearing pants.”

He snorted, touching his forehead achingly.

“Yeah — and I have a dick too,” he crudely responded. “Sorry. I just hate it when men flirt with me when I’m shopping — so I wear pants during normal business hours,” he explained in a gentle voice.

“You’re going out? So am I.” I looked around the vast, empty room. “Glenn not awake yet?” I joked, knowing he didn’t sleep at all.

“You’re funny,” he deadpanned. “He actually left sometime last night. He left a note saying there was some emergency business in — London, I think.”

I stared at his tiny frame sitting on the stool. I decided he looked tired.

“So you’re going out, too. Where?” he asked.

“I’m on a hunt for food — so anywhere selling food. My stomach keeps bothering me.”

“There’s a market down the street from where I’m headed.” Kraven finished his juice and asked, “Do you want to go?”

“Yeah — I’ll go.”

We went to a gothic clothing shop first, assuming it would be quicker. It was easy for me to imagine the velvet-lined frocks on my father, the poufy skirts and bloomers on my mother, and the tight pants and band t-shirts on Flynn.

Kraven’s eye was on the back of the store, where the women’s clothing was located. I followed him through the racks of clothes. I always wondered why people bought expensive scraps from no-name shops or online — I found what I needed in thrift stores around town.

The man behind the counter greeted Kraven as we walked by, his eyes bright and friendly. He regarded me with indifference.

Kraven picked up tiny materials in small. He picked out blacks, greys, midnight blues, violets, blood reds. I realized they were all skirts. I offered to carry them all, and he poured about a dozen into my arms.

“Do you always take things blindly?”

He shrugged, lazily turning away towards some t-shirts. “Normally, yes. I never check anything. If it’s short and the color’s nice, I take it.”

“What a shopping technique,” I mumbled sarcastically.

I helped him bring down some shirts too high for him — and then we finished shopping for his clothes. He swiped his credit card for an insanely large amount, but he didn’t care. I carried the bags for him as we trudged down the street. We ended up in a café, ordering breakfast croissants, French toast, and coffee, sitting in a small booth in the corner. We watched busy people walk all sorts of paths through the window — crap, why was sitting in a fucking café with Kraven, idealizing, romanticizing about our adventure? Why hadn’t I said some sardonic comment, something that would piss him off?

Why wasn’t our time riddled in awkward stares and unpleasant silences?

“So, Kristy–”

“Call me Kristoff. Kristy’s reserved for Glenn — and even then, I don’t exactly love that name.”

Kraven nodded, taking a bite of a croissant, swallowing and restarting. “So, Kristoff — why are you here?”

“I’m visiting.”

“Do you normally visit Glenn? I mean, I’ve been with him almost two years and I never met you until this year — and we had to go see you.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I’m here?”

We sat quietly for a few seconds, munching on food and sipping on coffee, when he finally answered. “No. I guess not. I don’t know why I’m being an asshole–”

“You’re not being an asshole, Kraven. I’m being an asshole. I’m trying to make your life crappy because you’re dating my brother. I want the best for my brother; I’m just testing you,” I admitted, waiting for his response, but he sat there unable to speak. “And you did say something pretty stupid last night.”

“What did I say?”

“That you liked me — because I was a nice guy.”

Kraven sighed, drinking some of his coffee before replying. “You know you’re brother likes you, right?”

“I like my brother as well — but yeah. I know what you’re saying. He likes me beyond that. It’s kinda hard not to notice.”

“Well — I don’t have any siblings. I don’t know what it’s like to have someone else there for me — and when Glenn told me he liked you, and then I met you, I tried seeing what exactly it was about you that he liked. He told me a couple reasons, but they only applied to the past…I guess what I’m trying to say is — that I know why he likes you. I tried hating you because he spends all his time talking about you — but I can’t. You’re a likable person.”

“You said that last night, too.”

“I did?” He looked alarmed, coffee cup on his way to lips, his arm in an awkward bent. “All of it?”

“Just the last part,” I said, watching his alarm deflate. I realized we finished our food — my stomach was full. “I guess we should leave.”

He stared at our plates, stacking them on top of each other. He called the waiter over and paid for our breakfast. We gathered his things and left.

XXX

I dropped his belongings on Glenn’s massive bed. He plopped down on the bed, sighing dramatically, closing his eyes. I stared at him before leaving him. I went upstairs, but the deserted club fazed me — so I walked the last staircase to my makeshift guest room.

I fell asleep on a full stomach, dreaming of someone familiar but unfamiliar — a recognizable stranger I didn’t want to dream about. That was the first time I dreamt of Kraven.

Hours later, I woke up, blinking my groggy eyes and stretching my stiff limbs. I felt the presence of someone too close to me.

I looked to my side, my eyes setting on Kraven. He was staring at me, eyes unblinking even when I returned his gaze.

“You have such cute sleepy eyes,” he mused, touching my face, poking my eyelids.

“I don’t know how I feel, Kraven.”

“What do you mean–?”

“I think I’m mostly creeped out — but I’m also offended because some chick called me cute–”

“I called your sleepy eyes cute. You’re not cute.”

“Whatever.” I turned away from him, yawning loudly. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I don’t know. I was bored, I guess. Watching you sleep is entertaining — hey. Wait. I’m not a chick.”

“That was a late reaction.” I ran a hand through my long, limp, tangled hair. I needed to piss. “What time is it?”

Three in the afternoon.”

I went to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. Kraven followed me up to the door, where he stood watching me some more.

“How was your nap?”

“Pleasant. I had a wonderful dream.”

“Of?”

“You.”

“What was I doing?”

“Talking. You were talking and talking and talking. Your mouth wouldn’t stop. I walked away and you collapsed.”

“Trippy.”

“Yeah, I know.” I cleaned myself and washed my hands. He followed me back into the bedroom. “So how long is Glenn going to be gone?”

“He said two or three more days. He called while you were asleep.” I started changing out of my wrinkled clothes and into less wrinkled clothes. “You dress — differently,” he observed listlessly.

“I don’t shop at boutiques. I buy my clothes at thrift shops.”

“I like it. Are you into charity and whatever?”

“Not really. I just like old clothes.”

He smiled, pushing his bangs away from his face. “How did you put up with Glenn?” he suddenly asked.

“What do you mean?” I pulled on a shirt, looking at him pointedly.

“I mean — you know he likes you, but he’s your brother. How do you put up with that? Are you comfortable knowing your brother — wants you?”

“Am I comfortable?” I scratched my neck, returning his curious gaze. “I guess not — but he’s my brother. It’s kinda a given that I’m supposed to love him and look after him. I’m just trying to be the older brother, play the role I’m supposed to. He’ll imply or suggest weird things — but whatever. I’m a big boy now — I don’t need mommy or daddy to ward off predators. It’s a natural thing to put up with him. Sometimes he ticks me off — but by the end of the day, we’re still here. We’re still brothers. I can’t change that.”

Kraven’s eyes lingered on my face. He sat down on the bed, pondering and musing. I took a seat on the floor about a foot from the bed.

“Tell me about his past,” he mumbled.

“Which parts?” I couldn’t help looking at his legs dangling a foot away from my face. They were too skinny.

“Anything. I want to know–”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“He’s not here — and to tell you the truth, we don’t talk much about anything. We’re present tense. It’s rare for us to talk about the past.”

I thought about his words. I thought about what I could tell him. I didn’t feel like I was entitled to talk about Glenn’s past. I wasn’t part of this personal matter.

“He wasn’t born an incubus,” I started. “When he was five, our grandfather took him somewhere — I don’t know where, but when they came back, he told us Glenn was different. He told us Glenn was special. Flynn had just been born; I was eight. After that, his life was just like any kid’s — except filled with these jars. Since he didn’t have a sex-drive as a child, he fed from these weird jars. He always complained that they tasted like dirt. Then — he started making out with guys and he found out the other way to feed. Once he accidentally took some from me–”

“He fed on you?”

“After that one accident, yeah. He slept with guys, sucked face, fed on them — but he always said mine tasted better. He seldom fed on his boyfriends.”

“You make him sound like a slut.”

“Glenn was a slut. I guess I shouldn’t have used the word ‘boyfriend.’ He had up to three guys at a time. The combination of being an aging incubus and a horny teenager turned him into a whore.”

I stretched out on the floor, looking up at the ceiling fan and frowning. Why was I having this conversation with my brother’s girlfriend? I shook my head, closing my eyes and hoping it would end soon.

“How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you ever had a boyfriend–”

“Fuck no — not that it’s wrong to have a boyfriend — it’s just that I’ve never been interested in guys.”

We did more of that staring thing we usually ended up doing — finding the lie within my truth. We both knew I was lying. Yeah, I never had a boyfriend — but I’ve been interested in a guy.

I stood up, breaking our stare and walking back into the bathroom. I picked up a hairbrush and — brushed my hair.

When I finished tidying up, Kraven was gone.

8. Kristoff [part one]

Kristoff’s POV.

…

I’ll tell this in my own words — mostly because I don’t trust Kraven. I’d say he’s incapable of telling this correctly, and maybe I’m just the right guy to write it out. I’m sure Kraven’s version would be something like this: We fucked. We were unhappy. I left him.

His version would be clipped and crappy.

I spent my free time in Hamburg whenever I could, usually escaping there after an abrupt breakup or just because I needed an escape. I knew Glenn always had an extra room somewhere in that club of his, so I let him know I was coming over. Of course, he was ecstatic — I could hear him jumping around on the other side of the line.

Glenn gave me the room he kept upstairs, above the Morbid Massacre. He stayed downstairs – below double M – with his girlfriend Kraven. I don’t normally dislike people when I first meet them — but I didn’t like Kraven. Something about him made me wary of my surroundings. I couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. I couldn’t stand looking at him. Glenn’s a mystery, but Kraven’s a fucking puzzle.

It was Friday night suddenly and I woke up from my afternoon nap. Music from downstairs traveled up, disturbing my peace. I sat up on the bed, yawning and scratching my chin — it was time to pick up willing girls amidst a crowd of Glenn’s followers.

Some fast cyberpunk song resonated loudly, coming off the walls — but the floor was dead. I walked across the club leisurely, defiant against all the losers standing on the edges. The DJ changed the music — an obscene queercore band proclaiming…queerness, which everyone apparently loved.

I scanned the crowd, the dwellers, the people, but no one looked interesting enough. I went to the bar, determined not to find anyone — but a figure stood next to a storage closet beside the bar, pretty legs protruding from a small skirt. Fishnet on white legs under a leather scrap. I stared, interest piqued.

The person turned around swiftly, a boy I could easily confuse for a girl — a boy I normally called a girl anyway.

I didn’t bother turning away — staring at him, pulling out a cigarette for my after-nap smoke. He noticed me then, stopping and frowning. Yeah, well, he didn’t like me either and I was totally fine with that.

“What the Hell are you staring at?” he growled, taking the empty seat beside me. I wouldn’t stop looking at him, knowing it bothered the fuck out of him.

“I thought you were a girl.”

He let out a sarcastic snort, leaning against the counter, returning my unwavering gaze under that annoying, overgrown fringe of his.

“Don’t you always think I’m a girl?”

“That’s because you are a girl.”

He shook his head slowly, looking away finally before saying, “You’re a dick.”

“That’s because I have one.” I exhaled toward the overly flirtatious bartender wearing sloppy makeup. He winced, looking away somberly for once. “So where’s Glenn?” I asked Kraven, unwavering gaze wavering in favor of a blonde bimbo a few seats from him.

He turned around, whipping back toward me, mouth terse. He asked, “Is she really your type?”

“Where’s Glenn?” I asked again.

“Is she?”

I looked at him again, making sure my eyes bore deeply into his own. I could tell he bravely returned my stare. Unspoken words made their way across — and I can’t say I didn’t like them.

“Why the fuck does it matter?”

“Fucking Darwin — I was just wondering.” He called the bartender over. “Bring me two absinthes.”

My eyebrows quirked. “Are they both for you?”

“Why the fuck does it matter?” he mocked, a tiny derisive smile appearing on his lips. The tender placed them in front of us. “Let’s drink together. Tell me why you’re such an asshole.” He lifted the glass to me, sipping on it gently.

“I’m not an asshole — although, I have one of those, too,” I cheekily answered, pushing the glass to him. “I don’t drink as much as I smoke.” I offered him a drag, but he pushed it away from his face.

“I told you I don’t smoke,” he muttered, leaning away from me. He added, “And he’s downstairs taking care of business. He’s been down there for a while — I decided to come up. It’s more exciting here anyway.”

“How long have you known Glenn?”

“Almost two years now — in October.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two — in November.” I nodded lazily. “How old are you? I know you’re older than Glenn — but he’s always hazy on details — and frankly, I’m rabid on details.”

“Twenty-two — in October.” I matched his tone and he sat up on the stool, leaning forward a bit. I leaned back, making clear he was trespassing on personal space.

“You’re older by a month,” he flatly stated.

“Depends on the dates, doesn’t it?”

“Mine’s the seventh.”

“Mine’s the thirtieth.”

“Oh my Darwin and Spencer. You’re eight days older–”

“Who the fuck are Darwin and Spencer?”

He smiled, finishing his drink, a goofy expression on his face — I knew why he ordered the drinks. He wanted to get tipsy before talking to me. He wanted to relax. He didn’t want there to be silence and staring between us.

“Charles Darwin and Herbert Spencer — I use the second name loosely and ironically, because I’m not a fan of his theories. I’m an Evolutionist. I admire Darwin’s work. His Origin of Species was fucking awesome. It’s somewhere on my bookshelf. I’ve read it like a dozen times. I annotated each paragraph and wrote about three essays analyzing the way he presented his discoveries — I turned in one of them for biology my freshman year — oh my Darwin that was a long, long time ago. I’m so old, Kristoff — we’re so old–”

“You’re drunk.”

“Am I?” He hiccupped, holding my arm for support. “I guess I am — but you know what I really want to do right now — which is, like, totally something I would never do?“ He didn’t wait for my response. “I want to dance but I never dance but we should seriously dance — let’s dance, Kristy!” He pulled that same arm, dragging me to the middle of the dance floor. We were crushed amongst delirious people, people who enjoyed the night — knowing they would never be that young again.

God — I towered over Kraven. I must have been over a foot taller than him, which made me realize just how small and girlish he was. We were careful not to touch each other excessively, but every now and then his hands would hit me. He apologized and we moved on. At one weary point, he tripped and staggered forward, clutching onto my shirt. He giggled and mouthed something but I couldn’t hear him — I also couldn’t read his lips. The music was just way too loud to pay much attention to anything. I ignored him most of the time, wondering where all the wonderful babes ran off.

The disc jockey announced the arrival of a live band — another obscure group no one really knew. The crowd yelled and screamed in appreciation nevertheless. Kraven clung onto me as the band played and a mosh pit ensued. I held him close to me, shielding him from possible harm. Yeah, I know, I’m a real gentleman.

On our way out of the pit, I noticed him staring at me. Red eyes glowed under his hair. For a second, he really did look like a girl. If I hadn’t known who he was or what he was, I probably would have taken him somewhere else a little more private.

I smiled for the first time that evening. His silly grin appeared again, and then he looked away.

I led him to a red velvet couch on the opposite end. We sat, exhausted from dancing and pushing. A server walked by; I ordered two waters.

“No more drinking?” Kraven asked, fighting giggles, stretching himself across the couch, his head on my lap. He touched my face and made a little noise. “You don’t look anything like Glenn.”

“No more drinking for you — I’m just thirsty.”

Our glasses came shortly. I sipped on it quietly, observing Kraven, wondering if he was going to drink his water or not. He did — but the dummy drunk tried drinking it while lying down. The water tumbled out onto his face, the ice hitting his eyes and nose. He laughed, clutching his stomach and gasping for air.

“This is why you shouldn’t be drinking, Kraven.”

“I just — I just wanted to let loose for tonight — it’s so fun!” he sputtered, forcing himself to stop. He sat up, his disheveled hair sticking up in all directions. I patted his arm soothingly, finishing my water regrettably. He sighed.

“Are you done?”

“I don’t know.”

I stared at him and he stared at me. His smile disappeared.

“What are you looking at?” I asked, pinching the skin on his skinny arm.

He looked down at the area, watching his skin turn pink. He said, “Is it possible to actually like someone you don’t know much about?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Never mind.”

“Do you like me?”

“You’re okay. I thought I could — hate you. I thought I could dislike you because of Glenn — but I can’t. I like you, Kristoff — as a person. You’re a nice guy.”

7. Glenn and Mathilde

Fair Warning: This is in the POV of a certain “Glenn”…Sr., who is Glenn’s father. Mathilde is his mother. Also…I don’t think there are any porny things here…eh. Enjoy anyway.

…

Hands in my hair, pulling at the strands angrily. Fingers at my scalp, picking at it furiously. Rain beating on my entire self, saddening me furthermore.

I’m both mad and sad at myself, by the way — for I have left my umbrella at home when the rain seems to be out for death.

Home. I ran away from home half an hour ago — but I know I’ll be back by the end of the night.

The conversation I had with my father less than an hour ago replays in my mind — repeatedly, endlessly.

“I’m an incubus, Glenn,” my father had said so abruptly, interrupting the silence between us.

I had been reading Goethe’s Faust, but abandoning the large novel down, staring at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Pardon me, Vater, but — did you just say you’re an–”

“Incubus. Yes, an incubus. I am your father the damned incubus.”

“Am I–?”

“No. You are not an incubus. It skips a generation, usually.”

“Does that mean–?”

“Your middle child will be an incubus. So have an odd number of children. Make sure the middle is a boy.”

My jaw dropped — not because he is an incubus (well, apart from that), but because he was telling me how many children I was allowed to have. An odd number he said! The middle must be a boy, he said! As if I could control the number and gender of my children. The number, yes. The gender? Absolutely not!

“Your middle boy is going to be an incubus,” he continued straightforwardly. “My father was no incubus; neither are you.” My father paused. He looked at me sitting, my legs crossed elegantly. “That dress-shirt looks flitty. Why do you dress so…oddly?”

“Why are you an incubus?” I countered, a frown forming on my lips.

My father sighed, picking up a glass of some sort of alcoholic beverage. He replied, “I truly don’t know. Because my grandfather was an incubus? My grandfather’s grandfather was an incubus? My grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather was an incubus? So on and so forth. I do not know. I only know that I am an incubus and your child will be an incubus.”

I gulped, panic taking over, consuming me.

My father is an incubus!

I have lived with him twenty-two years — how could I have not noticed?

He is an incubus!

“Can you — die?”

Fragile voice? Check.

His eyes bore into mine.

“I can. The age span of an incubus can reach up to two centuries. After the quarter-century mark, one stops aging. If we die sooner, it’s because our heads were lopped off.” He made a swift movement that imitated someone chopping something off. The image was disturbing. “As for demons, though, that’s something entirely different. A concrete wall can squash those weak creatures. They can pick them up, though. The irony.”

His chuckle sounded slightly menacing.

He mentioned demons.

“Demons? We live among demons?” I had asked.

He shook his head, his lips curling up at the edges.

“No, Glenn, they live among humans, like you. You live under a demon’s roof. What do you think of that?”

“I thought you were an incubus,” I said plainly.

“An incubus is a form of demon. A high-class demon, if you will.” He sipped from his glass before continuing. “Your mother’s a demon as well. I turned her after you were born.”

How could they deceive me so? Not deceive, no — not that. They kept such a secret from me — me, Glenn — their own and only child! How could they do that?

“Mother’s a demon?” I stupidly uttered.

“She is. Now what do you think? Don’t avoid my question.”

He was always insensitive.

“Hurt. Very hurt — and confused. I’m hurt because they hadn’t told me earlier. I’m confused because — I hadn’t imagined demons existed. Little did I know I lived with them my entire life.”

“Well-put. Now continue reading your epic tale of Mr. Faust — or is that Doctor Faustus? I can never keep track of literature…”

That’s how the conversation played — on and on again.

I close my eyes, blinking back tears.

The coat I have isn’t warm enough.

I seek shelter under a small building’s roof in Schwarzkirsch Park. Crouching in the cramped space, I nap. The nap is short-lived — only ten minutes or so.

I stand, shaking leaves and other particles off my clothes. I walk under the cold rain homebound — at least it’s warm there, I admit. Home is crossing the park and down the street. I’ll drag myself there. It’s too cold to run or walk at a normal pace.

I walk and walk, my leather shoes dragging against the wet ground.

A girl sits on a bench. She looks to the sky under an enormous black umbrella. Her heavily lined eyes joyfully gaze at the invisible stars — at the rain pouring endlessly.

I can’t help but stare at her.

She’s very pretty.

Her lips are perfectly black and her skin is flawlessly white. Her hair flows velvet-like. Her fringe just about reaches her eyebrows. Her puffy dress looks girlishly right.

She’s very pretty.

Her eyes catch mine. She looks alarmed. I would be alarmed, too, if a stranger was staring at me unexpectedly. She smiles anyway.

“The weather is lovely, wouldn’t you agree?” she speaks.

Her voice is delicate and melodious. Very human — warm and human.

“Very lovely,” I agree. Curiosity killing me, I ask, “What is a pretty girl of your grandeur doing here without company?”

“You mean to flatter me, sir?”

“If only you allow it, grand lady.”

I smile idiotically. Her smile can’t be idiotic — it’s sweet.

We both laugh.

“I’m Mathilde and I don’t usually speak in that manner,” she says.

“I’m Glenn and neither do I,” I respond.

Mathilde looks to the sky again, her tongue peeking out to taste the water.

“Would you like to join me Glenn?”

“In what, may I ask?”

“A stroll though the park. Where are you headed?” she inquires.

“Homeward. The rain is sickening,” I mutter.

Her eyes enlarge in mock shock.

“But the rain is lovely!” She pauses. “You dislike the rain, yet you stand there jadedly getting wet.” Putting some thought into her words, she says, “Come under the umbrella.”

I can’t possibly reject her.

“Only if you dance in your lovely rain and enjoy it freely,” I say with a mocking smile.

The rain decreases slightly.

She stands from the bench and comes toward me, handing me the massive umbrella, stepping into the wet coldness, and begins to dance.

Slow and slow. Around, around. Twirling prettily under the Kassel night, under the dark Kassel sky. She twirls, whirls, turns, and swirls, roundly and soundly. I admire her. Clearly she cares neither of her painted face nor the possibility of catching a cold. She does not mind; she continues to move freely yet stiffly in her corseted dress.

The clacks and clanks of her pointy boots sound dully on the ground.

I merely stand under the umbrella and watch, immensely amazed.

She sneezes.

I immediately reach for her, pulling her body below the shield. I give her the handle and remove my coat, offering the sorry-excuse to her.

Mathilde says, “Oh, no, I possibly couldn’t. What will you wear?”

“This thin shirt I’m already wearing,” I reply.

“No, no, I mustn’t. I’ll be just content with being seen home — will you walk me home?”

“Why the Hell wouldn’t I? Which way, madam?”

I offer my arm instead, which she gladly takes, clinging tightly to it.

We speak idly through the park grounds.

“So what were you doing there all alone?” I inquire.

“Nothing, really — just sitting and gazing up at the sky. It’s a pretty murky color right now — wouldn’t you agree?”

She looks up at me as I glance at the sky. I only see water falling.

“Yes, very pretty,” I murmur, lying through semi-closed lips.

“Oh, Glenn — you needn’t lie,” she gaily tells me, laughter playing in the back of her throat.

I chuckle as we approach a shoddy townhouse close to the park. She lives so close to me — I wonder why I’ve never noticed her.

“Here it is.” She pauses, looking at me uncertainly. “Glenn, I — am in a relationship right now, but if you need company for tea or coffee or anything — should we exchange our numbers?” she finally sputters.

Smiling, I respond, “Yes, of course.”

“Shoot. No supplies on me — I’ll run in and grab some stuff if it’s alright with you?”

“Yes, of course,” I repeat, re-noticing how pretty she looks — especially under the light.

Mathilde goes off with a gentle smile only to come back a minute later, pen and slip of paper in hand. She scribbles her number, giving it to me, handing over the supplies. I write my own.

“It was a real pleasure meeting you, Glenn. I hope our next meeting comes soon!”

Her grin blinds me. I force a smile.

“A pleasure as well, Mathilde.”

I grab her hand carefully as if made of glass and peck it lightly, but enough to make her blush.

She curtsies quickly, running up the stairs, stumbling on her own pointy boots.

Sighing, I trek homebound. Half-way over, I remember one thing: Mathilde’s umbrella. I still possess her umbrella.

I will return it to her when it is not raining.
˜™XXX
Twenty-six years later…

Mathilde’s flailing arm nearly smacks me on the head as I turn around. She’s quite excited.

“He’s found him!”

“Found who?” I inquire, looking up from Hardy’s Jude the Obscure. “Who found who?”

“Glenn! He found a stable man!”

“Ah — the queer one,” I mutter.

She slaps my arm with an unfolded fan.

“Don’t call our son queer!”

“I mean it as ‘odd’! You have seen his way of dressing, nein?”

“In that case, you are queer as well!” she counters, turning away.

“Look who’s talking,” I mumble, going back to the great novel. After a small silence, I ask, “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Schweitzer!” she shouts, covering her mouth daintily.

“I meant his first, Mathie.”

“Oh — um — K-Kraven, I think Glenn said. Kraven Schweitzer I believe it was–”

“Very unique. He means to bring him — or will he keep him secretive and away from us again?” I bitterly ask.

I’m only bitter because he’s my incubus-son. He’s meant to have children so the next incubus may be born. When my incubus-son is interested in men — the Detlev line of incubi is surely to die off.

“I’m sure Glenn will bring him. He hasn’t mentioned any of that, though. He says it’s love. He really likes Kraven — a lot, he said.”

“Ah,” I utter lowly, turning away from her, wondering what the Hell happened over the years — and whether any of it was worth it.

Worse Than A Fairy Tale [prologue][preview?]

So here is the beginning of the rewrite of “Worse Than Being A Fairy Tale” — fixed and title shortened. Maybe this is an interesting beginning? I don’t know. Enjoy.

…

June 2008

He kept thinking about the scabs on his wrist, the series of scabs forming a line on his wrist…multiple criss-cross lines adorning a skinny arm, mainly the delicate wrist — but it didn’t bother him. They bothered him on minor levels because they distracted him easily — he couldn’t help thinking about them sometimes — but at the same time…they didn’t bother him because he liked the feeling every time his thin fingers ran over the scars. His fingers lingered, felt, and lingered some more, wondering where the end would be. So he thought about touching them, but knew he couldn’t. He needed to scavenge for them; he knew where they were. The skin-colored bandage covering the scabs bothered him the most. He didn’t want to hide anymore — so he hated the coverage.

This isn’t about his scabs — or the damned bandage obscuring his view.

This is about him. It’s about the kid on stage, the little boy having trouble not looking into the crowd. It was his first time on a stage, less than a foot away from the crowd, an audience riddled with ruthless teenagers — other kids on fire. They didn’t cheer because his soft, touching voice swayed them to and fro; his voice encouraged them to just hang about and move along with the melancholic music. Their fire was mild, but they loved the new music. This new kid on the block with a nice band to back him up was fresh — his lyrics were strange. His words chilled the crowd, sending out shivers and sweat.

He sang lowly and gravely, emphasizing just the right word and phrase, driving the angst-ridden teens into a languid, lethargic despair. Those who didn’t fall so easily didn’t really hear the words; they just listened to the beat, danced, thrashed, hyped…ready to knock a few people over.

“Curtains drawn
The show goes on
Prowl, stall, crawl
What’s going on?”

He found himself trying to keep up with the melody, his voice playing catch-up, the other members strumming and beating without difficulty. They stood as anxious as him.

“Don’t believe him
He’s just a tale
A stupid fucking fairy tale”

He offered unnecessary emotion — because the words themselves were simply enough. They were emotions in themselves. The words were nothing compared to what he really felt inside.

“Lover
You’ve done it again
Tempt the innocent into oblivion
Watch the life leak out a fractured drain”

He trembled, but he had no reason to tremble. The audience oscillated along with him, feeling the unspoken words, relating. This was just another escape for them all.

“Monster
You’ve done it again
Cut the boy’s eyes out
Stab his heart through a spindly, frail chest”

He evoked everything he could, and the crowd ate it all up like a sick puppy, lapping it up ravenously. His words were mantras; they were the fountain of youth. The lost teens didn’t know.

“Coward
You’ve done it again
Scramble through the darkness
Fight the urge to turn back and catch your breath”

He felt the slap across his face as if it were yesterday, a sort of recurring loop unwilling to leave him alone — but it was really a year after the too-often incidents. He could feel the slap burning his skin, an angry throb on his face. Oh man…could he feel it.

“Wrest from your shambles
Rebel in disguise
Your awful guise is pure affection
An honest charade of relentless souls rest upon your dead”

He overwhelmed himself with memories — all of what occurred in the past year. He knew it would eventually catch up to him. He prayed to the god he didn’t believe in silently with his touching words, hoping it wouldn’t be now.

“Afraid to turn away
The memories won’t fade
Of those eyes like stone,
Clawing in the shadows,
Always seeming to know”

Were those tears? No, they were just sweat. The salty streams moved down his face, little rivers too tired to continue. He would worry over the makeup later — maybe never. The crowd reached up to him — but he couldn’t return its sweet gesture.

“In your craven dreams,
In your lurid head,
I wish you could see that now
There is no reason to run”

The moment of temporary despair evaporated just as quickly as it began. His anxiety, horrification, and stupor disappeared. The crowd’s hard feelings went away as well. His throat hurt, if anything — he wanted the end to find him. He wanted a quick snap.

“You’re never going back.”

His set ended.

…

Author’s Note: original lyrics written and tweaked by yours truly from an original poem, “Therein Lies the Battered Tale.” I let Bleeding Sorrow borrow them. ;3

6. Glenn plus Freiddie, enter Kristoff

He felt the warm throbs of the other boy’s penis inside his mouth, and he smelt the strange aroma of pure sweat and man emanating from the kinky blonde bush. He bobbed his head slowly, uncontrollably, in order to taste the last of the seemingly endless supply of semen. He lengthened his strokes, his tongue licking the fleshy organ, his lips acting as suctions — just the way the star football player liked it.

Freiddie’s fingers dug shallowly into Glenn’s scalp, pushing the latter’s head further in. Glenn almost choked, but he knew better — this wasn’t his first time blowing his high school’s most valuable player.

Freiddie’s low, tight groans encouraged Glenn to continue. Those same groans hit Glenn’s crotch heatedly, turning him on completely. An aroused Glenn was always amazing in bed — or in their case, the edge of the bed, where Freiddie was excitedly sitting and Glenn was giving the most amazing blowjob since the last time they did this. It seemed Glenn just kept getting better and better.

Glenn swallowed the sudden burst of Freiddie’s come, downing the warm fluid like water, licking and slurping the remnants. He glanced up, loving the sight of Freiddie’s post-orgasmic expression. He knew this wasn’t love, but he still couldn’t help inviting Freiddie over for some after school specials.

“Why do you always swallow?” Freiddie asked in a hushed tone, starting to pack his belongings — but Glenn stopped him.

He slowly stood from his kneeling position, positioning himself on Freiddie’s naked lap. He whispered, “I love swallowing.”

Glenn still wore his rough plaid pants — so as he mounted Freiddie’s lap, Freiddie struggled to contain his moan. He let Glenn throw his arms about his neck — and grind his ass against him. One can only imagine how that felt.

Their quick pants resounded throughout the room, low pants they couldn’t control. Freiddie looked on the verge of ejaculating again, his eyelids fluttering, his eyeballs rolling upward, skyward — heavenward.

“Holy fuck,” came from the door, an embarrassed, mortified interjection aimed at the two lovely boys having fun.

“Fuck,” Glenn muttered, not bothering to get off Freiddie — but Freiddie had other plans. He swiftly pushed Glenn off, hurriedly slipping on the rest of his clothes, stumbling past Kristoff.

Glenn sighed, dramatically falling onto his bed, pouting, staring up at his ceiling. He said, “Loyal ceiling fan — why does this happen to me? I confided in you during my most private moments — yet, shit like this happens–”

Kristoff, stood there, utterly appalled at what he had just seen. His baby brother was dry humping some guy on his bed, a guy who was half-nude and looked oddly familiar.

“At least close the door,” Glenn muttered, rolling onto his stomach, dejectedly covering his face. “Whether

He didn’t bother closing the door before taking a step closer to Glenn. He didn’t know how to start. His mind was still in shock.

“What the Hell was that?” is how he started, scratching his head, a corner of his mouth dipping with concern.

Glenn shrugged, offering a sad smile.

“Me fucking the star soccer player at my school? That’s probably what you saw — actually, we hadn’t gotten to the fucking yet. You witnessed pre-fuck foreplay. That sounds redundant–”

“Was that Georg’s little brother?” Kristoff asked, suddenly remembering Freiddie’s possible-older brother graduated in his class.

“Probably. I don’t know Freiddie’s history. I don’t really care. He’s hot in bed, so I invite him over when no one’s around. He calls me over to his house sometimes. We never run into family — until now.”

“Are you two dating–?”

“He has a girlfriend — but like I said, I don’t care. We do it because it’s fun.”

Kristoff shook his head, disappointed in his little brother. He would never understand this type of libido — he was more of a romantic.

“I just don’t get you, Glenn. You’re a fucking mystery,” Kristoff decided, rubbing his arm awkwardly.

“Let’s fuck, Kristy. I’m horny.”

Kristoff scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. “No for two reasons: one, you’re my brother, and two, I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I,” Glenn responded. “I just like guys better.” He added, “Remember what Grandpa said? You and Flynn have to help me when I’m horny.”

“He said to help you when you can’t find someone to feed on,” Kristoff replied darkly, lifting his chin defiantly.

“You made my source run off — so now you need to help me.” They stared each other down before Glenn relaxed and looked away. “Kristy, just let me feed on you. We’ve done it before. It’s harmless.”

Kristoff nodded, approaching Glenn coolly, lending his wrist — a white wrist Glenn kissed and licked a few times before latching his mouth to it sturdily.

He sucked Kristoff’s lust out.

Naturally, Kristoff had a tiny death inside his pants — regardless of whether he was gay or not.

5. An Account on Family

I was a lone boy — not now, but in the past, where Glenn didn’t exist. In the past — long ago, or maybe not so much — I had no one to rely on; no one really cared, and frankly, I didn’t care. I lived with Johnel and Hans — my mother and father — a lonely kid who just didn’t give a fuck. There were no children before me or after me — I’m sibling-less. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to have a family, or at least have a brother — a sister would be fine, too, I guess.

Glenn casually mentioned he had an older brother — but actually, he mentioned an unfamiliar name and I naturally questioned him. It turned out the unfamiliar name belonged to his brother. He went on telling me he had a mother, father, and younger brother in Kassel, which surprised me for some unknown reason. I didn’t expect him to have such a huge family.

These new facts excited me. My demented little mind attached itself to the idea, deluding me into believing they were my siblings as well. As for his parents, I already had a pair of my own, but they were assholes. I thought that maybe Glenn’s parents were cool.

Glenn can’t read my mind since I’ve become a demon, which is cool, I guess. My thoughts are hidden, my embarrassingly faulty, insanely awkward thoughts of a complete, heartwarming family. I didn’t want him to know I felt this way.

“So when do I get to meet your family?” I questioned, trying to act indifferent to my question.

“Whenever. Wanna go right now? We’ll go if you want. Right now. We’ll take a plane this very instant — or at least we’ll leave for the airport,” he answered.

“Glenn, it’s like twelve AM. I’m sure they’re sleeping.”

Oh — and demons can’t sleep. We live on nothing, too — there is no energy source for us. We just…live.

“Kristoff is probably awake, but he doesn’t live at home anymore. He lives in Berlin. The rest are in Kassel.”

He takes my hand, pressing it lightly against his chest.

“Should I call them?”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” I said, settling in his arms for a comfortable fit.

I snuggled into the crook of his neck as he murmured, “I need to call Kristy,” absentminded, going into his own world, escaping into the deep abysses in his head.

Glenn stands from the bed carefully, holding me tight against him, reaching for his cell phone. He speaks into the phone, settling into the bed again, pushing me beside his body.

“Hey, Kristy! Why am I not surprised that you actually picked up?” I hear only the low static as his brother speaks. “Yes, I know it’s twelve-something — but I’m an incubus, remember? There’s no sleep for this man — Why are you so angry? You’re too fucking grumpy, all the fucking time. Why don’t you fuck the neighborhood slut–? Oh my god, are you serious? She dumped you? Fuck her sister! Fuck her mother! She didn’t deserve you anyway — but that still doesn’t explain why you’re angry — no shit? I didn’t know — no — yeah — you’re kidding! She really did that–? Oh my god you’re not kidding, are you–? No, I’m not seeing what’s-his-face. He’s totally history. I told you this, like, last year — No, it’s ‘cause he insisted he was straight — I don’t care about him anymore. He’s history — Yeah, but I have a new man — No, he’s not thirty. You should know I wouldn’t go for anyone past 25 — Shut up. I swear he’s not a pedo. He’s only, like, three years older. He’s actually pretty cute. You should meet him.” He paused to smile at me, his fingers running through my ratty hair. “Well why not? It’s not going to hurt you — but that doesn’t matter. We’re coming tomorrow, and then we’ll go down to Kassel together — jeez, Kristy, don’t be such a prick — why can’t you accept your brother’s sexuality–? Seriously! You always have to bring that up, don’t you? I’ve told you several times, I said it in the heat of the moment — oh, shut up. You’re coming either way. I want you to meet him — but yeah. Call Dad around ten and warn him of our arrival. We’ll pick you up at eleven by car and then we’ll use the jet. We’ll be there around twelve — yeah. Of course.” He made a smacking noise with his lips. I looked up at him as he sighed, “I love you Kristy.”

He set his phone down and kissed the top of my head.

I asked, “What are we supposed to do until then?”

Glenn shrugs his shoulders, staring off into space with a vacant stare.
˜™XXX
Glenn and I flew to Berlin around eleven. Before we left double M, he said I could cross-dress all I want because no one in his family really cared about personal style. I gleefully took advantage of this.

I wore the usual binder, holey tights, and tiny pleated skirt. In detail, I wore: two pairs of tights — the first intact, purple- and black-striped; the second massively holey and black, transparent almost — a skirt, micro as always with a pretty, frilled, pleated hem, my all-time favorite Alien Sex Fiend shirt — the top slashed, revealing my shoulders and collarbone. Instead of platform boots, I decided on wearing heeled lace-ups, a pair I found idling inside my closet, forgotten and dusty.

So suddenly, we were in Berlin. His jet landed at the airport, and a black car awaited us in the parking lot. He told me we were going to Kristoff’s place, and then we would fly to Kassel.

In the car, Glenn said to me, “I hope you don’t give Kristy a heart attack.”

“Why do you say that? How the Hell can I give your brother a heart attack?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You almost gave me a heart attack the first time I saw you. You’re just capable of it — trust me.”

I took his hand, slowly trialing my other fingers over its length, a form of reassurance. I told him he didn’t have to worry.

“Is Kristoff gay–?”

“No.” Glenn gives me a blank look. “But Kraven, this isn’t about sexuality. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you look female — and my brother likes females. He doesn’t need to be gay to have a reaction. You’re pretty. You’re beautiful. I told him to back off, but my words alone can’t make him stop — but I’m not saying he might jump you — all I’m saying is that he can have a reaction — and that reaction can result in a heart attack.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t worry,” I stated flatly, bringing my legs up underneath me. “But if he does come onto me, I’ll kick his balls and pull his eyes out — is that okay?”

Glenn laughed, placing a warm kiss on top of my head.

“You really are something, Kraven.” He paused, looking at me carefully, a wry smile in place. “Have I ever told you I have the hugest crush on him?”

I pulled back from him, giving him a queer eye, not understanding. “On your brother?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I shook my head slowly, bewildered. “No, you have not. Do you want to explain — just so my imagination can’t run wild with crazy ideas?”

He grew quiet for a minute, probably thinking about it, wondering how he would explain this “crush” on his older brother to me.

“I don’t know how it started, but I knew I liked him when I realized I liked guys — and I guess I should say I established my sexuality when I first started liking him. Does that make sense?”

“No — yes. Kind of.”

“Well, I liked Kristoff. I dreamt of sleeping on the same bed with him like when we were smaller; I dreamt of kissing him. I couldn’t look at him without thinking I wanted to feel those lips of his — maybe you’ll understand when you meet him, but I don’t know. I liked how he was protective over me, how he let me hang around with him and his friends while they smoked pot in his basement bedroom, how he was always there. I knew it wasn’t very acceptable, so I dated other guys. I mean, I still like him now — but I keep finding great guys, and I try to work it out with them.”

The car stopped right after Glenn’s attempt. He urged me out, telling me I could go ahead, telling me Kristoff lived in the second building. His door was the black one crossed out in red.

I located the unique door and climbed the small stone steps, straightening my skirt after I realized it wasn’t straight enough. I leaned against the railing, waiting for Glenn. I didn’t want to knock on a stranger’s door.

But it didn’t matter whether I knocked or not ‘cause the door swung open and a tall, skinny brunette walked out in his boxers. His bloodshot eyes squinted in the sunlight, so he provided shade with his hand, looking out into the street. I stood still, wondering whether he noticed me or not. He finished observing the world and turned around, grumbling — and finally seeing me.

He stopped walking. He stopped grumbling. His eyebrow quirked; his eyes roved, trying to identify me.

“Who are you?” he asked, his eyes landing on my face, his expression dull.

“Your brother’s boyfriend,” I responded, shifting from one foot to the other, crossing my arms nervously. He had nice light brown eyes, and almost-matching brown hair, different from Glenn’s green and black. I wondered whether this really was Glenn’s brother.

“So you’re Kraven, Glenn’s new boyfriend. Why are you wearing a skirt, then?”

I shrugged, slightly surprised by the deepness of his voice. It wasn’t too evident when he talked before.

“Because I can,” I replied.

“Where’s Glenn?” he asked instead of continuing our awkward conversation. He stared at me with an intimidating gaze, making me shiver. I stared at the various tattoos covering his body. Some traveled up his body, touching his neck; others went south, disappearing under his boxers.

“Talking to the driver, I think. He didn’t really say. He just sent me here.”

“And you weren’t thinking of knocking.”

“No. I wasn’t going to knock on a stranger’s door.”

We stared at each other for another moment before he broke our gaze, scratching his bare stomach. He silently walked back into his house, leaving the door wide open.

I followed him inside, standing in the foyer — clueless as to what to do — before walking into the living room, where Kristoff sat on a couch. He had quickly slipped on a pair of faded black jeans and a Sex Pistols t-shirt.

“Thanks for welcoming yourself in,” he caustically muttered, lighting a cigarette. He caught my eye and smirked. “Want one?”
“I quit a while ago.”

“That sucks — well, I guess it’s a good thing. Glenn hates the smell of cigarettes. He hates smoking, drugs, and alcohol. He’s too straightedge. Why the fuck he runs the Morbid Massacre is a mystery.”

“I didn’t know.”

He gave me another void look, blank and dull, the cigarette dangling off his lips. He looked away, relaxing against the couch. I sat on another couch, sitting quietly and obediently. We waited in silence.

Glenn walked in minutes later, smiling broadly, a fake smile meant to fool both of us. I guess it was difficult to be in the same room as your boyfriend and the guy you’ve crushed on for so long, someone who happened to be kin.

“Did you call Dad?” he asked Kristoff, standing above me, his plastic smile evaporating to a slight grin.

Kristoff blew a dirty cloud in Glenn’s direction. He said, “Yeah. He said we could go over whenever. The conversation was listless as always.” He took another drag, exhaling upward. “Are we leaving yet?”

“If you want — oh, I guess I should formally introduce you two.” Glenn stood beside me now, happily introducing us. “Kristy, this is Kraven. Kraven, this is Kristy.”

Kristoff put out his cigarette. “Yeah, we met. I met your girlfriend,” he replied snidely.

“I am not a girl,” I growled, standing from the couch. “Do not imply I’m a girl.” I walked away angrily, disgusted and embarrassed and appalled — but mostly embarrassed.

I heard Glenn defend me. “Kristy, don’t be an asshole. I’ll rip your balls off if you make him walk away like that–”

But I couldn’t hear the rest of his defense. I was out the door and nearing the car in a minute. I calmed down completely when I entered the car, buckling the seatbelt and waiting for their arrival.

They poured into the car five minutes later, silent and neutral.

Twenty minutes later, we boarded the jet, still quiet, undisruptive.

In the air, Kristoff asked, “So — why do I have go?”

“Because I want you to go,” Glenn replied.

“And somehow I’m okay with that,” Kristoff mumbled. “I had a date scheduled for this afternoon — and that girl isn’t too easy to get a hold of. I had to blow her off. I’m sure I won’t be hearing from her again. The things I do for you, Glenn.”

I saw Glenn smile from the corner of my eye. I didn’t say anything, but I knew he was happy. He was happy because the guy he liked did so much for him. He fucking sacrificed a hot date for his younger brother. I didn’t know whether I was sad, mad, or just plain confused.

“I love you too, Kristy.”

After the flight, we flocked into another waiting car that drove us to the Detlev household. I ended up in the middle, sitting close to Glenn because I didn’t want to touch Kristoff. I didn’t want him to get any wrong ideas.

The car stopped in front of a homely, two-story building, a brownstone type home welcoming visitors. I could see myself living in that building — not with Glenn, but with another individual. I quickly chased the thought away.

I stared at it as Glenn led me out from one side. Kristoff exited through the other door, striding calmly toward the house. He lit another cigarette, inhaling and exhaling in a relaxed manner. He made smoking look cool.

Glenn and I leisurely followed him, hand in hand, my nervous hand in his sweaty palm. Again, I didn’t want to say anything. I let myself believe he was nervous because I was going to meet his parents and younger brother.

Kristoff got there before us, knocking on the door leisurely. A few seconds later, a miniature version of Glenn opens — a boy identical sans facial piercings and erratic hairstyle.

“Is this your new girlfriend?” the boy inquired, a broad smile on his innocent face.

Kristoff laughed, stomping on his used cigarette, glancing at Glenn, who looked ticked off.

“No, Flynn — this is my boyfriend Kraven–”

“Why is he dressed like a girl?”

“My thoughts exactly! See Flynn? We are brothers. No matter what Glenn tells you, we are brothers.”

Flynn stared at me, curiosity raging like a flame — bright and hot.

“Because he likes dressing like a girl–” Glenn started before I elbowed him in the abdomen.

“Is Mom home?” Kristoff asked, still amused by Flynn’s questions, pushing him aside and walking in.

“Oh yeah,” Flynn responded, following his oldest brother like a fan boy. “She’s crocheting in the den.”

“And Dad?” Glenn wheezed out, still in pain, also following the older brother.

I stood there awkwardly — again — deciding I should follow them, alone and forgotten.

“Kris? Glenn? Are you here already?” a male voice inquired from somewhere upstairs. Voice found body as he appeared on the upstairs landing, an older man, a combination of all three boys. He couldn’t keep his eyes off me as he walked down the stairs. “Oh? And who is this?”

“Glenn’s boyfriend! Isn’t he cute?” Flynn said, hopping away from the downstairs landing and into what I presumed was the kitchen, avoiding any possible criticism.

“Oh,” Glenn’s father said once he stood before us. “Quite charming.” He added dismissively, “Your mother has found herself a new hobby, it seems. She can be found in the drawing room.”

He offered me a paternal smile before moving on elsewhere.

“I’ll be upstairs,” Kristoff muttered. “Call me when dinner’s ready.”

Glenn and I entered the room where his mother resided, knitting something I couldn’t identify. She was the perfect Goth dressed in a freely flowing skirt reaching her ankles and a tight bodice over a loose blouse. All three boys definitely took more from their mother.

He cleared his throat, and she looked up. Her cat-eyes widened, brightening in surprise and delight.

She dropped her crocheting utensils in order to hug her son. Her purplish-black lips kissed all of Glenn’s face save for his own lips. She left no marks, surprising me. I admired her ability to keep every trace of makeup in place.

“Glenn! You’re here! Kristy is here too, I presume. Upstairs? Too lazy to greet his own mother? That boy — I taught him better.”

“Yes. He’s upstairs probably sleeping his troubles away. He dropped all his plans just for this.”

“Yet he doesn’t bother!” She stopped abruptly, noticing me quietly standing behind Glenn. Her lips curled up, a friendly smile, a genuine smile on plum lips. I envisioned Johnel in this woman’s shoes, but I couldn’t do it. Johnel was just too cruel in shape, too monochromatic in personality.

“This is your boyfriend? He’s so adorable!” She gives me a motherly embrace, a hug practically squeezing the living soul within me outward. She let me go, adding, “He reminds me of those early Batcavers. It’s cute.” She returned to her seat, picking up her fallen objects. “Although, he can add a few inches to himself. Those heels are too short.”

“That’s what makes him cute,” Glenn replied, pressing his lips against my temple. I felt myself blush.

“As long as he pleases you — I don’t mean to say — never mind,” she embarrassingly mumbled, bending over to finish her work.

“We’ll be outside,” Glenn told her to prevent any more awkward moments.

He pulled us out of the room, and I realized I hadn’t said anything to her. I forgetfully called out, “Pleasure meeting you Mrs. Detlev!”

“Mathilde!” she yelled out. “Call me Mathilde, sweetie!”

“I like her,” I said to Glenn. “She’s very — motherly.”

Glenn shrugged and replied, “Well, she’s my mother. I wouldn’t expect anything else from her.”
˜™XXX
“I assume he’s been turned,” Glenn’s father states at the dinner table, sipping on a glass of unknown liquid.

“Yes, he is. He’s been one for a year and a half. He resisted the first few months,” Glenn replied, although it wasn’t a question.

“You took him by force?” Mathilde asked, astounded, her silverware clinking against her plate.

I smiled at the thought of Glenn “taking me by force.” I fought the smile, but it won.

“Oh, no. I meant he didn’t succumb to my advances. It took us a while to actually become a couple.”

He seemed so comfortable talking to his parents. When I was still living in my parent’s house, I barely talked to them. We were on two different planets. Even then, as I sat inside the Detlev house, I didn’t speak to my parents regularly. They tried calling every month. I never intentionally picked up the phone.

“So, Kraven, how’s the baby coming along?” Mathilde asked nonchalantly, stuffing pasta into her little mouth.

I stared at her, bewildered and red-faced. I was disturbed.

“Um — I’m not preg–”

“Oh, I know, honey. I’m only kidding.”

I let out a nervous laugh, sipping out of my glass of water.

“Her humor is tad awry,” Glenn Senior explained, then asking, “Are you going to school?”

“No. I quit a little before I met Glenn.”

“Why is that?” Glenn Senior.

“I realized it just wasn’t for me. My parents flipped out when they found out. My father yelled at me over the phone,” I lied easily.

“What were you studying?” Mathilde asked.

“Well, I was just doing the introductory classes — the boring stuff.”

I wasn’t going to tell them I chose the same major as my ex-boyfriend, taking all the introductory courses corresponding to that major.

“Why do you dress like a girl?” Flynn asked again, abruptly, causing Kristoff to laugh again.

“Uh — because men’s clothes don’t flatter me. I look ugly in regular clothes,” I answered honestly.

“He does look bad in male clothing–,” Glenn began, but I pinched his thigh and he jumped, nearly dropping his drink.

“He looks awesome — I mean, you look awesome, Kraven,” Flynn said to his food — but I saw a pink blush crawling under his skin.

“He’s mine,” Glenn practically roared, slamming his fist lightly on the table.

“Oh, dear Lord, Mathilde, will we ever have grandchildren?” Glenn Senior sighed.

“I’m still here. There’s still hope,” Kristoff responded.

“But you see, Kristy, he purposely excluded you because you can’t keep a steady girlfriend,” Glenn rudely replied.

“No, no. I’m sure he’ll find the perfect girl somewhere. These things take time,” Mathilde said. “Your father and I didn’t marry until we were twenty-six and twenty-four, respectively — and Kris is only twenty-one–”

“–But he’s been through a million by now — I’m pretty sure that time is up. You can’t live young forever. Children just don’t come on their own,” Glenn easily snided, laughing to himself.

“Look who’s talking. You’re supposed to have children,” Kristoff muttered meanly.

I wondered why.