• Think of me when you're out, when you're out there,
    I'll beg you nice, from my knees,
    And when the world treats you way too fairly,
    Well, it's a shame I'm a dream,

    It was dark when the feeling of animation came flowing, swirling around again. It was hard to tell the nearby surroundings and the sounds were not familiar, yet they mimicked memories of bits and pieces. And with the rush of warmth and life came the pain, creeping into several limbs and tissue, scattering outward in an unpleasant precipitation of shocks and twangs that seemed to pierce with the intent of a deep wound, but never bled. Damien could only make out the bottom of the chest of drawers in front of his eyes. He imagined the pain in his neck and how little justice it would do him to move. His thoughts did not raise above a whisper, and he left the inevitable confusion to settle in the back of his mind. For now, he worked on moving his eyes. A cold pool of blood seemed to have rested about his head, and the air around him smelt of copper and gunmetal, saturated deep with the dank aroma of sickly sweet, human flesh.

    As if not surprised anymore that his attempt at suicide failed, Damien rolled his head toward the ceiling and noted the darkness around him. Dried spit and blood dirtied his face and neck, while the right portion of his head was soaked in the crimson puddle, left his hair matted over with a thick coat of blood. For a while Damien laid motionless, thoughtless and barely made significant efforts to breathe. He felt the quiver in his right hand and his fingers gradually found the Luger nine-millimeter that had dashed under the set of drawers when he fell. Clutching the gun, Damien opened the chamber, expertly with one hand, and found that had reeled the whole magazine into his skull. Disappointed, he dropped the butt of the gun to the floor, causing pressure to close the handgun's chamber, and ignored the pain that stemmed from the abrupt motion. His fingers clung to the trigger, still desperately wishing for the previous darkness to engulf him and take whatever leftover feeling and abolish every trace. He felt his vision fade in an out like a terrible satellite signal, but never moved from his position. He focused on the pain and the unrelenting pulse of pure agony that ripped through his skull. He welcomed the unorthodox distraction until the pain and brazened fatigue took the better of his mind, and darkness swallowed him whole.

    He faded into a darkness, ephemeral and incomplete. It was not the same darkness that devoured his very essence- that darkness was forever engulfing, all consuming, and left absolutely nothing in the wake of devastation.


    When Damien awoke, the darkness was replaced with a familiar back light of sun. He was in his bed, listening to the sounds of hushed voices. He imagined all their faces, Rose, James, his siblings- he imagined their faces painted in desperation and bleeding with sadness. His eyes fluttered open, the once crystalline, icy blue irises were tainted a dulled gray. Rose was the first at his side, his family following short behind. It took him quite a long while to recognize his surroundings, as his vision went in and out multiple times. The constant shift in scenery was surreal and disorienting, even with heightened senses of an undead being, Damien was much too weak to do anything else but lay and watch.

    Rose held his hand in her own as she smiled lightly, "Damien, you took quite a fall this time," her voice was soft, polished with memories of a Scottish decent. She rubbed the back of his hand softly and touched her free hand to his cheek, "You should be fine, now." Rose withdrew herself from Damien and backed away from her debilitated son. Loralie was next in Damien's peripheral vision. Her long purple hair hung in a low ponytail, stay hairs falling from the clasp. Her eyes were lined with red, and her jaw was set uncomfortably in a frown. She sniffed a few times before brushing Damien's hair back so that it hung out of his eyes.
    "You almost left me again, you b*****d." Her voice trembled with the threat of tears and within a moment, Michael was beside her, concern stricken in the back of his eyes.

    At that, Damien frowned, knowing Loralie's lack of composure stemmed from his own actions. It wasn't much of a frown, but it expressed his guilt. He opened his mouth and took a breath inward.
    "I'm sorry," he whispered. His voice was low and mangled. Damien wished he could have said something more, but there was no regret in the action, no remorse. He knew it was selfish to erase himself from his family, he knew it was disgusting and monstrous. But his pain too, was monstrous. It consumed him so effortlessly and completely. If there had been a way to preserve himself and expel the darkness, Damien would have found it and done everything in his power to do it.

    But this miracle remedy did not exist.
    All I wanted was you,
    All I wanted was you,



    Damien whispered so softly. He found the smaller boy's neck and inhaled deeply. The heavenly scent he would never get enough. Damien could hear Josiah sigh as he woke to the sound of his name, pulled from his sleep by the tickle of hair above his shoulder and the pressure of another body hovering above his. Damien nipped at Josiah's sweet skin.
    "Wake up, my love. I need to leave soon, the flight is mere hours away," His voice soothed and blanketed Josiah's ears like the warmest, softest sheet. Damien traced Josiah's collar bone, jaw, and neck with his lips, until they perched below his cheek.

    "You don't have to go so soon," Josiah groaned lightly as he fought to pull the vampire closer by his waist, "You can stay."
    "Mmm," finally allowing his body to rest beside his lover, Damien smirked against Josiah's skin, "You know I need to go back for financial reasons, and you must stay here to work all mafia business out. I would stay for a thousand eternities, if not for my family in need of my presence."

    Josiah groaned, pulling Damien close to his own face. Mismatched eyes gazed back at Damien, and for a moment, he could think of nothing else but the hunger he would face in the short time he would part from Josiah. The lust for every inch of him would be insatiable. Deep down, Damien knew that even in a thousand years he would still crave his smile, his laughter, his kisses, and embraces. It would feel endless until he could take a plane back to Germany.

    Pulling Josiah's face gently towards his own, Damien pecked his love softly on his lips. Gently, softly, again, he took another hit of his own special drug, those lips, that taste; his worst addiction. Tangled in a mess of sheets and skin, Damien forgot where he ended and Josiah began. Their bodies pressed so tight, the air so warm and close. Whatever had distracted God that day that allowed Damien to meet Josiah, he was indebted for.

    Pressing his lips against Josiah's sternum, he kissed the soft skin beneath. Damien's warm, sweet breath caught Josiah's senses and the boy drew closer to Damien's head.
    "You and I will be together so very soon. You will forget the time spent away once I'm back. Then, Josiah my love, I can assure you we will never part again."
    Resting his head above the head board, Josiah sighed and feathered through Damien's hair, as his lover straddled his middle.
    It will be so long, Josiah whined to himself. Slowly, surely, he began to feel Damien grind his hips against his own.

    Smiling, Damien kissed the skin in the curve of Josiah's neck, his breath hot and slick, Then I guess I should make my goodbye more memorable, hm? Damien's voice echoed in the back of Josiah's mind, thick with a familiar accent. A beautiful, devious grin twisted onto his resting lips, That way you'll have something to keep me in mind.

    Damien could feel Josiah grow more and more tense as his lips only drew closer to the boy's waist.

    * * *

    Sitting with the dozing boy on his lap, Damien rested his nose in the thousand wisps of golden locks on Josiah's head. He began to memorize the scent he had already imprinted in his mind, so fresh, so smooth, so human, and mouthwatering. There was no denying the unrequited lust to devour Josiah, but the need to protect and cherish him was a much more powerful, more instinctual desire. Josiah would never know the pain Damien brought himself just to keep away- but as a simple thing like breathing, there was no question to do it.

    It was that train of thought Damien had begun to board, when a small pebble of drool touched Damien's skin. He chuckled, realizing just how human Josiah really was; the late night hadn't taken much of a toll to the vampire, but to the human. . . Damien giggled to himself, turning Josiah's face up to kiss his pink lips.
    Josiah sighed as he worked up his strength to reciprocate the favor. Moving his tongue to the top of Damien's mouth for a small, passionate kiss was the only thing Josiah could manage before grabbing the chance for air. Holding the smaller boy close to his chest, Damien bit the skin on Josiah's neck softly. Perhaps it's best I leave a gun with you, Damien suggested as he occupied himself with the taste of Josiah's skin. Josiah face splayed with bewilderment, and looked up to his lover with raised eyebrows. I'm just saying. For protection. Protection I cannot give.
    Josiah sighed and leaned into his lover's chest, closing his eyes. I don't think there's any reason for that. My father had hired guards, I'm sure there are plenty at the estate, almost as an afterthought, Who would know to come after me now? My father's death is only two days old. With the thought of his father, Josiah hitched a sigh, remembering the previous day at his father's deathbed.

    Damien sensed the new found pain in Josiah's closed eyes, and kissed his head, before humming Josiah's special lullaby. He had begun the second chorus when the overhead announcement declared his plane was boarding. Pulling his lover up like a child in one lithe movement, Damien braced himself for the departure. Josiah had awoken from the soft jerk on the way up, and instinctively latched his fingers into Damien's hair.

    It almost hurt to say the words.

    Damien could feel the slow and sure sensation rise and crash around his skin. The feeling of thousands of needles pressing so tight against his tissue, it felt so hard to move. It was almost a certain hell to remove himself from the smaller teen, but Damien resisted all urges to succumb to the pain. When the final goodbyes lingered in his ears, Damien left Josiah at the gate.

    Damien could still feel the silent hum of Josiah's mind even when the plane picked up and moved through country borders. This piece of information was almost enough for Damien to expel a sigh of relief. It didn't make up for the distance, but at the very least it allowed the vampire to continue breathing. When he finally got settled, Damien began to meditate. Focus in on the very thought of Josiah.
    Josiah, Damien chanted, Josiah, Josiah, Josiah.

    The wait was unbearable, and it took almost three minutes before Damien finally gave up. His power wasn't as strong as he thought it was. Pulling his head backwards, Damien began to reminisce about sickly sweet smell that was Josiah. He smiled up at the ceiling remembering his laughter. Oh, how it hurt to remember such wonderful things.

    I'm home now, a honey covered voice began, I wonder what I'll have to do first. It poured from Damien's mind, an alien voice, not his own.
    Wrapped up in his own world, Damien barely gave thought answering the voice inside his head, You should eat.
    Damien?! The voice bubbled over, crashing against his ears like a harsh title wave. The voice still alien, sounded familiar, distant.
    Josiah, Damien's mind smoldered.
    I thought you could only hear me if we were in the same building, Even so far away, Damien had already adjusted the connection between Josiah, pulling images from his eyes, and thoughts from the folds of his mind. It was almost as if he had never left.
    Ah, you would assume. I'm not sure even James can do this, though I wouldn't doubt the possibility. How are you? It was comforting to hear Josiah's voice again, and for once during his plane ride, Damien felt his limbs relax.
    I'm fine. Fen said I should come down to the western hall. He says that's where business is supposed to take place. I'm nervous, Dame. As Josiah talked, Damien could see the rich corridors Josiah walked through; his father's estate was as beautiful as it was huge.
    You'll be fine, m'love. I'm sure you'll work something out the second you arrive.

    The visions of Josiah's surroundings were lost in the evident darkness. When a light finally did appear, a sick, razor sharp voice cut through the silence.
    "Hello, f*****t."
    Damien's blood rushed down into his feet, and his body went cold.


    The vision of a bigger, much more masculine version of Josiah appeared in Josiah's view. The short-haired, bulky man grasped his younger brother's throat and smiled wickedly.
    "It's good to finally see you. Did you have fun this morning with your boyfriend?" Fen growled as he spoke, words emphasized by snarls through grit teeth. Damien could feel the pain that coursed through Josiah's neck as Fen grasped his throat, prevented him from breathing.
    Josiah began to squirm and tremble under his brother's hands, "F-fen, let me go! Let me go!" as the choke hold grew tighter, as his body pressed harder against the wall, as Fen's smile grew more wild with wicked madness, Josiah began to cry.
    Help me. Help me. Help me, Damien, Josiah began to chant pathetically. Damien began to realize what Fen was trying to do, and the blood in his body turned from cool liquid to ice. The panic and anxiety began to eat away at his stomach, but he pressed onward forcing the connection between himself and his beloved.

    Fen's slick voice bubbled over Josiah's pathetic whimpers and his face grew close to the smaller boy, "You don't know how long I've waited, Belphagor. I've waited seventeen whole years for that old b*****d to hand me the family business. I had it in the bag, and you run in last minute crying about how much you miss him and he hands it over like you've got the right," Fen's faced twisted into descending faces of disgust, one shade to another. As he talked, the worse his grip became, and it left Josiah squirming for air.
    "The business was supposed to be mine. Mine!" He screamed loudly, the noise echoing louder and stronger than before. Josiah was barely conscious and only a small metallic clink was audible. Another, then another, then a click that sounded almost like a confirmation.

    Damien began to heave. He knew that sound like the call of his name. The barrel in place, the safety check, locked and pulled.
    Don't take him from me. Don't take him from me, Damien could only manage those small words as he began to feel himself wretch dry air.

    "Fen!" Josiah's voice barely rose above gargled whispers. "Fe-!"

    The shot echoed so thoroughly through Josiah's ears, it left Damien sprawled on conscious against the floor.

    I think I'll pace my apartment a few times,
    And fall asleep on the couch,
    And wake up early to black and white re-runs,
    That escaped from the mouth (Oh-Oh),

    Damien managed the last of the few boxes that lined the partially vacant apartment. Midsummer sun poured lightly from the gaping widows, casting yellow shadows amongst the boxes and the lone worn couch.
    "Damnit, Edward you could help me, y'know."

    A smaller blonde sat idle against the couch, his arms resting along the back. A prosthetic right arm moved slowly to flick a live cigarette and moved to touch peachy lips. He took a long drag before he exhaled; he did not make an effort to face Damien.
    "Why should I? You're already done. Besides, I've busted my automail once this week." His voice was soft and sweet like the scent of flowers brought by a warm breeze. Edward's fingers flicked the cigarette to the floor, and promptly stomped the butt out.

    Damien sighed, staring at the young man before him. It had been such a forever ago, when they had met. It seems that this would be their eighth year as companions. Remembering their first night brought a smile to Damien's lips, thinking of the hotel room, and the staff worker he fed off of.

    "It's been such a long time, here. Hasn't it?" Edward's melancholy voice hung in the air, still looking out into the summer setting from the windows.
    Damien smiled lightly, padding towards the couch, "It certainly has."
    Of course, Damien knew Edward was not reminiscing about old times, and jovial memories; he was referring to the time spent in this foreign world. The world he felt imprisoned in.
    Damien patted the smaller man's head and leaned against the couch's back, "It almost feels as if I've spent a lifetime here."

    Edward chuckled, pinching the last of his pack of squares- lighting it, and taking a small drag. A small smirk twisted across his lips, but Damien could tell it was dry and out of disgusted humor; a sick inside joke.
    It has been a lifetime here, Edward's thoughts bubbled.

    Sighing, Damien withdrew himself from Edward and his thoughts. Rarely did Damien barge in, and rarely did Edward take kindly to the invasion. There was some middle ground to the matter, but for argument's sake, it wasn't relevant. It was one thing to answer the thoughts of a friend- it was another thing entirely to invade the privacy of one's agony and concealed pain.

    Outside there was a loud squeal of a horn. Edward shifted lightly and finally stood, turning to Damien, his golden eyes searching for a confirmation of some kind. Damien expected one of Edward's famous one-lined farewells. It was very becoming of his nature to conceal his pain for his friends- something he had apparently grown into over the years previous to meeting Damien. He expected Edward to smile and wave, grin and not look back.

    "The movers are here."

    The two boys carried boxes of possessions to the moving truck. It took all of two trips to transport the smaller blonde's scarce belongings from the third floor apartment to the car. As the last of the boxes were packed neatly in the bed of the truck, Damien hitched a final grunt and patted the box in place. Edward walked to the driver's side of an idling sleek, black Mercedes 170 DS. Damien followed, standing on the curb.

    "Well, Edward," he paused, "Everything is set." Damien watched his friend's face fall slightly in a moment’s reflection. When Edward's eyes met Damien's again, there was a fire there, an ancient passion that had been reignited. It was almost like the eyes of the intensely determined boy Damien had met eight years before.

    "I won't stop until I find my brother, but you have to promise me this." Edward's voice was hard, stern. Damien fought to understand where Edward had come from and the confusion spread flush across his face, "Ed, I don't know what you mean."
    "Protect them, Damien. Protect the ones you love. Protect them as you protected me." Edward turned then to the bubbling car and got in.
    "Promise me," he said once more, looking to Damien from inside the car.
    Damien began to frown, realizing the warning and concern in Edward's words. He simply nodded and patted the car.

    As the red cooper grew smaller and smaller, Damien tried not to run after him and beg him to stay. He had agreed to that much. Damien let out a small inaudible breath as he continued watching.
    "I promise."'

    All I wanted was you,
    All I wanted was you,
    All I wanted was you,
    All I wanted was you,

    It had been a long time since Damien had been out. It felt like ages since his skin felt the sticky, sweet air of New York. He spent most of his eventful day out of his complex in a bar or on the street walking- to another bar. It was hardly a day for celebration, no. Damien hadn't felt the need to spend his time pretending to be happy, or denying the yearning for those he had lost. No.
    Not since Maggot. Not since she left him too.

    Picking up the pace, as he crossed the remainder of the road, the black clad vampire moved to his destination: Vantage Bar and Grill. Though known for their burgers and outrageous portions of onion rings, Vantage was a rather lovely place to spot drug dealers. Damien's lips twisted into a satisfied line as he opened the door. Sitting down, within minutes, he already unloaded three more beers and two dosages of vicoden. "Self-destructive" came to mind, as he ordered a shot of tequila, but he paid no mind. He wasn't a sucker for self pity, if nothing else.

    Sighing, as his body only took a fourth of the actual hit, Damien leaned back, his ebony hair in the harsh fluorescent lights shiny and barely disheveled.
    Not since Maggot, Damien's mind sputtered.

    Not since her.

    She had been the only light to the darkness that shrouded Damien's existent after Josiah died. She had been the only friend Damien felt so confident to rely on for eternity. But he supposed that God was not done reminding him of the humanity he had lost. He supposed this was his due justice. It didn't take away from the sting, though. Everyone had been taken from him- Edward to time, Josiah to greed, and Maggot to fate; no matter how hard it was to deal with the pain, he could not have denied the necessity of each friendship.

    Maggot the succubus; that's who she was before Damien had found her in a freak lab under the sadistic eye of Marco Stenner. That was the hell she endured until one fateful morning. Damien was finally able to walk out of his complex without feeling the burn under his skin. He was finally ready to find a distraction from the longing. He found her, tattooed, branded, unfed. He didn't realize friendship came along with the deal. Oh, how he missed her smile, her embraces, and her laughter. How he could never feel such contentment, so utterly whole without her.

    The wind picked up as Damien moved across the street. He followed on the next couple blocks and then headed in to another small building. A wrought iron sign squeaked in the wind: Devil's Nest.

    I could follow you to the beginning,
    Just relive the start,
    And maybe then we'll remember to slow down,
    At all of our favorite parts

    There was a softness to the black, cool room. It was lightly fragrant of a sweetness Damien could not begin to explain. It was like the scent of angels had be dispersed through the air. It pulled him from a slumber that felt heavy and tremendous. His body felt renewed and strong, as if his muscles and bones were fused with carbon. He could even smell the settling scent of clean cotton and down feathers; hear the soft swish of clothing on his skin. His senses felt heightened almost as if his world was suddenly intensified by a turn of a dial. The most impressive was through the seemingly endless black, there were defined shapes, even shadows. The fascination with the euphoria was short lived, however. The marvelous smell of angel began to burn the back of Damien's throat. It was felt like a fire had erupted deep within his chest. The burning was intense, and the more his lungs persisted for air, the more violent the fire became.

    Damien bolted upright, settling on his haunches for support. Now that he could examine his surroundings, he could see where the sickeningly delicious smell had come from. He could feel his upper lip pull into a sneer, as he stood and walked to the sight in front of him. His throat burned thoroughly as he approached a trembling young girl, bound and gagged. Her body lay in a ragged fashion, her face and side pressed to the marble floor. Damien knelt down besides the girl, noticing the pulse of blood that ran underneath her porcelain skin. There was a small cut that ran from her ear to her shoulder, releasing a small amount of blood from the relatively harmless wound. Damien smiled, his lips twisting into a demonic grin.

    The girl had hushed herself, as Damien's face grew near. Damien could smell the salt from her tears, so much so that he could taste them. But salt would not quench the fire that blazed in the back of his throat. Damien's lips parted, and he slid his tongue across the length of the girl's neck. The taste of her skin was sinfully divine. Her blood,, though- her blood was far different. It was the most sweetest, finest, fruitful taste. It took only a drop to coax the fire's anger. It burned and flared into Damien's eyes. It swelled into his limbs. It was empowering, enveloping. Damien could not hear himself over the reign of the fire, but from his throat emanated a loud, guttural, hellish growl. The only thing his senses bothered to register was the blood against his burning throat, the melodic sound of bone crackling under the pressure of his jaw, and the taste of the purest ecstasy on his tongue.

    More, He chanted to himself, more, more, more.

    Damien was so involved in process of slaughtering the young girl, he barely sensed a darker, more powerful presence behind him. He had just bashed open the helpless child's skull- a graceful gesture in order to stop the unnecessary twitching- when he felt the presence. His body turned slowly, his thoughts adverted. He felt somehow inferior to this being, he felt fear and reverence.

    A sickly, manic chuckle bubbled into the air, “That’s excellent, Damien. You go on and eat!" The voice was disgustingly smooth.
    Damien felt the fire in his throat burn quietly. He could tell the blood he had consumed had helped the seemingly insatiable burning hunger. The blood had been enough to quiet the pain, but the burn did not feel completely withdrawn from his body.
    The blood.

    Blood! Damien's mind sputtered, I drank her b-. I ki-. I killed her!

    Damien turned to the ugly mess before him. The organs from within the girl's small body lay strewn across the floor, fragments from her skull shattered almost completely about her head. Her body was lifeless, almost bloodless, mangled, and drenched in her own blood. Damien began to dry heave, cough and spit.
    I did this. I killed her! I'm a monster! I'm a monster!

    "What did you do to me!?" his voice was pathetic. The shame and confusion locked his body in place. "What did you do!?" he cried once more, falling to his knees.

    The black clad man in front of him smiled lightly, demonically, "I have given you immortality. I have given you strength of a thousand men," the man walked closer to Damien's trembling body, "I have given you a life you are most suitable for. Don't you see, Damien? You're the perfect killer! I've watched you for a while. Even now! Look at you! You bashed that tasty little number's head right in, so you could have your fun! How clever, you lovely, beautiful boy. That natural instinct to kill- I knew it was alive within you!"

    The man circled Damien with a sly grin on his face. He knelt down beside the trembling, crying, pathetic teen and placed a hand on his shoulder.
    "I have given you a new life," the man spoke wickedly, "But for that, you are mine."

    With the words resounding in Damien's head, the man in black left. It took the entire night for Damien to stop trembling and crying. He had no idea what was in store for him, but it was a sweet, pleasant thought that death may be near.

    "You will stay in here another eight months. You don't deserve to feed. And when you beg, Damien, days will be added. Not hours, not minutes. You should know better than to deny my generosity. Eight months, Damien. Eight."

    The words echoed over and over, endlessly. The hunger lulled on Damien's mind without restraint. He was well into his sixth month, working up just enough power to breath and fight the ugly beast that wrestled underneath his skin. This was his fifteen year with Jack. Fifteen years of torture and suffering. This meant he was technically thirty two. If he was thirty two, then it was only fall of 1899.

    The only thing that could preoccupy Damien's mind was the torture. Damien was taunted with food when he refused to feed. When he begged for the slightest refreshment- anything to quiet the burning- he was starved. When he ran, he was captured and mentally abused for days on end. There was also the physical torture, but Damien had grown to appreciate the distraction. It gave him something other than the hunger or his absolute loss of humanity to think about.

    But for how long would this last? If he did kiss a**, what would happen? Would Jack become bored with him? Surely after fifteen years, there had to have been a reason to keep him around. Damien was constantly fighting not only with the beast that grabbed onto his soul, but with the man who had forced the vice.

    Damien let out a small, hardly substantial breath, and allowed his lidded eyes to open for a brief moment. It would have seemed there was no more energy left to fight. None in which to fight his demons, and none to fight to preserve his life. The hard concert floor was littered with shattered bone, bloodstains and pools of water. He noticed a small glittering fragment from underneath his cot: his concealed piece of glass. The only thing he had been able to hide from Jack.

    To hell, Damien's mind resonated.

    With a small movement, he took the jagged piece of glass. By now, he was most aware of the best places to drain blood, but it was the best right in the thigh. Wrists, necks and hearts were all fine, perfectly suitable points of incision, but if done incorrectly, the misguidance could cause a slow death. Something Damien had miscalculated in the past; the slower he were to die, the easier it was for Jack to heal him back to health.

    Setting the course of action, Damien held the makeshift blade in his palm and stabbed the inner of his right thigh. The pain was almost dull, compared to the fire in his lungs. What was worse, however was the miscalculation of his own strength. The blade felt lodged in his skin, unable to move. Damien began to panic and quickly forgot the plan of action. Instead he pulled upward with all his might, slicing and tearing through his stomach with the last bit of strength he could muster.

    There, he thought happily, obviously satisfied with the rough, jagged line from his inner thigh to his hip, Now I can rest.

    His body fell limp and his mind felt peace for the first time in a forever.

    All I wanted was you,

    Inside the Devil's Nest, Damien took a seat in the back, watching as a small man eyed his movements. It was a small establishment, humble, clean. Well, as clean as a drug joint could be; the tables were cleaned, the knives never had to be sent back for cleaning, and the bar counter didn't feel like a sweaty a**. Noticing for the third time that Damien did not make his move, the small man sat back in his chair, not offering any insane type of drug that could have been purchased.

    Not now, Damien thought to himself. He had plenty of stashes at home to need to purchase any more. At this rate, he decided it was best to kill his sobriety with lots and lots of whiskey.

    Ordering some vodka on the rocks as a primer, Damien leaned his head back against the booth's back. The ceiling looked slightly discolored, but nothing he couldn't stand. He couldn't complain- he was here for more self intoxication, not for aesthetics. He noticed several cracks in the walls, following each as they spider-webbed in onto each other.

    And for the longest time, a smile twisted onto his lips. He closed his eyes, letting the feeling of a revaluation crash around his body. He even chuckled to himself, before opening his eyes.
    How long before I crack?

    All I wanted was you,
    All I wanted was you,
    All I wanted was you,
    All I wanted was you.
    -All I Wanted by Paramore