Page 60 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
Phoenix,
I write this to you with black paint splattered across my walls and phantom blood staining my hands.
Have you ever been stuck in a dream? A nightmare to be more precise? I had one tonight. A scene that lasted no more than five seconds but one that played over and over on a loop, and I couldn’t wake up from it no matter how much I screamed down at myself to get the fuck up, Sebastian!
I’d shouldered through a rusty, steel stairwell door onto a roof. Alexander peered over the edge, his back to me. His wool coat billowed on the arms of the wind, his own arms raised and outstretched as if nailed to an invisible cross. His name left my lips on an anguished scream and then he was gone.
Each time the scene replayed, I tried something different. Running to him, begging him not to do it, asking for his forgiveness. It ended the same despite my efforts.
When I finally did wake I was trembling and wet and cold. Most of all I was angry, Phoenix. But not at myself, for once, but at Alex for being so weak and for not fighting harder for me. Maybe if he had, I wouldn’t have given in to my father. It’s his fault, I thought. Not mine. It can’t be mine. Not anymore…
And then I cried silently and with my mouth stretched so wide, Phoenix. Because I was in pain, because I was ashamed of the callousness of my thoughts. And because Emily’s room was down the hall and I didn’t want to wake her.
And then I painted, because painting is supposed to make me feel better. Paintingyouis supposed to make me feel better. But I couldn’t get a clear picture of you in my mind because even though the dream was over it followed me still. I tossed my brush aside and grabbed fistfulls of black paint and smeared it across the canvas. And then ran those same hands across my walls. I needed to rage, but I couldn’t.
Blame crashed into me like a blind bat. Or stones. Did Alex feel likehewas being stoned on his cross up on that roof? Were the stones coming from my direction? Did I tip him over?
My repressed anger altered into angered arousal, and I wanted you here. Here so I could pin you under my heavy bulk and send my cock right through you and eat your cries. I wanted, still want, to cover you with my paint and tell you to take me as I stare into your eyes and see my own submission. To wrestle you onto all fours and feel all my power transfer to you through your willingness to give up control. You’d be my strength. My pillar. You’d keep my foundation from crumbling. You’d tell me to give it to you. To give you some of this thing inside of me tonight.
And after we came, I would hold you so close. Closer than I ever have. And I would promise never to leave you. Promise to never let you fall.
After all that, does it sound crazy to say that I feel free, Phoenix? Lighter than I have in years. Could it be all it would’ve taken was for me to allow myself to feeleverything?
I’m still trembling as I write this, and feeling free doesn’t equate to being fixed, or fully transformed. But a transformation is underway. And as shaken and destroyed as I am right now, I believe this is progress. It has to be, because I refuse to go backward. Not when the end goal is to run straight to you.
Chapter 20
Phoenix
“Know thyself.”
~Plato
“Phoenix!” Theory pounced on me as soon as she opened the door. “I can’t believe you actually showed up.”
“I said I would,” I replied once I’d caught my breath.
“Yeah, well—” She shrugged, choosing to end things there. “We borrowed my dad’s man cave in the basement. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“Is Danny here?”
She walked backward. “Yeah, and I promised no sarcastic jabs in front ofthe crush.”
“Hey,” I whispered when we reached the staircase landing. “I think I’m going to take charge of my social media page from now on.”
“You hate social media. Do you even know how to use it?” she deadpanned.
“I’m sure I can figure it out.” I flashed back to my dad’s things, and Sebastian’s last journal entry. “I want to use my page as a sort of living journal. To document my...adventures.”
“You’re going to have adventures?” She pressed the back of her hand to my forehead.
“Hey, Pheeny. You showed.” Danny came barreling up the stairs.
“He’s sick,” said Theory. “We should keep him away from the others.”
“What’s wrong?” Danny eyed me up and down.
“I’m fine—”
