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Waking up one night, not knowing where I was, or whom I was with, I found myself staring at the walls beside me. I was in a small room, one I had seen many times before. The walls were covered with writing, markings, carved into the wood. The symbols transformed before me as sleep turned into understanding, they shifted into letters, explaining to me what they meant. The letters then shifted again, within the sights of my perception, into words. Words which brought fear into my mind. Words surrounded me, and the slut lying next to me.

These words that surrounded the scene of our crime described us perfectly, they explained what we were, and what we had done; not our crime, but our lives. They described us, just as they described their owner, just as he described himself. These words lay, engrained in the wood of the small hut where we lay, embodying the pain, which had created them. The edges of each letter were hard, and to a point. The words screamed at the reader, with their jagged lines, and blood stained groves. They cried out to me then, begging me to listen to their pain and suffering, and begging me to realize that these words, these painful symbols on the wall, were not foreign to me, but carved into my heart, just as they were carved into the heart of their creator.

I knew where we were. We were near Kefalari Park, at his house, his Kiffisia house. That house where we would get drunk, and stoned, without thoughts or fears, and just do everything they tell us not to. We were in the house where I had lost everything I was ever given. This was the house where I sold my soul to drugs. This was the house where I gave my body to the desires of my mind, and some girl I don’t even remember. This was the house where I first destroyed my body, cutting. This was the house where I first died. How the girl and I got in here, now that everyone who once lived here has left, I will never know. On one wall I noticed a word I had never seen before, with far more chips of blood embedded in it, ‘Love.’ I sat up as I looked around it, at all the words of hatred which seemed to revolve around this single word. I felt something heavy leaning against my shoulder.

The girl I was lying with moved up to me, and whispered softly into my ear, `Go back to sleep, baby, its only three.' I recognized her voice, and lay down next to her, and asked her why she had fucked me. I told her that I was confused, and that I didn’t know why she would let me fuck her, my best friends girlfriend; why she would do it in his own room. I didn't understand, but I didn’t need to, I had wanted to screw her, now I had. I didn’t care about her, or at least I didn’t want to have a relationship with her. She and I had always been friends, through the good and the bad, we had always had each other to love when we feared we could not find that love anywhere else. She had been there for me through bouts of depression and the suicide attempts, and I had been there for her, as a shoulder to cry on, whenever I could. I loved her, as much as I needed her. I loved her as much as I wanted to fuck her, with her blonde hair, and rock hard body and amazing tits.

I lay next to her, realizing how I finally did it.
I lay next to her, running my fingers through her hair.
I lay next to her, feeling the sensual curves of her body.
I lay next to her, holding her tight against myself.
I lay next to her, caressing the hard scabs of the words, which lay, embedded in her skin.
I lay next to her, caressing the same words that lay engraved in the walls around me.
I lay next to her, caressing the harsh familiar words, the same as the words cut into my best friends skin, the same words as engraved in my soul.
I lay next to her, caressing my scars.

I felt a tear drip down my own soft, quivering cheek. The tear made its way down from my cheek, through the edge of my lips, and down my chin, into the dark abyss of the pillow. I went from a man fucking her, without a care in the world, drunk and high; to this, a boy crying into a pillow with someone staring and watching me throw my insecurities and fears onto the world.

While I lay there, in that house where Liam used to live, I died inside. I had died inside many times before. I have died inside many times since.



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