Massacre.

Howell looks like shit.

Howell is sitting on the floor, his torso is hunched over the toilet.

He’s throwing up black liquid.

When he tries to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, the liquid just smears and beads up. It’s black and red. It’s blood and something else.

My body is burning up. My head pounds.I feel like throwing up.

His hair is a mess.
He struggles to catch his breath and leans back against the wall.

His eyebrows are scrunched. He is in pain.

He is not well.

He’s shirtless.

I can see how pale and almost pasty his skin is. He doesn’t look healthy.

The skin around his mating mark is red and irritated.

Mine feels the same.

Then he’s throwing up again. I hate how it sounds.

I somehow manage to rasp out his name and when he looks at me, it feels like the world is ending.

I drop to my knees. I can see the pain written on his face and I start to feel it too.

My mating mark burns. My heart races and I struggle to catch my breath.

How do to make it stop?

“W-why?” I rasp out.

He is conflicted. Howell tries to collect himself but he can’t.

I can feel his pain. I can feel him under my skin. I can feel him and I’m not even touching him.

Tears start to form in my eyes. I want to cry. If this is how he is feeling. . .

He doesn’t get a break. He’s throwing up again.

“H-how do I make it stop?” I ask.

I am now sitting on the floor against the wall too. One hand over the angry mark on my chest, the other pressed against my forehead.

He groans in pain.

“J-just t-tell me and I’ll d-do it,” I manage between gasps.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. Everything hurts. I feel like I’m going to pass out.

“There’s no going back from this.” He’s sitting next to me. His voice is low and strained.

He’s too close. Having him right next to me makes me feel like my body is on fire. If I wasn’t already sitting the sudden rush of vertigo would have knocked me down. I don’t understand what’s happening but I want it to stop. I’ve been hurting for too long. I don’t want to feel lonely and miserable anymore. I’m tired of sulking. I’m tired of not feeling in control of my own body.

I try my best to get my breathing in check but it’s pointless. I feel like the weight of the world is pressing on my chest. My limbs feel heavy like they are filled with sand.

I turn my head to look at him. Our eyes lock and It feels like time has stopped. Everything I’m feeling and thinking fades away and only one thought remains:

He’s not close enough.

I slowly reach my hand out to touch him. We both watch as it lands on his shoulder. I feel a dam break inside me and like I’m being pulled under again. . . but it’s a different type of burn that begins to spread beneath my skin.

It’s chaos. My hands glide over his skin and Howell pushes me onto the floor. Our hands both desperately rip at the clothes we are wearing.

He’s not close enough.

His lips touch my shoulder.

He’s not close enough.

I need him closer.

My mind is reeling. I need him closer.

My fingers tangles into his hair and I guide his lips to mine.

Our teeth clash for a second but then our lips lock.

One second I’m laying on the floor with him on top of me, the next he’s standing up and my legs are wrapped around him.

He’s walking somewhere but I don’t care.

He’s kissing me, I’m kissing him. My hands are all over him. Touching him and being touched by him feels so good. My hands don’t stay still. They run over his shoulder, down his arms, down his chest. They make their way up his back and stangle in his hair, tugging. Howell has one hand under my butt and the other grips onto my leg.

We are hungry for each other. We are desperate. It feels so fucking good.

He throws me onto a bed, his bed. I can smell him everywhere. We’re only apart for a moment before he’s on top of me again, this time grinding me into the bed with his hips. We’re making sounds of pleasure and pain.

Our lips break a part for a moment. Our torsos are flush against each other. One of my hands cup the back of his neck and the other runs down his back.

I need him.

I can feel Howell kissing my neck. His mouth moves down, to my collar bone and just below that. He kisses the mating mark and I automatically moan. Pleasure spreads throughout my body.

“I need you, Howell.” I somehow manage to say out loud.

“I need you too,” he whispers in my ear.

In the darkness of his room and the sheets of his bed; I feel like I’m falling apart and getting stitched back together. My mind scrambles to make sense of it all but then it shuts off. It’s just me and him, our hands all over each other and bodies melding. It’s gasps, our heavy breathing, growls, and moans that fill the silence.

His teeth sink into my shoulder and sense of relief washes over me. I can feel him inside me; physically and mentally. I can hear his thoughts and emotions. I can feel the pleasure rippling through the both of us.

There’s a moment where I tuck my face into his neck, to catch my breath. I look down in between us. Our marks are swirling, and black tendrils are connecting between them.

“Massacre.”

His voice is low when he calls my name. It clicks in my head how I’ve heard him call my name so many times in person and in my head. He has always been there for me

I look up at him, our foreheads pressing together. Our noses are squished.

I look into his eyes.

I am right where I belong.