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This is a short bit from the series I wrote, taken from the sixth (and last) book about my gay boy's past. I posted it as a reference tool for radioactive_x, but feedback from my friends in general is widely appreciated.

Note: There are forty chapters in the sixth book.


It had become an odd sort of... habit, he supposed.

Not that it mattered much to him anymore. One-night stands were just how he managed, just how he would bide his time until someone more solid came along to hold him upright, someone more permanent.

Nobody ever stayed. Not for him, anyway. Men stayed for Mildred, for her pretty doe eyes and her smooth brown skin; girls stayed for Daniel if he gave them the chance, for his broad knowledge and his dry sense of humor. Hell, people would even stay for his sister if she would only let herself open up to possibilities that she doesn't have to be a loner.

But for Warren Mallory? No. Nobody stayed.

His first boyfriend hadn't been ideal, to say the least. Jim, the school athletic star, a favorite of all the broomstick coaches and the cheerleaders. Warren hadn't been entirely sure about himself yet, being thirteen and small and confused. He was still small and confused, come to think of it, a good half-foot shorter than he should be and thin as a rail from his anorexic tendency to refuse food.

But Jim... strong, athletic, dark hair not quite covering his soulful brown eyes. Warren was a sucker for carefully toned muscle and a pretty face, and Jim seemed perfect for his tastes.

Of course, Warren tried. He really did try hard to just go talk to him without the butterflies in his stomach telling him to turn the other way. When he finally did just go up and say hello, school lunch going stale and cold on his tray, he didn't regret it, because Jim and his friends smiled a little and said: "How 'bout you come eat with us?"

Friendship. Actual, honest-to-God friendship from somebody, and so early in the school year. Warren was happy and excited, wearing his usual t-shirt and jeans and getting grass stains from wrestling around with the guys. He was normal back when he was with them, his hair short and his face clear of any makeup. No earrings, no jewelry of any sort, no nail polish... just a regular, happy, smiling thirteen-year-old boy with his school buddies.

He wanted a fairy tale relationship with his friends. He wanted love and trust and friendship, he wanted to be held and to be told that he was loved, he wanted happily ever after.

The time came. He decided it was time to confess what had been eating at him for over a month now, and he took a deep breath before saying, "Jim... I think I might be gay."

He should have seen it coming, now that he thought about it. Jim himself had shoved Warren to the ground, saying that all gay people were a menace to society and that it was their fault that AIDS existed in the world. That Warren was dirty, that Warren didn't deserve friendship from clean straight men.

They'd used the broomsticks when their boots weren't enough, crushing into Warren's ribs until he saw spots, until he could taste his own blood on his tongue. He couldn't handle the beating he received and eventually just began to cry, shamefully, afraid of letting himself open up anymore to his so-called "friends".

They'd laughed. Jim had laughed, loud and hard at the way Warren stumbled on his hands and knees, at the way his clothes tore open at the seams from trying to escape. "Do you like it up the ass?" Jim had asked cruelly, and Warren had only cried more when they'd wrestled his clothes off, dragging him behind the broomstick shed as the bell rang for class.

Rape. That was a word that struck Warren's soul even now, something that he couldn't bear to hear or talk about. Jim wasn't perfect after all, wasn't the kind person that Warren had thought he was.

Afterwards, Warren was bleeding and crying and gathering his ripped clothes up to his bare chest, attempting to warm himself from the chill that ran down his spine. Jim had offered help, the rest had offered to help clean him up when he vomited, but he'd just shaken his head and said he needed to go rest and that he forgave them. It wasn't their fault, after all; it was his fault for being so dirty, for bringing his filthy secret out into the open.

He didn't sleep that night. The pain inflicted upon his heart was too great and he'd tossed and turned in his bed before he couldn't handle it anymore, and he'd gone to the bathroom and he'd sliced his arm open with a shaving razor. Deep, deep enough to make his fingers tingle, but it was worth it to feel the sting of truth and to watch the crimson liquid drip in rivulets down his white skin.

It was then that he'd decided to be different. That he'd grown out his hair, smothered his face in makeup to hide away from the world, sliced his wrists daily, covered his hideous body in tight leather to give the illusion that he was beautiful. That he was worthy of attention and not just the dirt that Jim had claimed he was. Knee-high boots, earrings lining the shells of his ears, black nail polish. He could be a new Warren, someone unrecognizable, someone worth looking at.

A whore, according to his next boyfriend.

The rest of the men, Warren went through like Elaine went through shirts. One after another, he let them fuck him as hard as they needed, he let them hurt him, let them beat him into submission, let them have their wicked way with his sinewy body. And he didn't care. Because along with cutting, along with leather and eyeliner and nail polish and jewelry, he'd adopted another habit.

It was their fault in the first place. He'd wanted so badly to be popular at the time, and that's what was popular that year. From the moment he'd entered that needle into his vein, he was hooked to the sensation of flying that the potions gave him. He thought he looked better with his pupils blown anyway, and with the drugs in his system, it was easier for him to just give a man a blowjob or to spread his legs for someone he hardly knew.

Spiraling off into oblivion, he didn't think that a couple shots of homemade potions would really chalk up to the other things he'd let himself get into.

Time passed. The school year was over, and he covered up his new self with his old one before he left for home. The next year came sooner than he would've liked, and this time his sister came with him, her attitude masking her terror. It was okay, because she could be afraid if she needed to be. They hardly spoke, avoiding one another like oil and vinegar, and Warren buried himself in his new lifestyle.

He was just thinking about how alone he really was, about how nobody on the face of the planet would ever want to touch him, when his dormitory door opened and a boy in glasses smiled at him. "I'm your new roommate," he'd said. "You must be Warren."

Daniel. Small, gentle, quiet. Perfect in every aspect, and he wasn't afraid. Daniel didn't fear Warren's recklessness like the rest, didn't find Warren dirty or disgusting. And Warren... God help him... was in love.

But his habits got the best of him. He let himself be taken by any man that would so much as look at him, all the while thinking of Daniel's pretty blue eyes and those skillful hands, feeling like he was going to be sick.

The years passed like pages turning in an especially good dime-store novel, the pages brown from being kept in the sun, the binding dusty and the spine cracked. And Daniel didn't take the obvious hints Warren gave, and Warren kept on having too much sex for his own good, and nobody cared.

Nobody cared.

Daniel and Mildred began dating. It was over before it even really started, his shy nature no match for her loud, cheerleader-esque excitement. He came crawling to Warren on the same night that Mark had dumped him with little more than a half-consented fuck and a wave. Daniel looked desperate and tired when Warren had shimmied into his bed, looking for warmth and comfort...

He'd spilled. With a simple question, Daniel had kissed him, and despite Warren's pleas to just give him a minute, they peeled off their clothes and Daniel had touched him, tasted him, made him arch and whimper and moan like the quivering mess he'd been when this whole thing had started. Warren couldn't help but beg when Daniel's tongue trailed from his bellybutton down, when those hands held his hips still to get the job done.

Daniel had let him feel the pleasure that had been absent from all the other relations he'd been in. Daniel gave him a sense of purpose.

The next morning... nothing. Not a smile, not a kiss, not a reassurance that it was all going to be okay. Daniel left him cold, only telling him that it could never happen again because what they'd done was wrong.

Basically, that Warren was wrong.

If Daniel noticed that Warren was a little quieter, a little more reserved, he said nothing. Warren was content to just hide away for a while, but then he'd confronted Daniel again. And from his lips came all of the emotions that had been building up inside of him over their six-year friendship, all of the regret and envy and guilt that had been locked away. "So maybe I'm not perfect!" Warren had screamed, and the lights had flickered dangerously with a power Warren didn't know he had. "So maybe I'm not smooth and silky like your little princess Millie--"

"Don't drag her into this!" Daniel's voice yelled back. "She has nothing to do with--"

"She has everything to do with it! You worship her like she's a goddess, and all she ever does for you is she leaves you alone! She runs off with some half-assed excuse to get away from you, because you suffocate her, Daniel! You make her feel cramped! She's not perfect, don't you understand?! She's afraid, just like the rest of us, she's scared that she'll lose you on top of Elaine if she gets too close!"

Daniel's face was pale. "Stop it! She's not... she's clean! She's clean, Warren! She's not like you! She's not dirty, she's not tainted like you!"

"She is! Your perfect princess is just... like... me!!"

Daniel slapped him. Hard, hard enough to leave a bruise on his jaw, hard enough that Warren's eyes burned with the unshed tears he still held inside for Daniel, for a love he could have had, for his sister's death. Nothing mattered, and Warren let Daniel know this when he cut his hair. When he cut his bangs short, when he washed his face, when he sliced his wrists open for the last time.

Nothing mattered.

Because even when Daniel remained by his side throughout all their years of adulthood, their relationship was damaged beyond repair, their golden friendship was now a tarnished gray. Even when Daniel was right there...

He didn't really stay.

Nobody stayed. There was no permanent, no solid, nobody that would hold Warren forever in the warmth of heavy blankets, nobody that would make him feel... happy.

There was no happily ever after.
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