Dexy watched the blood well up on his wrists, the color a vibrant red. If not for the consequences, he was sure Mosby would think it quite artistic as it trailed down his forearms, a stark contrast to his pale skin. He could see pools beginning on the mattress on either side of him, but there was no one left to care. He looked up and around at the extravagant and luxurious bedroom he’d shared with Mosby. He saw his lover’s touch everywhere, from the muted inset lighting in the ceiling, to the understated color composition of the décor, to the expensive art on the walls. He gave a weak smile. Mosby had such great taste, despite falling in love with a loser like him.
He leaned his head back against the ornate oak headboard and closed his eyes. To this day he did not understand what Mosby saw in him. He was damaged, broken and yet Mosby picked him up, dusted him off and announced he was the love of Mosby’s life. What Mosby’s love did for Dexy was beyond sublime and a miracle as far as Dexy was concerned. But now Mosby was gone, taken away like every other good thing that ever tantalized Dexy with the potential for happiness.
Mosby had been the one bright promise in Dexy’s miserable existence. A promise that lasted much too short a time and then was ripped away as if Dexy didn’t deserve the kind of love Mosby gifted him with. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t worth such a pure human being as Mosby. But no one could say they loved Mosby more than Dexy did. And he made sure his lover knew it with every breath he took, with each reverent touch and gentle kiss, any and all words that left his mouth. Dexy loved Mosby with his whole heart and soul—and his body. There was nothing Dexy wouldn’t give Mosby, and now, as the pools of blood grew, he would give Mosby his life.