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.
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