I actually wrote this back in the beginning of August, when I was getting a new computer (I wrote it in a notebook and didn't bother to title it). I was dithering over whether to post it, and then I decided not to when I read How to Disappear Completely by Versace Frolic (go read it, now). The writing styles are slightly similar (even though the stories are radically different) but that story is a majillion times better than this, so I felt totally inadequate. But I sent this to my friend as a sample of my bad writing, and he told me if I didn't post it today, he'd never speak to me again. So here it is. (Fuck Valentine's Day. He ordered it because it's my birthday today and he knew it would piss me off. Too bad I adore him so I can't really be mad at him.) It's written in three different points of view, and like they're talking to you but they're not, because they don't know you're there. Personally, I think this is dreadfully cliché and too dramatic. Like a friggin soap opera. But I owe him big time. (Damn you, James.) Yes, this is a little sexual, but not graphic. The most is in the beginning, because it's important to introduce the main characters that way. And really, I think lemons are kind of…bad taste.

This focuses on Roxas, Axel, and Larxene, though there are other important characters. And Roxas…has a very different way of looking at things, which almost doesn't fit (in my opinion) his personality. It's a little hard to identify with, but it's not like I know what the hell he's talking about either. I don't know what his deal is; it's just the way he is and I still think he's pretty cool, even though his thought process is so different from mine that I sometimes got a little frustrated with him. Too bad I'm powerless to say no to characters' demands, huh?

NOTE: Initially, Xion (the little girl who comes in later on) was actually an insignificant OC. But I changed the name and interactions slightly when I learned about her more.

Dedication: James. May your face get kicked every day for the rest of your life, you ass.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Zheyne who didn't own anything but a brain. The end. (Duly Disclaimed.)

Introduction

For as long as I can remember, I've been a very destructive person. I don't mean to be; but I always seem to ruin things, or at least make them intensely uncomfortable. When I ruin things, it's generally not things; it's usually people I ruin. I don't like it, but I don't know how to fix it because it's hard to vocalize what's wrong in language other people can understand.

You know what's really bizarre? I don't care, mostly. I want to care, but sometimes it's like that part of me is blocked. Dealing with people is something I've never been able to do properly, but not for lack of wanting. I usually manage to mess it up, to destroy it.

Here's the first example I can remember. When I was at a surprisingly social period in my life, I started dating someone. It was a guy named Demyx; he was a pretty awesome person, and also my next-door neighbor when I lived on the Islands. He and I actually hooked up on accident; there was a party he had to attend, and I was in the vicinity when he found out. He told me he needed a date, and I told him I'd wear a dress if he paid for it.

I'm not a drag-queen, you know. I don't think you could call me 'gay,' either. I don't really believe in words like that…it's complicated for some people to understand, but I guess you could say I'm equal-opportunity, as long as the person can deal with my occasional silence and my other oddities. I'm actually not very girly, but I have no problem slipping on a dress if it means I get to hear laughter, even if it's at my expense instead of at my words. It's almost like being normal.

He agreed to buy it, and obviously we had to get an irritatingly large choker to cover my Adam's apple, but it wasn't a big deal to me.

And that's how it started, really. We started going out on dates. I always wore a dress if his parents might be looking out the window and see my profile, but that wasn't very often. I always invited him over for wine and quiet evenings (I can be pretty romantic sometimes; I learned how by watching other people), but we never actually got to the sex part. He was afraid of it for some reason; something like he didn't want to get hurt and he didn't want to hurt me.

It was hard to understand why he thought it would hurt one of us, but I think my pain receptors are a bit defective because I have an extremely high pain tolerance. I don't like physical contact, generally, but as long as I don't need to cuddle afterward, I like sex a lot. It helps me be social without the awkwardness of conversation. I didn't think it was a very serious relationship; it was mostly laughter and jokes. Back then, I had trouble speaking – not because of shyness, but because I couldn't find the appropriate words – but Demyx didn't seem to mind.

And he did think our relationship was serious. There was one night, where we went dancing. He may have been boring sexually, but he was like traveling sex when he was dancing. He taught me everything I know. Right before we went inside, he told me something.

"Hey, I have to tell you before I get drunk because then you'd never believe it. I love you, Roxas! I really love you. Now let's hit the floor."

That killed me. Terrified me. No one had ever said that to me, not even my parents. They weren't bad parents. I was always fed, I always had clothes, and I always had a roof over my head. They just preferred to leave me alone. Or at least, as far as I can remember. There's a period of two years and thirty-four days of blankness in my memory. But that's not the point.

The point is I really didn't know how to deal with that, and I ended up just smiling at him and saying, "Let's hit it, Love."

Was that mean? I think it might have been. But I didn't know what to do. That night was the last night I ever heard him say it, though. I think I might miss it, if I could access my emotions fully, but for as long as I can remember, it's like everything's just slate-blank, or at least a painting in pastel watercolors that got dropped in the sink and just looks blurry. I have a hard time caring about most things. I do remember being scared though, because I didn't understand why he'd say something like that, and I didn't really want to believe him.

So here's what happened. We went to his house, and fell asleep in his bed. I knew we were supposed to keep it secret. He was afraid of his parents. I didn't know why, but…

It happened like this. We both got drunk, and he looked really amazing, dancing right in front of me, and I knew he was too far gone to realize I was still male and it was a bad idea to go to his house, but we ended up in his bed that night anyway.

No, we didn't have sex. He was too far gone, and maybe I'm an apathetic freak, but I'm not stupid enough to have sex without the other person's explicit consent. We woke up the next morning to his dad hollering about indecency and other senseless things like that, and his mom crying, and he was really confused because he didn't remember the last night at all.

I left him there to deal with his parents alone. I didn't know why a twenty-year-old still lived with his parents anyway; I was nineteen and I'd lived on my own ever since I'd graduated. I didn't understand the gravity of the situation. And when I left, I thought I'd see him later. He'd probably come to my door, tell me he was kicked out, ask me if he could stay.

What I didn't know is that his dad was purposely a much bigger asshole than I could ever be on accident.

His parents threatened me, and told me not to go to his funeral.

So you see? That's the kind of thing I'm talking about. His dad went to jail, but jail time doesn't bring someone back to life. I actually cried, the day of his funeral – I don't do that very often, so it was a big deal to me.

There were a few other people…Selphie, Zexion, Olette, her best friend Hayner…they all said they loved me. Well, except Zexion. He had a different way of showing what he felt. He didn't use words; he just didn't pretend in front of me, about anything.

After Selphie told me she loved me, we had sex. It was really boring. I'd figured she'd be risky, with her talent with ropes and whips…but she was kind of like Demyx, in that she wanted to be gentle with sexual things. I hate gentle. It feels like zero. So the morning after, I left. I left her a note, told her she was a great girl, but that I needed someone more exciting. I know it was harsh, but it's not like I was going to stay with her anyway, not after she'd said that. I figured I'd better be honest, even if she wasn't.

Olette and I had a strange 'off-and-on fuck-buddy' system, or at least that's what she called it, which was fine with me; but somehow she convinced herself she loved me. I'd told her about Selphie and Demyx one night, in a rare bout of chatter, and she just touched my hand and said, "I trust you not to hurt me."

Obviously, I didn't realize she actually thought she was falling for me. So I shook her hand away and said, "I thought you liked it that way." Because she was a really nice girl, very girl-next-door, but behind closed doors she was like a devil. She really made me feel alive, like eighty-three.

She just smiled. Four days later, we were on the clock tower alone and she told me she loved me. It was sunset, and there was a distance of an inch and a half between us, and she leaned a little closer and whispered it in my ear.

Maybe I should've kept my mouth shut. I mean, out of everyone, Olette was the best, and maybe in another situation, I could've believed her. But I didn't keep my mouth shut.

"Don't ruin such a romantic moment," I said.

She drew back and got a look on her face – the totally devastated one. I sighed. "Don't look at me like that. I already told you, it's a bad idea to get involved with me."

"And I trusted you!"

I just shrugged and replied, "You shouldn't have. I wouldn't trust me."

We never hung out after that. But I found this other guy pretty quick. His name was Hayner, and at that point he didn't know Olette or Pence, her other best friend. He was okay in the bedroom, not mind-blowing like Olette, but he had good taste in music. We met at the only concert I ever attended (I had problems with crowds), and we hooked up that night. Our relationship consisted mostly of illegal tram rides and sexual favors and sea-salt ice cream, sometimes two at the same time.

One day, he was in a little café for lunch with a couple of his classmates, and I snuck up behind him and slid under the table. Gave him a blowjob right there in the middle of the day. He was a little pissed, but mostly he just laughed and told me I'd better do that again sometime.

After that, I made it a point to sneak up on him in social situations, because it was nice to see him lose it for eleven to seventeen seconds, when I swallowed all his excitement. I think his friends either thought he had some kind of disorder where he shook and made weird faces occasionally, or they thought he could orgasm at will during random times of the day. Either way, it made me smile.

But he told me he loved me too. I punched him in the face and left town. When I came back, he and Olette had bonded over a few helpings of sea-salt ice cream and heartbreak. I didn't understand, but while I had been out of town, I'd met Zexion, so it was easy for me to classify it and move on.

I met him in a bookstore, actually. He was sitting behind the counter – he worked there. I couldn't help but think that even though his hair was ridiculous and he looked like he didn't know how to use his face, he was very appealing. I told him what I thought when I knew the words, and I asked him if he had time later that day.

He just looked steadily at me and replied, "It depends on how skilled you are."

So I decided to show him, the same way I showed Hayner. Right there under the desk. Zexion was better at keeping it hidden though, which was a little disappointing, but mostly enjoyable. I like giving blowjobs. It's random, really, especially since it doesn't affect me very much. And like I said before, I'm not only for guys. But there's something really satisfying in pleasuring someone…or maybe it's just because I like to see them lose it.

That's probably it. It's one of the things I understand very well, and when I understand something, I want to do it or see it often.

I stayed in that town for three months exactly. When we first met, he was very quiet – quieter as me, if you can believe that – and he always chose his words very carefully. By the time I left, he sometimes smiled at me and he spoke more freely.

When I saw that Olette and Hayner had met each other, I decided I didn't want the drama of Twilight Town any more, and I picked up and moved to Radiant Garden, where Zexion lived.

Our 'relationship' went on for another two months and three days, though we never actually dated. By the end, he didn't censor himself around me, and I knew what each and every one of his smiles meant. There was a bad day, where I woke up in bed and he was there, resting his chin on my chest and just watching me. I knew it was time to move on then, because it was getting really intimate in the bad way, and I didn't want to be touched like that.

I never saw him again; he quit his job at the bookstore and just disappeared. I know it wasn't because of me; he'd planned to quit that job anyway. I know he's still alive, because even though he has hair that fits certain stereotypes, he's not like that. He's the kind of guy who would disappear if he wanted to get away, not kill himself. He's good at hiding the truth, so I'm sure he's probably fine, even if he isn't.

Now, I'm twenty-three and I'm always single. I know it's better for everyone, in the long run, if I don't get involved with anyone.

I like going to clubs. It's an easy place to hook up for a night. You buy someone a drink to see how they react; it's a good way to measure things. If they throw it in your face, they're either taken or insulted. If they drink with a frown, they're too polite to tell you to just go away. If they drink with a huge smile, they're probably desperate and looking to please anyone, which can be nice, but mostly it's just irksome because they're usually 'gentle people.' If they raise their glass to you with a smirk, it's perfect. Now…I'm not picky. I'll sleep with a lot of different types. I'm not a sex fiend or anything, but there's something satisfying in feeling alive for a night. I don't like to cuddle, or wake up next to strangers, but I like their perfect heartbeats, no matter if they're fast or slow.

Then in the morning I just give them a fake number, maybe do something like fold their clothes in the morning if they're not on the verge of waking up, and then avoid them. It's probably a little cruel, but it's something I need to do. Usually, though, people know I'm not going to see them after we're finished.

There are two people I've stuck by for a long time, though. Luckily, they don't believe they're in love with me at all, and I do what I can to make sure it stays that way. In fact, I don't even like to look at Axel for long. He's probably the only one I'd never do anything with, because I actually really like his company. It would screw up our friendship. And as weird as it sounds, he's the only one I'd regret sleeping with, because I think he's the only one who would understand and still stick by me.

Larxene is my personal freak, the one who knows exactly how to make it rough and sexy and alive. I guess some would call us 'fuck-buddies,' but I genuinely like her like a best friend. She knows it's no strings attached, and sometimes I think she understands me better than I understand myself.

I guess sometimes it bothers me, that I don't know how to handle even the word 'love.' There's no reason. I just…don't understand it. If language was a system of numbers, I don't think 'love' would exist. Sometimes I just want out, because I think there's something wrong with me. Sometimes I just want someone to shake me till my brain falls out, to smack some sense into me. But they never do. Larxene doesn't count, because I like it too much and she's not trying to knock sense into me at all. Sometimes that bothers me though.

But then I go out and have sex or numb my brain – not both at the same time though, that would be a disaster – and I forget about it, so it's okay until I remember again.

Larxene

My name is Larxene Andersen and I'm a bitch. Insert various inane pleasantries here, and pretend I'm smiling at you. Trust me; it's easier that way.

When I was in school, my teachers were afraid of me. Pussies. Back then I didn't even carry my switchblade. There was just something about me…my eyes, maybe. It's not my fault my parents thought it was a great idea to sign up for the prenatal genetics project. In case you don't know what that means, they basically decided I'd have blonde hair and green eyes, and because of them, I have to be careful what I eat or I'll get ridiculously skinny. I don't care what you say; guys don't like girls who look like twigs. My friends always tell me that, and they're guys so I believe them.

But my parents didn't expect my eyes to look like poison, or my hair to be fucked up in the front. I was supposed to be the perfect daughter, the one they could play dress-up with and marry off. But my eyes put people off. My parents hate it. So, naturally, I love it.

But that's not really what I'm trying to tell you. In school, my teachers were afraid of me. I got away with a lot of shit because of that. I was supposed to get good grades, to be the model student. I didn't really care about that, but my mom was a nutjob and she could get pretty creative with her punishments. There was this one time, where she fucking electrocuted me…I don't know how. I don't remember much of that night. But I didn't want that to happen ever again. So if I got a bad grade, I'd just go talk to the teacher. I'd make up some bullshit story. And I'd give them my signature look, the one that makes people quiver in fear because they think I'm threatening them. I was threatening them, but they had no way to prove it.

They'd always buy my story, even if they knew it was bullshit. I wriggled my way out of detentions that way too.

The point of telling you that is to show why I always get my way. Well, almost always. There's these two guys who know me and don't let me get away with shit, but they're allowed to stop me because they're my best friends. I don't call them my best friends. It's not my style to be sentimental. It makes me embarrassed and self-conscious. And if you tell them I told you, I'll kill you. Don't think I'm joking. I've done it before.

I mean, first it was self-defense, everyone knew that. My mom finally lost it and came at me, you know, with a knife, and I turned it on her because I can be really fast when I'm running on adrenaline. It's like the excitement or anxiety makes everything clearer, and my reflexes get better. No one blamed me, except my dad, but he was next. They said that was self-defense, too, but it wasn't. I just knew, from killing my mom, that it felt good to make people scream, to make them beg for mercy. I don't grant it though.

But about my friends. There's Axel, who is a stick, naturally, and if he were a girl I'd think maybe he had a thyroid problem or something. But he's not. I dunno…can guys have thyroid problems? He has red hair, the same color as the balloon in Le Ballon Rouge,and it's much weirder than mine. His eyes are a strange green, too. I guess I found a sort of kindred spirit in him, as dumb as that sounds.

He's not pretty, like me. He has a bit of an awkward look to him – he's too curvy and his chin is longer than most people's, and he has a funky hairline and bizarre birthmarks under his eyes – but he's very graceful and he has a very distinct brand of personal charm, which most people find hard to resist. So really, you don't even look at him for that long. You see his personality, hear his sexy voice, notice it's like he's made of fire, and pretty soon you're thinking he's the best-looking guy in the place, even though he's obviously not.

When I first met him, we hated each other. It was just the two of us, back then. He loved to see me trip and fall – metaphorically and literally – and I loved to see him backed into a corner and angry and hurt. It hit me one morning. We were getting coffee, and he paid for it. Then he told me coffee is a diuretic, and if I really wanted to be more unattractive than I already was, I should just go the whole way and not eat. I told him he should stop speaking from experience, because it made him look like a pussy.

But we both had smiles on our faces, even though we both kind of meant what we said. But that's when it hit me. We both loved to see each other in pain, so in that respect, we were of the same mind. So that made us friends. And I knew he said that, about coffee being a diuretic, because he was trying to tell me he really did care that I was losing weight.

We have this ongoing flirting thing now; I pretend to hit on him, and he pretends he hates me. Neither of us means it. I know he'd never look twice at me, at least not like that, and I…well, I have a problem, and it has to do with my other best friend.

Roxas is a little short; he's only a little taller than me, and I'm five-eight. But he's the best-looking guy I've ever seen. He has blond hair, which flips up on one side, and the prettiest blue eyes anyone could ever have. His parents signed up for the project too, just not where I live. Maybe it's a side-effect that the baby's eyes will be too defined, too vivid, and the hair will be fucked up, because his hair looks like he fell asleep on one side and didn't wake up for a lot of years. It doesn't look bad. But it's weird. (Axel has no excuse. He's just a freak.)

He's quieter than I am, and I'm quieter than Axel is, so compared to Axel, Roxas is like a whisper. He's also a little odd. But he's sexy, and dangerous, and when he says something, you listen, even though he doesn't seem to expect you to. His voice isn't as sexy as Axel's, but it's silky and perfect and important.

Technically, we're just fuck-buddies. I know his story. He told me and Axel one night when we were drunk and stuck in a hotel room because it was a white-out outside and we lived in the new fifth district. I don't actually know where he came from, but I know he thinks he caused the death of the only boyfriend he ever had. I know he can't remember anything from the time he was almost sixteen to the time his parents kicked him out the door. And I know that somewhere deep down, he probably thinks he's unlovable, which is why he keeps breaking people's hearts.

Is it so surprising that I caught onto that? I don't think so. I'm really perceptive; it's how I know how to get into your mind and torture you. But Roxas is the only one I can't do that to. Because…

Because I have a problem. Somehow, I fell in love with him. Somehow, he wriggled his way into my little poison heart, and the first time I realized that, I decided to kill him. I felt like it was his fault, that he'd done it on purpose.

He was drunk. I think he was tripping, too, but you can't always tell with Roxas because even when he's completely gone he can have a decent conversation with you and make you laugh because he's intelligent, not because he's stupid. He still has shitty reflexes when he's like that. It would have been so easy to take advantage of that, just to sit on top of him and then cut him until he was dead.

But he looked up at me (he had his head next to my lap, and his feet stretched out to my side), and he said, "I think I could love you someday."

It wasn't a lie, because Roxas never lies to me. He has this habit of telling the truth when he's out of it anyway, which is why he's always sober when he fucks around with anyone but me. And…how could I kill him, if I had a chance?

Don't think me an idiot for being sentimental. I don't think I could have killed him anyway. I would probably get distracted by the way the blood made him even more beautiful, and then I'd start licking it off him, and we'd probably end up having sex and I'd realize I really can't live without him. It disgusts me. It's pathetic.

But he doesn't know, so it's not like he'll leave me. I'll never, ever let him know. Underneath the girl who likes to read anything by the Marquis de Sade, underneath the poison eyes, underneath everything, I think there's still that little girl who got electrocuted for getting in a fight at school, the little girl who didn't understand why she was the only one who got abandoned by her Mommy, and got a jailer instead. Because I hate being alone. And if I did kill Roxas, Axel would leave me too.

Axel

Let me tell you a little something about life.

It's not sweet. It's not kind. It's not the magical adventure you dream about when you're a kid. Sometimes you walk down the street and see a woman (who volunteers at the orphanage and organizes charity events and goes to church every Sunday and actually believes in it) get hit by a bus. And then all that good is smeared on the street. People point and scream but in the end, they all cross when the sign says 'walk' and forget about her.

Now let me tell you a little something about me.

I grew up in Twilight Town. I never knew my real parents, but I was taken in by a nice family. My mom and dad really loved each other. At least, from what I can remember. They were strict – that I do remember – but it was in the way that parents are supposed to be strict, so you won't grow up to be an asshole.

Not that it…did much good, but it was the thought that counted, right?

One of my earliest memories is going to a bonfire with my mother. She always loved fire, and she always told me she wished she could live in a fire and never get burned. I don't know why she said that; it's not like I was old enough to understand what that meant anyway.

But my most vivid memory is from when I was six years old. Even now, eighteen years later, it's the thing I dream about, the thing that wakes me up in the middle of the night. It's the last time I ever cried, anyway.

My mom was cooking bacon and humming a song. It was a lullaby – Dream a Little Dream of Me – and she liked to sing it to me because I had nightmares when I was little. They were small-child nightmares. Getting lost by myself in a labyrinth, getting ripped apart by dinosaurs, watching a severed head get flushed down a toilet…you know. What can I say? I was a morbid kid with an active imagination.

I noticed she kept flexing her left hand, rubbing her left shoulder, wincing like she was in pain. But when I asked her if she was okay, she told me she just slept funny on her shoulder, and I believed her because Mommy never lied to six-year-old Axel Garner.

In case you didn't see it coming, she had a heart attack. She fell straight onto the pan, and the grease splashed out. It was like an impossible catastrophe, one you only see in B-grade horror films; it made the gas flames go higher, and her hair caught fire, and then her clothes caught fire. I just stood there. I didn't know what to do. My mom wasn't moving, and maybe they could've saved her but I was too scared to move my legs.

Finally, I ran out of my house, screaming, because her face started looking weird, like it was melting. My next-door neighbor called the fire department and the ambulance when she could understand what I was saying, but by that time it was too late. Our house didn't burn down, but I wish it had.

My dad was devastated. I didn't understand completely at the time. The day after the funeral, I tried to cheer him up by telling him not to be sad; it was good that she died, because she died by burning, and she loved fire more than anything.

I think he went a little crazy then. He grabbed me and threw me over his knees, and just…whaled on my ass. He just lost it.

It didn't become a habit. For the next few days, I knew what would happen if I decided to be around him, because it seemed like no matter what I did, he'd get angry and hit me. I couldn't even sit down any more.

But then one night, he came into my room, kneeled down by my bed, and said he was sorry. He told me it wasn't my fault, that he should never have done that, and that he'd never touch me again.

And he didn't. The last time he hit me was the last time he ever touched me at all.

I didn't really understand, though. I mean, I could have made myself scarce. He wouldn't have actively searched for me. He wasn't getting revenge or anything; I just reminded him of my mom, and when I said it was okay that she died, he lost it a little. But I thought it was my fault, for standing there instead of trying to help her. I thought I deserved to be punished. It made sense to me. I had a dream where she came back and told me it was all my fault, and then her face melted off and she kept screaming, "See? See!?"

So when he said he wouldn't do it any more, I was almost disappointed. Not because I liked it, but because I thought he was going against what my mom thought was right.

So now, I'm sure you can see why I grew up into…this.

No, I'm not some hideous creep. I'm not a mass murderer. I'm just…really strange about people and touch. I love it, unless I'm sleeping with someone – even though that's really the opposite of most people's preferences, right? I know this because before I met Roxas, I didn't have very many reservations. It's not a bad thing; I just always know what to say to get what I want, and I took advantage of that.

I'm really touchy-feely; probably because I essentially grew up without much physical contact. But, again, outside of sex. Because sex is sex and it's not intimacy, so being touchy-feely during sex would be like getting close to someone.

I'm not afraid of fire any more, or cooking, because I forced myself to learn to cook over a gas stove, and it's actually one of my favorite things to do now. I think it's because when I see a mountain, I want to climb it. And the higher it is, the more excited I get. I mean, that's totally metaphorical, because mountain climbing isn't appealing to me at all.

But after I did that, I had nothing else to do. I was just drifting…and I had no real purpose in my life, because for years my purpose was to get over that stupid fear. So I thought, why not just live it up? It's not like I'll ever need a job.

That's the other thing. My grandma died and left everything she had to me. I don't know why; we never got along. I think it's because she hated my dad and wanted to spite him, honestly. And what she had was a mansion on the outskirts of Twilight Town and a couple million dollars, a bunch of jewelry and really nice furniture. I didn't want the mansion. I didn't need the jewelry. And the furniture had always looked ugly to me. So I sold it all except one bed and one armchair, and got an apartment in Traverse Town. I'm still getting payments from the guy who bought the mansion. Some researcher named Ansem Dizworth. He's an asshole, but he's a rich asshole, so I'm not saying anything.

But back to living it up. About a year and a half ago, I met a girl, Larxene. She was just graduating high school at the time, and I was about to turn twenty-three, but the age gap didn't really bother us because it wasn't like we were having sex. We just hung out a lot. I didn't even know why; she's a bitch. The kind I don't usually like.

But eventually, I realized she was all right, as long as our little flirting game was only a game. She's pretty, but not my type. I don't know why she's not. According to my track record, she should be. But she's just not appealing to me.

Anyway, I'm not going to go into that. Instead, I'm going to tell you about the best thing that ever happened to me. It's also the worst thing, but sometimes I get those two mixed up. It can be both, you know.

Eight months ago, she introduced me to a guy. His name is Roxas. And he's perfect.

There's something about him; maybe it's just that I know he's dangerous. I know he's the kind of guy who could completely overpower me, even though he's about six inches shorter than me. I'm six-four. Larxene calls me a mutant. She has no right to talk.

You know, I'm not the kind of guy who likes to be overpowered. I went around the block a few (dozen) times, but if they were guys, I always fucked them, not the other way around. It's because I didn't care about any of them. And I never wanted to wake up next to them. Larxene calls it the 'dine and dash' method, which sounds crude because it really is. I won't lie. I'm an asshole. But I didn't even know any of them well enough to feel bad about it.

I can't fuck around with anyone any more. Now I know Roxas. And I can't imagine myself with anyone but him. It makes me a little sick to think about it, actually. Because I love him. Christ, we've never even touched in any intimate way, and I love him.

He doesn't know. Of course he doesn't. I don't even think Larxene knows. I don't know why I'm so helplessly devoted to him, either, but I do know I'd let him fuck me. No. I wouldn't let him. I'd beg for it. But I don't think he'd ever say yes. I don't know what his deal is – why he'll mess around with Larx but he won't even touch me – but I know he wouldn't do anything with me. Sometimes if he catches me watching him, he'll bite down hard on his index finger or the side of his hand, like he's sickened by the thought of us together.

And it's not because he's picky, either. I've seen him with girls, guys, and those people you can stare at all day and still not know what gender they are. He always closes his eyes during sex – he told me so. He doesn't want to see them, because he doesn't like to see their eyes. I don't know what would be worse – getting rejected in true Roxas fashion, or being accepted but knowing he won't look at me because I don't mean enough to keep his eyes open.

We're going out again tonight. He likes going out, and I can't just let him go out alone. He'd get himself roughed up if he wasn't careful, and he's never careful. Sometimes I wonder if that's his aim, but he's not like me. I don't think so, anyway. Sometimes I feel like a bodyguard, even though I know he doesn't need one. I just…wouldn't be able to stand it if he got hurt, or even worse, killed.

So we'll be at Area 51 tonight. It'll be me, Roxas, and Larxene. Like always.

Like always.