Euthanasia Blues

you're not rid of me (i'll make you lick my injuries)

He sees himself as the boy sees him. Blurry, at first. Indistinguishable shapes, separated only by the glow of his eyes. And then like a veil lifting, he comes into focus. He becomes resplendent. He becomes ghastly. For some unknown reason, those two things merge into one concept. This boy thinks he’s never seen something more aweing. Armand, who kicked him until he cried. Who choked him until his vision went black. Who lifted him in the air, earlier, and threw him to the floor. Again, and again. It’s baffling. “A complete lack of self-preservation. A perversion towards that which harms you; is that what makes you fascinating?”

Alternatively: Armand serves six days of penance. Daniel spends six days realizing just how fucked up he really is.

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chapter: 6/6

rating: explicit

Bit by bit, Daniel loses every sense of where he is. Of what he’s doing. The man sitting across from him is terrifying, a horror, but he can’t quite remember why. He can’t remember why he can’t stop looking at him, either. It feels normal. It feels unnerving, the intensity. He can’t remember the meaning of it. He can’t remember anything. No. He remembers this room. He interviewed Louis here. He was bitten, here. Every grain of knowledge he can hold, he grips with weak fingers. This room was real. Louis was real. That night was real. He knows something is slipping through. He knows the figure in front of him must have something to do with it. But over and over, he finds himself stuck on that voice. On those words, telling him things he already knows. That he was bitten, that he blacked out, that he woke up in a drug den.

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