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He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there. An hour? Maybe more, maybe less? He had been frozen in place, still sitting in the same spot in front of Mark’s lifeless body after having fallen to his knees once the gun went off.
He couldn’t take his eyes off him, his breath hitching every now and then as he tried to wrap his head around what happened. The gun was loaded? He didn’t know. He thought it was just a game. It was an accident!
His breath was rapid, his fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically. He felt as if he was paralyzed, staring at Mark as he lay there on the sepia tiled floor, his crimson robe flung to the side, telling the story of the impact from when he hit the floor.
Beneath him, a large pool of dark blood had formed, spilling from the hole in his head, barely hidden by his tousled hair. His face was framed by the puddle with William’s own revolver resting not far from him, his fingers still clutching the grip.
William’s mind still hadn’t fully processed what had happened, traumatized by having watched his best and oldest friend pull the trigger right in front of him in a game of failed Russian roulette.
He swallowed hard, inhaling sharply, closing his eyes, watching the scene play out in his mind over and over again, each time trying to tell himself it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. The sight of Mark’s lifeless corpse, the bloody floor, the revolver, the bullet casing. It was all imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, haunting him.
He slowly cracked his eyes open, hoping and wishing for Mark to be absent from the floor; for Mark to still be alive. He felt a chill run through him, causing goosebumps to appear all over his body as his gaze fell upon the body still lying there before him.
He finally realized the severity of what happened. What he had done.
“My God… What have I done?” he muttered as tears began streaming down his cheeks, “It was just a game. It was an accident, I swear! I didn’t know the gun was loaded!” His voice broke as he cried, his body trembling uncontrollably. “I’m sorry, Mark. I’m so sorry!”
He knew he didn’t pull the trigger, but he may as well have done so. He agreed to play the game. He should have known better. He should have declined. If he hadn’t been so foolish, so reckless, then Mark would still be alive.
Mark was still splayed out on the floor, eyes empty, staring up at him, fixed on him as if he was accusing him of all the evil in the world. And rightfully so. William was guilty. He blamed himself for everything.
Every single thing that had gone wrong in Mark’s life was somehow connected to William. He destroyed their friendship. He destroyed Mark’s marriage. Everything he touched was set aflame and turned to ash. He left behind a trail of ruin no matter which path he decided to go down.
It was always the same. He ruined his own life, his relationships and now he had caused the death of his childhood friend. His closest ally. The one person he had ever truly cared for and trusted. He had just been too blinded with jealousy and pride to admit it.
As he sat there in the deafening silence, staring at the face he knew so well, he finally admitted it to himself. Mark hadn’t just been his friend. He had been like a brother to him. He had been there for him in his moments of need. And yet he repaid him with nothing but betrayal.
He had fallen in love with Celine. Pursued her. Desired her. Conquered her. But deep down, he knew why his relationship with Celine couldn’t last. He had denied it for so long, but now, as he gazed upon what remained of his best friend, William understood that Mark was more than that to him.
But had he really been in love with her? Not really. It was never Celine he truly wanted. It had never been about her. It had always been about Mark. Always. But he could never have him and thus he took the one closest to him. Or perhaps, he took her because he didn’t want
her
to have Mark.
He had always loved him. Always been in love with him. He just never allowed himself to admit it. And now it was too late.
Reaching out, William carefully grasped Mark by the shoulders, gently shaking him, expecting him to come to life again. “Wake up…” he pleaded silently, desperation clouding his mind, “Please, Mark… Don’t do this to me… Don’t leave me like this… Please wake up!”
He sank down, clutching Mark, his tears dropping into the pool of blood. “Why won’t you wake up? Please Mark… Can you ever forgive me?” He gazed into his eyes, blank and dark, frantically searching for that twinkle that used to linger in them. The twinkle that had drawn him to him throughout his life.
It was gone. There was nothing left behind, except the empty shell of a man. A body that was slowly becoming colder and stiff. “I never wanted this…” He reached out to touch his face, brushing a lock of hair away. “I never… How can I ever forgive myself?”
His skin was chilled. Pale. The last shred of life draining from him with every passing second. He was losing him completely. He would never get to hear his voice again. Never feel his warmth again. Never know the sensation of his lips against his own. Never feel his arms wrap around him. Never get to love him.
He cupped his face with a trembling hand, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone, wiping away the blood that stained his skin. He was still so handsome, even in death. His eyes still drawing William to him, even if lifeless and empty. Even if he was dead.
Dead.
A fresh flow of tears ran from William’s reddened eyes, pulling on Mark’s body, embracing him, holding him closely as he stroked his face. He felt cold. He rubbed his arms with a delusional desperation, trying to warm his body, telling himself it would help, maybe even wake him up.
Nothing happened. He rubbed a little harder, sobbing, his tears staining Mark’s hollow cheek, feeling him slump against him, William’s shoulder being the only thing that kept Mark’s head from falling limply forward.
As he cradled Mark in his arms, he felt the blood oozing from the gunshot wound, coating his hands. The blood was still warm to the touch. It felt comforting in a way. Almost as if there was still a bit of life left in him. The last remaining life spilling from him.
William couldn’t bear the thought of not having Mark in his life anymore. He couldn’t let go. Not like this. He squeezed him tightly, the sound of blood dripping from the back of his head, splashing onto the floor, breaking the silence that surrounded them.
He knew now how much he craved Mark. How much he needed Mark. He didn’t want to lose him. As his mind broke, he pressed his forehead against Mark’s, his tears mingling with the warm blood. He stared into his eyes. Those empty eyes staring back at him.
“Please don’t look at me like that…” He sobbed, placing his lips on Mark’s forehead, mouthing apology after apology, hoping Mark could somehow hear them, kissing him goodbye.
But he didn’t want it to be a goodbye. He wanted to be with Mark. Just one time before it was too late. Was it too late? It couldn’t be too late! He pulled back, his lips quivering, feeling his mind break even further. He couldn’t do this. He shouldn’t do it. But he wanted it more than anything.
He couldn’t go on without knowing how it felt to love Mark. To truly love him.
His eyes drifted to Mark’s lips, feeling drawn to them. He ran a finger over his lower lip, tracing along the faint purple tint that was decorating them. Just one kiss. Just a single kiss. It would be enough. Wouldn’t it?
He leaned in, feeling his breath catch in his throat as he cautiously pressed his lips against Mark’s. It felt strange, yet right. If only Mark could kiss him back, then maybe it would feel less eerie. William swallowed, his tongue slipping past Mark’s lips, tasting him for the first time.
A taste so sweet, addictive, with a hint of bitterness. Perhaps red wine? It was just as William had imagined. He whimpered, losing control of himself as he indulged in the new forbidden flavor, his kiss deepening and becoming more exploratory. He needed more. He needed Mark.
His hand slid along the crimson robe, feeling the mountains and valleys of his ribs, running his fingers down the silky smooth fabric until they reached his hip. He couldn’t stop himself anymore. With a broken sob, he buried his face in Mark’s neck, pressing himself against his limp body, grasping his hip, grinding against him.
He didn’t realize what was happening. He was detached from reality, his mind blocking out the traumatic incident of watching his friend die before him. Mark wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut, panting and crying at the same time, rolling his hips, thrusting against Mark, lost in a haze of bliss and delusion.
Still gripping Mark’s hip with one hand, William failed to contain himself, his other hand finding the button of his trousers, yanking and tugging on the fabric until he pulled them open. Just a touch. No more. It was all he needed.
He let out a shuddering breath as his hand slipped inside his trousers, palming himself, squeezing his cock, rubbing it. In his warped mind, it was Mark’s hand, warm and firm, touching him, bringing him the pleasure he had always craved from him.
He wouldn’t go any farther. This was enough. He wanted to stop. But he couldn’t. He failed.
Before he realized it, his hand was working on Mark’s black boxers, pulling them down, tangling them around his knees. He felt a surge of adrenaline pump through his veins, moaning huskily as he pulled out his cock, his hand moving along it with feverish strokes.
He bucked forward, squeezing his cock, feeling Mark’s body shifting under him, his legs opening slightly as his weight pressed down on him. It was as if Mark was alive and inviting William in, offering himself, allowing him to take him before they parted for good.
He felt himself shudder, guiding his hardening cock in between Mark’s legs, nestling it against his crack. He shut his eyes tightly, his whole body relaxing as he bucked forward, pushing himself inside Mark. There was no resistance, allowing him to bottom out immediately, his eyes rolling back in his head as he felt Mark’s tightness envelop him.
The chill of Mark’s skin was a stark contrast to the warmth inside him, snug and welcoming. It felt incredible to finally love Mark, finally become one with him. In his mind, he heard Mark moan, calling out his name with a lustful tone in his voice, begging for him to take him, pleading for more.
He swore he could feel Mark’s body move with his, pushing against him, closing his legs around him. His skin tingled, a shiver crawling up his spine, mimicking the sensation of fingers running along his back, further feeding his delusion that Mark wasn’t really dead.
His breath picked up, his heartbeat spiking as moans spilled from his lips. He mouthed against Mark’s neck, kissing him, whispering his name on repeat as his hips moved with increased ferocity.
He couldn’t take it any more, crying out, calling Mark’s name, believing he heard Mark respond to him with a cry of his own. He jerked, clutching Mark tightly as he whimpered, his cock twitching inside Mark as he came, emptying himself deep inside him with jerky movements.
With a groan, he bucked one final time, panting breathlessly as he nuzzled against Mark. “Mark…” he whispered, listening for a response. But there was nothing but silence. He swallowed, inhaling sharply, pushing himself up and staring down at Mark’s lifeless and defiled corpse.
His eyes were still glassy, staring up at him, judging him, filled with pain and despair. William felt a lump in his throat, his breath hitching, moving his fingers to Mark’s face, wanting to touch him. He saw the blood coating his fingers and then it all came back to him, crashing down around him. He remembered the gunshot. The way Mark fell as he pulled the trigger. He was dead.
William keened, a sound filled with sorrow and regret as he realized what had happened. What he was currently doing. He jolted, pulling out of Mark, jerking away, watching as his body fell again.
He scooted back, wanting to get as far away from him as he could, backing himself into a corner, trapping himself there. He hugged his knees, rocking back and forth as tears streamed from his eyes. “What have I done?! What did I do?!”
He looked down at himself, seeing Mark’s blood on his own body and the semen staining his softening cock. He lifted his gaze, seeing Mark there, legs open, boxers around his knees and semen seeping from his used entrance.
William was disgusted with himself. He couldn’t believe what he saw before him. How could he ever have done such a despicable thing? How could he ever do such a horrendous act to Mark? He could never forgive himself.
He sobbed, lamenting, screaming at the top of his lungs, wishing it was merely a nightmare he was trapped in. He wanted to wake up, but he never did. He couldn’t wake up, because it wasn’t a dream. It was real. It was real…