My Heart Goes Out To You

Disclaimer: This story implies no offence towards homosexuals in any way shape or form intentionally, and as the author apologize if any offense is taken in religious views or homophobic insinuations. The characters of this story are fictional and do not discriminate any events or reports on non-fictional things that may have happened for to this author, they were unknown.
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My dear readers, I must comply under the impression of having a message before you read my story. This tale did not summon me while I was in slumber nor did it as my soon awakening in my clear thoughts… then it occurred to me. Should I call this a biography or make it narrative for my readers to relate…? In some ways this figment of somewhat imagination is a true story, but in some ways, it’s not. May my readers not mourn over the soon loss of this author, but relish in the soon peace awaiting as my characters would. All of these names remain fictional…or do they? The choice is yours…
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Chapter I: The Lover

Pathetic. Is that not the word that suits him? Truly, spineless or stupid, perhaps, useless? Nay, those words only pale in comparison to the true idiocy and blindness of him. Nothing lower nor higher would suit him. He is merely pathetic and that is where it shall rest.
What fool, what idiot, relies on his heart to be stable? To conduct all of his emotions of common sense and etiquette beneath it?
Love is nothing but a lie to repress any remorse or guilt that winds its way into our minds after a good fuck. Something that muffles our conscious cries of ending an afterglow. A lie is all it is, what a fool he would be to think otherwise.
How can love ever exist in such a cruel world—a world of petty façades and impressions? A world of dying and hatred at the mere call of words? Apparently the fool ignored that, denied it, if you must. But he is nothing but pathetic to believe, to put another above him as he lay motionlessly beneath. The fool…
If only one could interpret, contemplate… understand why he chose to give it up. Why? Of all answers none can explain. None can mend a broken heart…
The Lover…

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Midnight streaks paled calmly in the cool, white wind. What would happen…? A mere question lay dormant to his lips, its only halt the intake of precious breath.
The appellation of the called upon sounded pathetic…but not to him. Nothing ever sounded wretched to him as he’d overlook the best of things and coolly slip away into his own night.
One day, one blessed day, he would find happiness and never release it from his grasp until the fatal day he reached eternal rest at one with the Mother Earth’s soils, to decay he would gladly give up his flesh. Whatever flesh he had left, that is…
Light movements traced themselves over the tip of his reading. No book, no matter how cheap, could pass him. That was all he was good for, reading and writing—any way to find whatever means to display his emotion besides the normal. His indifference illuminated any offense…most of the time.
“Shakespeare.” The word hung in the air binding him to the cover; now he would have to read it, regardless of anything else. His eyes fixated themselves on the mere title, roaming the cursed book for any void of his emotion. “Romeo & Juliet.”
First, annulment; then acknowledgement and soon inhalement followed. He loved to scan the scent of the crisp pages to grasp any more information of the book. What more fantasies could any man ask for when he, anyone, could take a dive into the mind of a writer? Just, what?
He soon diminished the thought as his eyes trained to the text of the first page. He could tell this story would be interesting, even if he would never finish it.
The reader remained transfixed in the dark romance of his story so much as to miss the offending stranger’s enigmatic gaze.

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Jet black glasses hung on the end of his nose with the appearance of luxury in his shallow pose. He was above this all, this petty entertainment. Maxwell Elise, he was, and looking for prey was his as well.
No smoking—the polite order lay dead and unused as his fingers curled around smoothly rolled tobacco and he inhaled. Then his scent caught hold of something else in the air.
Silk. Lace. The aroma led his eyes to a formidably fine boy sitting down just a few tables. Alone. Probably unsatisfied. Begging for release and to be consumed. Maxwell only thew a long and final side-glance as he closed in.
As a lion could catch sense of a nearby animal, he could sniff out the hard refusal and denial he would receive all the more enticing the awaited fulfillment he would gain with his new-found stranger in his bed.
Maxwell coolly stalked over to the engrossed stranger; he was reading? A player and an intellectual? The challenge would prove quite worthwhile when he came out victorious. Various mental notes were endlessly scribbled down in his head to relish his lover’s demise… as well as any inflicted agony.
Was he not briefly, if not more so, ashamed? Sadistic, was he not, toward those unsuspecting. By no means at all did he fear any remorse haunting him for he had his share of vileness and relief—who was anyone to point guilt or anything else on him?
He would only live once, after all, he would enjoy what amusement he had obtained no matter how heart-breaking it would be to anyone.
Blandly, he took his desired empty seat. And so it begins, he thought deftly, the taste of yet another one.
Upon his arrival met the glance of bronze eyes to his, void of any particular emotion leaving the lingering of innocence. Silently he swore to himself to take this one so mercilessly, he would have to look for redemption in his next life and thereafter that.
He smiled, letting his inevitable charm seep through as he plunged in for the kill. The two boys sat in silence at his arrival. Regardless of the little knowledge they had of one another, one question quailed their minds all at once: What was there left to lose?



“C-Can I help you?” came the timid voice from the reading stranger. Too chalked up for full words. Too taken aback by his attraction. What was someone as the likes of him doing associating with someone as meager as he?
“I’m looking for a book,” he stated simply. “A gift for someone.” The sight of the company uniform caught his eye the moment he laid eyes on him. Swindling his way in the haps of swaying his professional position—fun and yet so pitiable.
“A book?” the stranger asked simply. He had glanced at him as if he’d just questioned something particularly mind-blowing. What did a book have to do with them…with his unspoken spell he’d already left upon him?
“Yes, I understand that is why this is a bookstore.” He’d stressed the last word as if the boy had said nothing. He’d like to play it that way for the looks of things. Ignoring his limited intellect on his looks, he’d chosen to engage their entire confrontation as somewhat challenging…the complete opposite.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” the boy asked, a faint tinge of pink pinching his cheeks. He’d simply escort this lovely stranger to his desired book and be done with everything as it would occur. Nothing would arise between the two of them, he reassured himself.
“What would you recommend?” he asked leaning over for emphasis.
The boy blatantly jerked to stand on impulse. He would display any vulnerability for their sake; who would find him entertaining? “I’m not very good at recommending.”
“You’re a reader…and a writer?”
The boy felt intrigued by his question and nodded slowly for him to answer. “Yes, I am…what made you think that?”
“Personally, I had a feeling but right now I’m looking to purchase a book suitable for a friend,” Maxwell shot back. “Kindly tell me what you’d like?”
“What I’d like isn’t really what I think would be…nice for a gift.” The boy scratched his neck casually showing how idiotic it would be to ask all the while giving the stranger a better view of his hardening chest.
“I could get someone else,” he reassured. “I’m sure they’d have a nice idea of what you’re looking for in a gift.”
“I don’t want someone else,” Maxwell halted, “I’d appreciate it if you just pointed one out so I can get going. I’m rather late for an appointment as it is.”
The boy threw him a helpless gaze, who knew such an Adonis as this stranger would be so demanding…persistent? What was going on? Trickery reeked in on this situation sending an infamous shiver up his spine—but who cared? All he needed to do was worry about making a decent paycheck and coming home at the end of the day. Who needed to account for the antics of this stranger?
“I…I guess I’d have to make a choice depending on what kind of message you’d like to show in your gift,” he muttered barely audible. The question itself proved to be significant but his entire being engulfing him screamed, ‘This gift has to be romantic!’
What sane person would turn this knock-out seducer down? Anyone could plainly see it ludicrous.
“You can say it’s for romantic reasons if you must,” was his calm answer. “I find the recipient of it very special…I think I’m in love.” The words, his lips, the meaning—in his deepest fantasies he had to have been talking to this innocent angel. What man could resist the urge to ravage him any moment? Something jerked inside of him at the faint frown on the boy’s face and he simply dismissed it as anxiety—was that disappointment in his eyes?
“How touching,” the boy smiled. Casting his thoughts of longing into the curves of his smile, he returned an even brighter one. What an unlucky stranger and ironically lucky indeed; he’d managed to hold his darkest desires in his looks and a lover in his midst to say the least. He’d laugh, but the joke was so unethically hilarious, he’d probably rise more questions of his emptiness.
There was a pause. Each man looked deep in the others eyes as if trying to find something. The boy was to find release of his attraction to this stranger and Maxwell, the release in his bed. How he longed to hear that immaculate voice scream his name, how he’d love to scream his.
“You say you’re in love?” The abrupt inquiry led Maxwell’s eyes to roam his for any emotion behind them. Nothing left except the warm feeling of friendliness yet the frigid feel of sadness too…how relieved he’d be when he’d find out… how insatiable his desire was to caress those silky looking lips.
“Yes,” he replied huskily. The curve of his smile made the boy’s heart take a dive… when would these feelings go away?
“Well, then you should get…this one.” Coolly, he brought up a documentary amongst many others, randomly picking one as if he’d written the book.
“The diary of Jack the Ripper?” Maxwell questioned raising an eyebrow. “It screams romantic?”
“I told you I wasn’t good at recommending things, I like it personally and think in some cryptic way it would show…love.”
“Of course but what would the first impression be to my lover?”
“I don’t know…disgust, confusion maybe? The latter of the impression would probably be love afterwards since one would read the book…but you usually judge a book by its cover, right?”
“Right,” Maxwell agreed.
“So, if someone wanted to give me this, I’d read it and then say what how I felt…like evaluating, you know? The feelings of lust and blood…it would show how much you truly loved that person.”
“Even if you just met?” His mouth quirked up at the trick question.
“Love doesn’t depend on when you meet but how you meet it…”
“Of course,” Maxwell pushed. “Cryptically.”
“I can show some other books, if you like,” the boy offered measly. His tone carried nothing but embarrassed stupidity and wrong. How Maxwell wanted to reassure him, how he wanted to leave and forget his face, but after his game nothing would be more guaranteed than leaving him.
“No,” he scoffed incredulously, “it’s first choice and I’ll trust that.” With that, he snatched the book out of the boy’s hands and turned to head for the cashier throwing a quick, ‘thanks’ over his shoulder.
The boy had suddenly felt his heart take a dive at his abruptness, but he was late, wasn’t he, as mentioned? He had no other time dolling here and if trickery did unweave itself amongst them, he was still keeping his job… no matter how more barren it seemed. Transfixed at the sad thought, he carefully picked up his previous book and continued reading.
His mind lay in the valleys of forbidden love although his heart lay fixed in not trying to break. Thudding heels made his eyes wander up to once again meet this stranger who had miraculously appeared once again. Had he forgotten something or was he simply unsatisfied? There was no time to explain as the stranger bent down for an embrace.
“W-What are you doing back?” the boy stammered moving slightly back. “Something wrong?”
Maxwell merely threw him an indifferent smile and shook his head. “I came to give you a gift,” he whispered coming closer. “I hear it’s supposedly to carry meaning in love…do you like Jack the Ripper?”
“W-What?” he stammered. This could not be real as for only a figment of his imagination…what or why would this stranger, this enticingly handsome stranger be doing this was entirely ludicrous enough…but to say he was in love? They had only been acquainted for five minutes.
“Here.” He handed the dark book into the boy’s already trembling hands, ready to give it. “I want you to have it as a representation of my love…”
The boy snapped up unsuccessfully to have the stranger clasp an icy hand on his. His lips brushing slightly against his ear, he dazed off dreamily to outline his eyelids for exaggerated effect. This would prove to be quite a challenge…
Silently, the boy began scolding whatever hell possessed demon resorted to such underminement, and began to draw even further back. With one last hushed prayer, he begged the merciless gods for any spared compassion. Shaking, he parted his lips for a reason…any reason…
Did this stranger have any of the blindest idea what effect he carried on anyone? In spite of their sexuality…?
Soon the boy’s agonized plea of rationale laid deft on his lips, refusing to spare any apathy whatsoever.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not into…men.”
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Read and review folks, that\'s all for number one...