I’d thought I was losing my mind when I met him. When I met this boy who was so much like me, who shook with pain and rage like I did, who was looking for a reason to live like I was. The way he made me feel, like I’d finally found this glittering sliver of goodness in the world, was fucking terrifying. I’d never cared one way or the other about the gender of the people I slept with — although my dad had tried to beat it out of me when I told him I’d fuck whoever I damn well pleased, it hadn’t dissuaded me.

I’d found someone I trusted enough to be vulnerable with, something I thought was impossible.

“I’ve missed this…” He ran his fingers along my jaw, traced them down my throat and then laid his hand there. He didn’t squeeze, but I liked the weight of his hand. “I’ve missed you.”

“I know,” I said. I didn’t like change, and it seemed our lives had been in constant flux for so long now. It made me anxious, and when I got anxious, I withdrew. I pulled away from the very people I was closest to. Like I needed to punish myself for feeling anything at all.

“You told me not to walk out on you.” His breath brushed over my skin, and my lips parted with the desire to kiss him again. But I didn’t struggle; I let him keep me under control even though I wanted to sink my teeth into his skin and taste his blood on my tongue. “Now I’m telling you the same thing. Don’t walk out on me.” He tapped the side of my head with his finger, his tongue running slowly along his lower lip before he said, “When you’re physically in front of me but not with me mentally…I can’t stand it. I need you with me, Lucas. Do you get it?”

“I get it,” I said. He held the cigarette to my lips, carefully, allowing me to inhale.

“What do you need from me, pup?” he said. His hand squeezed my neck, and I let the smoke curl from my mouth. “You have that look in your eyes, you know. Like you need something, like you need…”

He let the question hang, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Hurt me,” I said. His pupils dilated, his lips parting as his breath quickened. “I need you to hurt me. Control me.”

Sometimes I needed to destroy myself, and I needed it done brutally, mercilessly. I needed pain to remind me I was human, to root me in a reality that oftentimes felt too chaotic to bear. There was no chaos in the way Manson could overcome me. It was the opposite; when I gave him control, I felt peace, clarity.