The Body

Niall shoots down Hati's advances (Niall's POV)

“You look devious,” I say with my throat tightening. You do. It’s an all too familiar look that I’ve grown used to. You want my body. And I would gladly give it to you to help you. It might make you feel better. You just learned that your friend is a mass murderer, I could help to distract you.

Just another way I could help.

The degenerate hunger in your gaze doesn’t shy me away, it’s not the reason I find myself hesitating.

It’s the fact that you would most likely be flogged to death were I to indulge. I would never forgive myself if your head ended up on a pike because of my pleasure.

I don’t care if there’s a chance no one will find out. There’s also a chance they will.

Just as I’m about to tell you so, I look into your eyes. 

And the darkness within almost makes me shrink to myself.

I blink and it’s gone. And my reaction almost brings redness of shame to my cheeks, like I’m a scared maiden, afraid to be touched.

I almost hate the way I feel when you look at me. I feel like you see all of me, there’s nothing left to hide from you. I’m naked and ashamed under your gaze. 

You see my pathetic self.

If I were to accept your embrace it would only lead me to my ruin. Not only mine, but yours too. Either way, one of us will die. Or both of us.

The thought sends shivers down my spine.

Why? Where does the thought originate from? 

It doesn’t feel like my own, for how could I know what it whispers to me? Is it my heart telling me so? My primitive senses alerting me of danger?

Or something else entirely?

I do want you. I want to help you. I know how to do that, that’s what I’m good at. That’s what everyone wants from me and I can give it to you, too.

You lean towards me and instead of leaning in to meet your lips, I take your arm to keep you away from me.

When I touch your skin, a visage rushes through my mind’s eye.

Your rotting head on a spike. Waiting. Your washed-up white bones lying on a riverbend under the pale moonlight. Discarded and unimportant

Your empty eyes looking at me, accusing me. 

“No!” No no no. Keep away from me. Your skin smells of death and decay, mine and yours. 

And you look like you don’t understand. Of course you don't. I don't understand it either.

And it makes me feel like shit.

I just need to… Leave. Now. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. I say it too often with you. I’m sorry for being sorry. Sorry for not being man enough for you. I almost groan in frustration. Why am I like this? “I’ll see you later, alright?”

And you say we will. It makes me smile despite everything. Maybe I haven’t messed up everything after all.

I need a glass of cream.