One week later

Maria held my hand the whole ride home. I couldn’t have gone to the doctor with anyone but her. And now, knowing the truth, I felt sick to my stomach because I knew I’d have to tell Felix.

We took the cab home together, and she insisted on staying in the car until he dropped me off, even though her place was on the way.

Once we arrived, I opened the car door with a heavy heart, and she squeezed my wrist tightly.

“You gonna be okay?” she asked me gently, and I gave her a weak smile.

“I’ll be fine,” I promised her. “I have to be.”

She blew me a kiss as I walked up the steps to Felix’s house.

He wasn’t home, that much I knew. Since seeing his parents at that damn gallery opening, he’d been talking to them much more. At least one good thing came out of that stupid fucking day, and he was now working a part-time job in his dad’s local hotel. It was management stuff that seemed boring to me at first, but then he told me all about the position, and I got excited as well. Not only because it seemed really interesting, but also because his dad had given him so much responsibility from the get go, showing how much he’d trusted his son all along.

And I knew Felix noticed as well. The way he smiled these days was much different than a little while ago.

I walked into the house and picked up the post absentmindedly, filing through bills and catalogues.

It felt natural now, living here with him.

We were talking about me going back to school, maybe. He was really supportive of the idea although I felt nervous when I thought about it.

I wondered how he’d take the news, especially knowing what happened in the playroom when both of them were still with me. I still felt those shards of glass inside me, and the thought made me sick.

I wondered if he’d be disappointed. That was my main concern. Would he even care though?

I felt a little sick with worry as I sat down on the couch with the mail. I went through a catalogue and put it aside before picking up a letter.

It was addressed to me.

I’d had some stuff sent to Felix’s house, but not much, and I was only just getting ready to tell my parents about my new living situation. I doubted they’d warm up to Felix much more than they had to… King.

The letter looked official, and I opened it curiously. There was another envelope inside, but I read the enclosed letter first.

My eyes skimmed the words, but I had to read them several times to understand what they really meant.

…we regret to inform you…

…due to the recent developments…

…charges will not be pressed.

I couldn’t understand, and my brows furrowed as I tried to make sense of the words.

Finally, King’s name jumped out at me, and I started to piece the puzzle together.

Robotically, I realized what had happened, and my hand over my mouth was the only reaction I could muster.

I opened the other envelope, and I started reading. I swallowed the words whole. It was the only thing I had left.

My pretty Pet,

I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am for everything that happened. But I also wanted to tell you a little bit more about the story, our story. Because that’s what it’s been all along, hasn’t it, Pet? The love story of two people who were never going to end up together. But unlike you, I’m going to leave without having anyone else. And you’ll be happy the way you are.

You have to understand, Pet, I’m a very selfish man.

When I saw you in that gallery, with the tray in your hands, I already knew I was dying.

I’d gotten the diagnosis a week or so earlier, and I was still pretty fucking angry about it.

I thought I could get it out of my system by fucking a pretty little thing like you.

That soon proved to be a wrong assumption. In moments, you were inside my mind, and you took permanent residence in my heart, something no other pet had ever managed before, but you did it at the click of your dainty fingers, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

A few days after I met you, I refused treatment. I also decided never to tell you about my illness.

I knew it wouldn’t do much to help our relationship. You’d be scared for me the whole time, refusing to do things I needed you for, worried about my wellbeing. And once I was gone, it would fucking break you. I couldn’t let that happen, Pet.

You’re a beautiful young girl with your whole life ahead of you. I knew you’d find someone else. And I knew who I wanted it to be.

I came up with the plan on that day. Find the perfect stranger and introduce him into your life without either of you knowing what he was doing there. He’d be my substitute at first, but in the end, he’d become what I could never be for you, because I didn’t have the time.

I knew when he’d be in our neighborhood, I did the research. He had money, but he rebelled against it. Anything he made went to charity, he barely bought himself anything. I actually fucking liked the guy, until I saw him with you. I made sure you’d run into him, and I think I knew you well enough by then to make sure you’d choose him.

And you did, and it fucking killed me, because it was the beginning of the end.

I didn’t want to watch you fucking him. I didn’t want to fuck you while he was inside you at the same time. I knew I had to do it, Pet. I knew I had to make you fall for him and choose him over me.

I wanted to feel alone. I wanted you to leave me for him, because it was the only option for you to get out safe, and get out in time. It was getting worse then, Pet, and I felt sick a lot of the time, which is why I didn’t spend much time alone. The doctors said I had a month, maybe two, but my condition would get progressively worse in those final few weeks. Leukemia, Pet, is a fucking awful cancer. It eats you from the inside.

There is absolutely no fucking excuse for what happened the last time you were in my apartment, and we both know that. I’ll never forgive myself.

But I was having doubts. I wanted to keep you. I wanted you with me.

The bottle thing happened by accident. And the moment it did, I knew I had to walk away, because otherwise you’d never leave me. And it seemed like life had made the choice for me.

While I was in that bathroom waiting for him to take care of you, I wanted to fucking die. I deserved it. And the days that followed, the weeks that came after, were a fucking nightmare. I’m a nightmare without you, Pet. Living without you is like a bad fucking dream.

I knew you’d be at the gallery. I wanted to see you. I picked that girl just for you, to make you jealous. See, Pet? I was a selfish fucking bastard my whole life, until I said goodbye, and a while after. I called Stranger and Maria so many times, even after that. I told them to keep it from you, I just wanted to know what you were doing, and every time, I hoped they’d tell you anyway. I don’t think they did.

It’s getting really bad now, Pet. I can tell it’s close, I’m really fucking dying. I thought nothing could defeat me, but you proved me wrong. You and your tight little body, your fucking twisted mind, you utter submission for me, Pet. I hope you can give yourself to him the way you gave it all to me.

I wonder if you still call him Stranger. I don’t want to know.

There’s one last thing to tell you, Pet.

The man who abused you. I wanted to hurt him ever since you told me. I knew you wouldn’t have let me, so I kept it from you. I guess dying proved to be good in one aspect of the word, because despite my best tries, I seem to have left behind some evidence that led the police back to me. They think I’m involved in his death now, Pet, and I am. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I sure as fuck helped him do it. It’s good that I’m almost gone, so I don’t have to rot in jail for what I did to that man. But I want you to know, Pet, I would do it all over again, even if I was healthy, so I could see him die for what he did to you.

You’re going to receive some things in my will, pretty Pet. Mostly money. That atrocious painting I bought you. I left Maria the apartment. I think she should have it. The majority is yours, and the rest is for James’ family, to take care of the mess he left. I also donated some money to a charity for abused children.

I know I’ve said goodbye a few times now, Pet. But this one is going to be the hardest, because I’ll be gone when you’re reading this.

And I want you to know, Pet, you’ve been the only one. The only one who touched me in this way, the only one that left a mark. Not like the one on your thigh, pretty baby. One that no one could see on my skin, but they could see it in my eyes until the day I died. And I fucking feel you, Pet, I still feel you in my heart with every breath I take, in my lungs, in my head, everywhere, you’re everywhere.

I’m sorry for everything, Pet. I should have never touched you in that gallery. I’m sorry for that, but I’m really not. Because I’ll always be a selfish prick.

I hope you’re happy. I hope you still think of me, because you’ll be the only one to do that.

I love you, my Pet.

Yours,

HSK

 

I didn’t remember when the sobbing started, but it got worse and worse as I tore through the rest of the envelope, looking for something, anything about where he was now. He couldn’t be gone, he wasn’t, there was no way. I would have felt it, I would have known in my heart, in my mind, in my belly, that he was gone.

There was nothing, just the letter, the one that came with it, a page filled with his beautiful words. Nothing until I ripped the envelope open and a small card fell out.

A somber black card with white ink, classy and beautiful in a way, letting me know the funeral had happened on June 6th. Just two days ago. I’d missed it. He was gone. He was fucking gone. It must’ve happened so soon after the gallery opening.

I started screaming. I started cursing. I ran around the room, I broke a vase, I smashed a glass against the tiles. I was so angry. So very angry, so badly hurt.

I didn’t take my jacket, just slammed the front door shut and ran into the street.

A car honked at me when I ran in front of it, and the driver cursed out loud at me, screaming his head off, but the only thing I could do was run, run, run away.