Crash. Another vase broken; another mind wasted. She grips the sheets as I thrust deeply into her already swollen sex. Bang. The headboard knocks wildly against the adjacent wall, scuffing and marring the freshly stroked layer of paint the help had done hours prior. Thump. I quickly shift positions and have her on top. She begins to buck madly against my pelvis, panting. Amateur. Grasping her hips I guide her along, shoving her down harder every moment our bodies intertwine. Snap. Her manicured nails claw into my skin, scratching away into my flesh. Blood in drawn as she pierces deeper, nearing. Shit. She screams my name, arching her back and holding her breasts. I close my eyes and silently release, my hands digging into her hips; bruising. She collapses atop of my sweaty torso and begins to snuggle deep into my neck. Stray strands of brunette suddenly turn blonde. Hate. I push her off me and move myself to the side of the bed, grabbing my glasses, retrieving my boxers. She begins to delicately stroke the contours of my spine, cooing. She begins to speak but I silence her. Regret. My job is done. She can leave now.

"Um…Kyouya-kun, I know you just wanted to be quiet for a minute but may we just-"

"Didn't I just ask you to shut up?"

Silence. I breath lowly, standing to grab my shirt and my jeans. Where were my shoes?

"Why are you so mean?" She sat up slowly, using the thin top-sheet of my bed spread to cover her nudity. I have already seen her body. "During host hours, you are normally smiling and very…"

"Kind?" I answer for her. I slipped one foot into my forgotten sneaker, then the other. Walking over to the night stand, I press a small red button. My bedroom door loudly creaks open. Reality

"You rang, master Kyouya?"

"See to it Miss. Hanizowa gets home safely." I stuff my hands into my pockets and begin to walk out. "Clean up the mess."

"Yes sir."

I flip through my phone for the number I desperately wanted to call. I felt like vomiting as the ringing seemed to go on for what seemed like eternity. Was it really that easy?

"Moshi, Moshi?"

Silence. I stared at the illuminated screen and mentally began to say what I really wanted; words my tongue would never let me speak. Shit

"Ne, Kyouya, if you are going to call me at least have the decency to speak."

Again, silence. There was a loud sigh. Annoyed. Things weren't the same since that night.


"I expected your voicemail again, Suoh-san."

He gruffed. "Are we using honorifics now, Ootori-kun? I thought we were passed that."

"It's only appropriate considering the position our…mutual relationship is in."

Another gruff. "Ne, Ootori-kun, why even call me if you are going to keep doing this to me…to us?

Us. "Goodnight, Suoh-san."

"Nani!" his voice was pleading. There was a pregnant pause. Words and phrases that wanted to be spoken; needed to be heard. He gulped loudly. "Kyouya…Are you free tonight?"


"After club?"'

"Cancel it."

Surprisingly, there was no objection. Just "alright". Another pause. I spoke. "Meet me by my car."

"…Ok…" Silence. I ventured into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. Swirling the glass, I glanced at my reflection. Crack.

"I am hanging up now."

"…No…please, just…a minute longer."

My lips touched the brim of my glass. The cool liquid rushed down my dry throat. Reaching for the forgotten bottle, I poured another. "What is it, Suoh-san?"

"Stop calling me that!" his voice cracked. Thunder followed behind. There was a storm approaching. "Why do you do this?"

I remained silent. I downed my second glass in a matter of seconds and began drinking from the bottle itself. I needed something stronger but the wine would have to do. "Tamaki…"

"Did you mean anything you said to me that night?" Silent tears were beginning to stream down his face. His heart was breaking. Another crack of thunder, this time in a symphony of rain drops that banged against the kitchen sun roof. "Anything at all?"


"What part?" His voice was desperate for an answer.

"Where we go our separate ways."

Click. Tamaki had hung up and I laid my phone to rest upon the countertop. I took another sip from the wine bottle and looked for something stronger in the liquor cabinet my father had reserved for only when he was entertaining guests. I grabbed a bottle of Vodka. Boom. There was another clap of thunder. The rain was picking up speed and intensity. I flicked off the kitchen lights. I began to lie on the cool tile. I swallowed half the bottle of vodka my first go. My throat began to burn.


I really hate this part right here.