He imagined himself fucking Dominik into the mattress. The kid was so skinny; he probably would have broken in half the moment Aleks came in him.
Aleks turned in his bed and pulled the blankets off his head. The clock on his desk glared 1:25 AM. He gazed at it for a moment before he turned his back to it, his right hand reaching down toward his waist.
A month was a long time and yet it still felt even longer.
Aleks never really cared for pale skin, too white, too see-through, too death-like. Yet somehow he was fond of it on Dominik. He liked how it contrasted against his black hair, the dark clothes he would wear.
Aleks could see himself pulling Dominik’s hair as the boy wrapped his mouth around his cock.
The day after that drunken little after-party, Aleks was tempted to tell Dominik he was probably one of the best kissers he’s ever had. He didn’t (how embarrassing would that have sound?), but the constant teasing glances and subtle touches they gave each other during school got the message through.
It was all for fun.
Aleks’s breathing became shallow as he pushed his head back into his pillow. Dominik sat on his naked lap, the little fucker grinning as he licked up Aleks’s neck to his chin. Aleks gripped Dominik’s hips, the bone jutting against his hands, and cursed.
He almost came the moment he slid inside Dominik.
No matter how fast Dominik moved or the amount of bruises Aleks left on his hips, he still ended up yelling in his face, “Why the hell did you do it?”
Then Dominik made him gasped, made him cum, and kissed him.
He got the last laugh. Not Aleks.
Aleks’s mind spun back down from its reverie, and once again he was back in his room. His face burned red and his waist and hand were sticky and white. He swallowed back the sob in his throat.
He hadn’t cried at the funeral, the funeral he hadn’t wanted to go to, but his parents had forced him to. He stayed hidden during the service and did the same at the burial. He simply watched from the back as they lowered Dominik’s casket into the hole, for his body to rot. Gone, officially. Aleks had said nothing to anyone. Not a word to the Santorskis’ or the classmates who were oh-so heartbroken.
As soon as it was over he got as far away as he could.
The whole time he walked away, he thought, “Dominik, you fucking queer. Why the hell would you kill yourself? It was a joke, all of it a shitty joke. It’s not my fault you’re dead. It’s not.”
He hadn’t cried then and he wouldn’t cry now.
Aleks finally got up, cleaned himself while avoiding his image in the mirror, and went back to bed.
He stared at the ceiling and tried to focus on his breathing.
A month was a long time for the images, the memories, the false dreams, to still be happening. He thought so at least.
He hadn’t meant it. Hadn’t meant any of it.
He never wanted Dominik to kill himself.
Aleks closed his eyes and tried to forget as usual. Tried not to think of “what if’s” or “could’ve been’s.” Tried not to see where he could place the blame.
His eyes burned furiously, his throat clogged up, and his heart ached, but no tears spilled.
He hadn’t cried then, and he wouldn’t cry now.