17
Kylo
The morning tumbles in with aching sobriety. Despite falling asleep sweetly, aided by a high and the aftermath of loving intimacy, a throbbing now pounds against Kylo’s skull from last night’s mix of intoxication.
Nothing good lasts forever , he thinks, rubbing his temples as he stirs in bed. Rolling onto his side, he sees a small piece of paper on Lathan’s pillow—a note.
“ Gone for breakfast and a run. See you later. XO ”
Kylo takes a deep breath, reading Lathan’s words, accepting that he’ll be gone for a few hours. Then his mind drifts back to last night—during his moment alone.
Heading inside, the music drowns out any and all conversations, lights strobing across Kylo’s skin as he walks toward the hall with the main bathroom. Looking over his shoulder, noting the front door clicked closed, he changes his path of travel and continues straight through the house instead. At the back of the kitchen, past huddled bodies drinking, laughing, and kissing, Kylo slips down the basement stairwell. Downstairs, there is a group of fae conversing and a handful of other species sitting around, snorting, or slumped over and passed out. Keeping his eyes forward, he heads to the group of fae, eyeing the man in the middle who seems to carry himself as if he is in charge.
“Got any stardust?” Kylo asks under his breath.
The man cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. “Only if you’ve got a fifty.” He smirks.
Kylo nods, digging in his pocket before pulling out a wad of small bills, totalling the amount uttered. The man doesn’t say another word, simply trading the cash for two small vials of a sparkly white powder.
“Cheers,” Kylo says as he shoves them both away. He quickly heads back upstairs and cautiously slips into the crowd, not wanting to be caught by anyone he knows—if Jake is here, others might be too. Marching back to the porch he slaps on a smile and asks Lathan to dance.
Bare feet pressing into the cold floor, Kylo crosses the dorm and kneels at his pile of clothes from yesterday. Digging into the back pocket of his jeans, his fingers graze the two glass containers and flick inward to roll them into his palm. He hides one inside his desk drawer and puts the other on the table top. The longer he sits, staring at the tiny vial, the further his thoughts turn against him. It’s as if Trevor’s voice is in his ear.
“You’re nothing. You’re no one,” it spits. “Fight back and I’ll fucking drain you. Fight back and I’ll snap your neck.”
Gripping his hair in his fists, rocking slightly, he can’t take it anymore and finally gives in. With a quick whip of his arm, he snatches the vial and takes it to their small bathroom. Unscrewing the cap, he taps a dime-sized amount onto the counter. He uses his student ID card to straighten the pile into a line before bending over and snorting the glittering substance into his lungs.
While the stardust makes its way through his system, he cleans up and tucks the remainder of the drug away with the other vial. In just minutes, he’s on Cloud Nine. All thoughts of Trevor have been burnt away, leaving behind a euphoric feeling of clarity and confidence. It’s this enhanced level of being that allows him to spend the day cleaning, studying, and finishing assignments, with no further thoughts of his attacker, or the pain he had inflicted upon him.
To Lathan, Kylo must look like he’s finally able to be productive, feel better, all the while making jokes and enjoying each other’s conversation as usual. The high lasts a number of hours, and he feels so good that he doesn’t notice as the effects begin to fade with the afternoon. But as night draws near, not ready to give up this mental peace, he sneaks another hit in the bathroom to chase off the impending fear and paranoia that lingers with the lack of light in the sky. The only problem now is his restlessness—induced by a drug rather than crippling anxiety. So, to make use of his awakeness, he does laundry and then goes for a run, only returning once the clothes are clean and his exhaustion is heavier than the fear creeping back in.
This cycle continues for a week. Wake up, hit. Attend classes, hit. Interact with others, eat, study, sleep, repeat. When he runs out, he takes a detour after classes to revisit the fae dealers to restock his supply.
Pot was helpful for a while, but it was predictable—something he’s dabbled with since he was a teenager. Using it numbed his mind, but his body knew better, and eventually, day after day, it wasn’t strong enough. He needed something else. Something harder. He’d heard of Stardust among the druggie crowds—the long-lasting high, how functional you can be while on it, and, of course, the potential dangers—but he had never wanted to dip into harder substances before. Until he became desperate.
His dependency to stardust began the moment he took it last weekend. The fae drug is already an addictive substance, but with his added need to suppress his trauma, he itches for more the second it begins to wear off. It doesn’t help that Lathan’s been gone a lot throughout the week, attending late classes and spending evenings at the gym or the study hall—they only see one another for a few minutes in the evenings before one of them leaves again or falls asleep. While his absence aided in Kylo’s loneliness and paranoia at first, the more he’s drowned his sorrows in stardust, the less he’s noticed Lathan’s prolonged absences, too focused on his euphoria and newfound hyperactivity.
By Monday, it’s been just over a week, and this cycle is now routine. After his final class of the day, Kylo jogs back home before heading to the cafeteria for dinner. Running helps alleviate the restlessness accompanied with his choice substance—thanks to Lathan for the idea— and distracts his mind as the high begins to fizzle out.
Swinging open his dorm door, he spots Lathan’s back and calls out with a happy chime, “Hello!” Closing and locking the door behind him, he slings his bag off his shoulder and tosses it to the floor next to his desk.
Lathan stands there, unmoving for a moment, before slowly turning to face him. Though his face is obscured by a pair of sunglasses, the rest is threateningly confrontational. Kylo’s smile fades into confusion as he slowly straightens and tucks his hands in his pockets. His mouth parts to speak, to ask what’s wrong, but Lathan beats him to it.
“Kylo,” he says, his voice hoarse and raw, as he raises his hand in front of himself, holding a small vial pinched between his fingers. “What is this?”
Kylo’s eyes widen slightly before his expression calms into cold nonchalance. Though, behind his mask, his heart sinks in shame.
“It’s nothing, just something to take the edge off.” Kylo shrugs as he takes a step forward, reaching out an arm to take the vial from him. The gesture is so casual, it’s as if Lathan’s found his lost keys, rather than an illicit substance.
Lathan quickly closes his fist around it, preventing Kylo from taking it. “It’s nothing? Are you serious? I knew you were getting high, but I thought it was weed, not something hard like this.”
Though his high is beginning to wear off, his run back to their room had helped his system alleviate his usual fidgeting, causing him to seem unusually laid back considering the circumstances. “It’s fine. It hasn’t been for long. And I feel great! Trust me, it’s really helping.” Kylo’s pitch is high and overly friendly to try and convince Lathan, his eyes darting to the closed fist between them.
“Do you not remember the two girls who OD’d last year?” Lathan barks. “It was stardust, Ky. They shared one of these damn vials and died. I don’t care how long you’ve been doing it, you’re done.” He moves past Kylo, toward the garbage.
“They didn’t know what they were doing, but I do! I’m being careful! Besides, I’ve been more productive this week than I have been in a long time. I feel like me again—better, even!” he rattles off as he follows Lathan’s steps, pleading his case.
“You can’t be careful with this shit,” Lathan says harshly. “It’s like speed, Kylo. That’s why you feel productive. But it isn’t you. It’s masking you. Dammit.” He fidgets with the top of the vial, hovering over their small trash can.
“Lathan, please ! You don’t understand, he’s finally gone, he’s finally out of my head.” Kylo’s eyes are becoming wild, his brows dipping in panic as he sees what his boyfriend is trying to do. He reaches out, hesitating, a desire within him wanting to throw himself at Lathan’s hands, but he stops himself. Instead, he falls to his knees at his feet in front of the garbage, grabbing his legs. “Please don’t, I fucking need it. Please!”
Lathan stares down at him with shock as Kylo begs. “No,” he says, standing firm. “ No . This isn’t you. I’m losing you to this shit.”
“You’re not! I’m right here!” Kylo pats himself, as if proving that he’s not slipping away. “And it’s just for a few more days, just until he leaves me alone.” His eyes shut tight as he talks, pressing the palms of his hands into his temples with a hard tap . His body is so used to the timed routine that as the high drops, the restlessness abruptly returning, makes him shift in his skin.
“He’s gone, Kylo! He’s dead! I fucking killed him ,” Lathan snaps, and his voice nearly trembles by the end of his statement.
“He’s dead…he’s dead, he’s dead,” Kylo chants, lowering his hands to his lap, digging his nails into his thighs. “But he’s still here .” His nails press further into his muscles before his hands come back up to rub firmly over his face, rocking himself.
Lathan’s brows knit with pain. “I know you’re hurting,” he says, his voice a little softer than it was. “But you’re not doing this to yourself. A few days turns into the rest of your life. You’re done.”
The soft suction of the top lifting off the vial breaks Kylo from his spiralling thoughts, and he scrambles to his feet. “Lathan, stop!”
The glittering dust pours from the glass in a hurry, coating the papers and discarded foods in an iridescent sheen, becoming unrecoverable.
“ NO! ” Kylo yells, lunging for the powder, hands cupped and outstretched to catch it. He pushes Lathan hard enough for him to stumble back, but it’s too late. A flash of emotions ripples through Kylo’s face, from boiling rage to profound sadness and hopelessness as his eyes fixate on the coated, shimmery bin.
He flips around in anger to look at his boyfriend, whose sunglasses have been knocked to the floor. He thinks about stomping on them, taking something of his, too, but with his head hung low—clearly shocked, and hurt, that he was shoved—Lathan’s bloody sclerae are vibrant against his pale skin.
“Holy shit.” Kylo’s face drops, watching the pair of crimson eyes as Lathan collects up his sunglasses and wipes the lenses with his shirt. “Why haven’t you been feeding?!” he demands, now more concerned about his partner than the drugs he just lost. His mind is racing, stuck on how little they’ve seen each other over the past ten days, causing his heart to beat as if he’s just run a marathon—the drugs leaving his system not helping his internal panic.
“This isn’t about me,” Lathan grumbles, continuing to avoid Kylo’s stare, looking off, annoyed.
“Like hell it isn’t!” Kylo pushes himself up and walks toward him, gaping at how truly bloody his eyes are. Worse than he’s ever seen them.
“Leave it, Kylo.” He coughs into his bent arm, stepping away from Kylo and giving him his back.
“No, I won’t just leave it. How long have you been starving? This is bad. ” Kylo walks forward and places a hand on his shoulder to turn him around.
Lathan frowns, nearly glaring at him. “It’s fine. I’m controlling it.”
“Just like I’m controlling my dosage?” Kylo scoffs, insulted by the hypocrisy. “You’re a vampire. You’re dying, dammit!” The sentiment absorbs in as he says it, accelerating his breathing. This is bad. Gods, this is bad. How haven’t I noticed? I’ve been too fucking high to notice… Fuck, I need to do something. He can’t die—I can’t lose him.
Quickly, he sinks his upper and lower fangs hard and deep into the flesh on the inside of his lower lip. He grunts against the ripping bite, the blood immediately swelling up from the wound and colours his teeth as he rushes forward—a trail of blood rolling over the corner of his mouth—and presses his mouth against Lathan’s, wrapping his hand around his head to keep him there.
Lathan’s eyes shoot wide open, and as the blood hits his taste buds his pupils pin into small dots and his body begins to act on its own. He pushes deeper into Kylo, grabbing his face and kissing him aggressively as his tongue laps in his mouth, searching for the source of the bleeding. Kylo walks him back against the nearest wall, kissing him back passionately, forcing as much of his blood into Lathan’s mouth as he can. But the blood flow from his small wound doesn’t last long, already starting to clot with the help of the vampire’s sealant saliva.
As the gush of hot blood slows, Lathan snaps out of his blood-triggered trance. Pushing Kylo off of him as his pupils normalize—still pressed to the wall, backed into a corner—he wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Dammit, Kylo,” he growls, heaving, before spitting the remaining crimson in his mouth onto their scratched hardwood floor. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
Kylo pants lightly, catching his breath. As the drugs wear off more and more, sorrow replaces the feeling in his chest. I can’t lose you. A tear runs down his cheek, but his eyes are still round with panic. Lathan’s sclerae haven’t improved—still near the point of actually bleeding.
“That wasn’t enough, you need more,” he says softly, looking around the room. He won’t take it on his own, but if I’m bleeding, he’ll have to. Darting over to his desk, where Lathan discovered his stash, he rummages through the still-open drawer until he finds his pocket knife.
“I won’t let you die,” Kylo states, extending the blade and quickly slicing a line across his wrist. His face scrunches in pain as the metal divides a line in his arm, blood bubbling out of the cut as he draws it—sticky red rolling down his arm and dripping onto the floor.
“ Kylo !” Lathan shrieks, a terrified sound that has never come out of him before. Horror contours his face as he looks on at the once sweet and happy man harming himself without hesitation. His hands clamp over Kylo’s wrist tightly, as quick as a wink, trying to stop the bleeding. “Stop! Oh, gods—stop! What are you doing?”
Kylo flicks the knife shut with one hand and drops it, clattering to the ground amid Lathan’s raised voice. His ears pin back and his brows dip down, tears glassing over his eyes.
“Please, Lathan, you need to feed.” He lifts the wrist being held toward the dying vampire’s face. “Drink! Please!”
I can’t lose him. I can’t.
Two tears flow over the edge of his lashes.
Not now. I need him. Please don’t die—not you.
He hiccups when Lathan doesn’t move, doesn’t react.
“For fuck’s sake, Lathan, drink!”
If Lathan was a dog, he’d be cowering, tail between his legs. That’s how he looks with his bewildered, red eyes: so, so terrified. Not of Kylo, but for him—and for himself. This whole situation and how they got here, both so affected by Trevor’s actions, even after his demise. They’ve both been hurting, silently self-sabotaging in the guise of aiding themselves—poor coping for aching hearts.
With trembling hands, Lathan lifts Kylo’s wrist, sliding his palm off of the wound, smearing the glossy red shine across his skin. Kylo watches as his face twists in pain, almost disgust, holding it near his face. The metallic tinge wafting in the air between them. After a silent moment, he obliges, wrapping his lips around the cut and drawing in the blood. Kylo can feel the initial pull and winces at the feeling, without venom to numb the pressure. Exhaling slowly to endure the throb, Kylo notices Lathan shake lightly, his drinking staggered rather than the smooth pulls he’s used to.
And he quickly realizes it’s because he’s crying as he drinks—the first time Kylo has seen him cry.
His heart breaks further, seeing the pain Lathan has been going through, the pain he has been so selfishly blind to. His wet vision blurs as he lowers them both to the ground. He wraps his body around Lathan, hugging him while he replenishes his dying body. The full weight of their hidden emotions finally being released and shared with one another. It’s overwhelming. A sea of pain, shame, sorrow, and blame, spilling into the room. But it’s also like the sea is washing them clean, showing each other their truths after nearly two weeks of pretending everything is okay.
Eventually, Lathan pulls back and releases Kylo’s arm. He seals the cut with his tongue and then pushes himself away, hiding his face in his hands—ashamed. His breaths stutter, jerking his shoulders; shaken by the scene.
Reaching forward with his unwounded arm, Kylo softly touches Lathan’s leg. “Talk to me,” he breathes, pushing down his own nausea onset by the resurgence of his sobriety. “Why were you starving yourself?”
Kylo is scared. No, terrified . Now that the drugs are out of his system, craving is setting in along with racing anxious thoughts. What if he tries this again? What if I don’t notice? What if he doesn’t let me help next time? He can’t die, I can’t lose him. I don’t know what to do…
Wiping his wet eyes with the heels of his palms, Lathan takes a breath and stares at the floor shakily. “I can’t…with blood anymore,” he forces, and swallows with a grimace. “It makes me sick. It’s the whole fucking reason for everything. I can’t hurt you anymore. I can’t deal with it. I thought I could control it, if I tried hard enough…” He rubs his face and blinks away more tears as they threaten to spill.
“Woah.” Kylo scoots in closer, wiping fallen tears from his cheeks. “You haven’t hurt me, Lathan. You’re the only reason I’m alive. Don’t punish yourself for who you are. I love you ,” he emphasizes, trying to find his eyes, noticing his sclerae are already lightening in colour as his body soaks up what he’s consumed.
“You don’t get it,” Lathan says, finally looking up. “You blame yourself for what happened with Trevor and Alanna the first time. But you wouldn’t have thought to put yourself in that situation if it wasn’t for me . How else do I make you understand?” Lathan’s eyes swirl with a deep sadness. It’s clear he’s been carrying this self-blame for much longer than the recent incident—since the beginning—and Kylo now recalls him mentioning it before. “I’m the reason you almost died. Twice. And I’m the reason you’re constantly high now, because I can’t fucking help you. Even though I’m trying so fucking hard to be who you need.”
Kylo’s skin starts to itch and his stomach twists—his body screaming for its next fix, having been so used to the routine. He tries to ignore it, pushing it down to focus on Lathan, on how he’s hurt him so deeply by his selfish actions, despite his descent into darkness.
“No. I did that. Not you. You warned me and I didn’t listen”—he cringes and shakes his head—“because I have a problem.”
He’s never admitted he has an addictive personality, but that’s the root cause for all of this. And he’s still bending to its will.
“You’ve been everything I could’ve asked for and more.” He lowers his eyes out of shame, his voice dropping in volume. “But I… I need help.”
“I know.” Lathan sniffles, placing a hand on top of Kylo’s, still resting on his leg. “Kylo, I don’t know what to do. We’re hurting each other.”
The words cut deep, deeper than he allowed the blade to cut his skin, because it’s true. They’ve both been lying. Putting on an act to hide their pain, to ease the other of more burdens. But it isn’t working.
“Hurting you is the last thing I want.” Kylo’s lip quivers, and he chews on it for a moment. “I’m sorry…it just…it hurt so much I couldn’t see straight.” He pauses, scared. “If…if you’ll still have me, I promise not to keep anything from you. I’ll quit everything and…and I’ll get help.” Counselling. Both for the trauma that haunts him at night and for his drug dependency. “But you have to promise me you won’t starve yourself.” He finally looks up, holding his breath to stop himself from sobbing—or vomiting, as nausea swirls in his stomach, his skin growing clammy.
Lathan rests a hand on the side of Kylo’s damp face, caressing his warm cheek with his thumb. “I promise. I’ll try my best to feed. Okay?” He pauses, becoming more honest in this moment of vulnerability. “You’re all I have. I don’t want to lose you.”
Nodding gently, Kylo reassures Lathan with a soft, sweet voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
They share this moment for a few seconds before sweat begins to roll down Kylo’s skin, his withdrawal peaking. The nausea he had forced down rises with a vengeance as the room starts to sway in his vision.
“Shit.” Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbles to the bathroom just in time. He collapses in front of the toilet and empties the contents of his stomach—not much considering he had skipped lunch and dinner, the high often making him forget his daily needs. The aftermath from stardust isn’t as easy for his body to handle, and he doesn’t plan on finding out if it gets better or worse with further use. These past few weeks have been nightmares numbed with poison, only making things worse.
After dry heaving once more, Kylo eyes the doorway where Lathan is leaning against the frame shyly. “I know someone who had to get clean. Took a few days for the nausea to pass,” he says before looking down at his feet, a lame attempt to give Kylo privacy. “She said the first day was the worst.”
Kylo pants over the toilet, catching his breath. Sweat slicks the back of his neck, dampening his curls, and rolls off his forehead. “Trevor got in my head,” he breathes into the hollow of the toilet bowl, deciding to be open about what he was truly going through. Scrunching into a pretzel, he keeps his eyes on the white porcelain. “I kept feeling him on me…feeding until I passed out…his venom paralyzing me while he…touched me. I just wanted to feel normal again.”
What almost scares me more is that I don’t know if I would’ve stopped if Lathan didn’t catch me. How long would I have kept using? How long until stardust wasn’t enough?
How long until I took it too far?
The thought of overdosing to numb his pain sends a shiver down his spine. He’s never been suicidal, but his pain made him apathetic to the idea, and the only one keeping him here was Lathan. It’s not healthy, and he knows it. Tomorrow he plans to go to the counsellor’s office—the first step to an active change.
Lathan slides down the bathroom door frame, placing a foot opposite to him on the wood. “My parents got in my head,” he admits in a defeated tone. “My mom…”
The wave of nausea subsiding, Kylo shifts his body up against the wall beside the toilet to face Lathan. “I heard her in the hall the day you were released.”
Lathan looks at him, embarrassed. “You heard?”
“I should’ve said something about it sooner, but I was just so happy to see you, and you seemed like you were doing so well after everything…” It makes his heart ache to know that Lathan didn’t have the unwavering, smothering love that Kylo had growing up. He wants to give him that, a home where he feels safe. Supported. A family. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with how they treat you.”
Lathan sighs and looks down, shifting the foot that rests on the door frame. “I’m used to it. It’s been my whole life. I don’t know why it got to me this time.”
“You shouldn’t have to be used to it. That would mess with anyone. Admitting it hurts doesn’t make you weak.” Kylo’s big, brown eyes exude the deep empathy and care he has for him. “You’re the strongest person I know, and you deserve so much more in this world.” So much more than a fuck-up like me—but, dammit, if I’m who you want, I’ll do better. For you. For us.
The silence that drapes over them is thick with emotion and exhaustion from both ends. Then Lathan shrugs. “That’s just how it is,” he says dismissively. It’s a pain point, and Kylo knows he shouldn’t cross it, not right now. “Does your family know about anything that’s been going on?”
Kylo’s ears pin down and he looks away, rubbing his unwounded arm. “No, and I don’t want them to find out. They’d probably make me drop out, take time off, and I really don’t want that.”
“Okay. What about friends? Anyone you can talk to, other than me?”
Kylo shakes his head. Although he has lots of acquaintances, gets along with practically everyone, he lacks close friendships. He’s a social butterfly, so meeting people is never an issue, being vulnerable is never an issue, but this—it’s a lot to place on someone, especially an acquaintance.
“I’ll visit the counsellors’ office tomorrow. See if I can talk to someone.” He smooths down the hairs on his arm, afraid of the courage he’ll have to gather to force himself there, afraid of what they’ll think when he tells them.
Lathan nods, shoulders falling as he tosses his head back. “I’m sorry. For everything. I wish I could do more.”
“Me too.” Kylo can’t bear to keep living like this. Not when he sees the pain now—Lathan’s pain, and how they’re feeding off each other. All he wants is a peaceful future with him, so that’s what he sets his sights on. Because he believes they can have that. “Every day that you keep living, I’ll find the strength to do the same. We’ll figure this out, together.”
Lathan’s eyes start to gloss over again. Breathing deeply, as if to stop himself from another bout of tears, he crawls the short distance to Kylo and pulls him against him, burying his face into his hair, his sweaty scalp. “You saved me from myself,” he whispers. “I love you.”
Kylo’s chin puckers and he grips Lathan’s shirt, sealing his eyes tightly to avoid a tsunami of his own from escaping. “I love you, too,” he whispers back before the lump in his throat can prevent him from speaking.
Sitting there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Kylo’s early withdrawal symptoms rise and fall like the push and pull of whitecaps on high tide. It’ll be a few days before his body can level itself out, but he’s determined to do anything he needs to overcome it. To end this cycle.