I'm dead, I see things clearly. I confess, I feel this pain.

I pull the comforters around my naked body, drawing the fabric to my face to breathe in Alex's scent. To breathe in both our scents, intermingled. Looking around the darkened room, I smile when I hear a small mumble come from behind me. The bed creaks as Alex rolls over in his sleep. His body cuddles up to mine under the covers, his chest to my back, his arm over mine. I tense slightly as his hand rests against my bare breast. Part of me is waiting for his fingers to clench down in a tight pinch, waiting for his nails to dig into the soft flesh and draw blood. But, no. Not my Alex. I relax, trying to keep still enough to not disturb him. The walls are peppered with Star Wars memorabilia and anime posters. Everything in the room is like a small glimpse into Alex's personality. My smile wilts slightly as I spot the long formal dress and ridiculously bourgeois undergarments lying in a wrinkled pile on his carpet. I can smell them from my spot on the bed. Soap and tulips and Tommy's cologne. I curl closer against Alex, but there's a pang in my chest as I do so. The priest has crept into my thoughts and drawn a cold, intangible shade over my bliss.

I carefully extract myself from Alex's embrace, gently kissing his hand as I place it on the mattress. Suddenly over aware of my nudity, I pick up one of Alex's shirts and pull it over my head and body, before quietly creeping from the bedroom. I pick up the small pile of wet and bloody paper towels, and with a moment of searching, find the trash can and drop them in. The strangely sweet smell of Alex's blood tickles my nostrils as I pace the kitchen.

He still hasn't told me why he went with Rook.

No. That's not true. He told me why, just not what he found out. My brow furrows, and I rub at my forehead, smoothing the skin there. Again, my thoughts steal to Tommy, alone in his church. My hands move to rub at my eyes, remember his hazel ones brimming with tears. The bouquet of flowers that I hastily hid before Alex picked me up.

Why does he do this to me?

The physical abuse is one thing. I can handle that. I -have- handled that. But the way he speaks to me, when he speaks to me like I'm equal to him. Doesn't he realize? He doesn't need to tell me he loves me. Doesn't need to say that he depends on me. I'll keep coming back. I can't not. I'm so weak. So dependent on anyone who will give me what I've deluded myself into thinking I need.

But why? Why do I need Tommy? Alex accepts me for who I am. For what I am. He loves me. He makes me smile.  

I drop my eyes, watching my feet as I pace.

Why can't I just be happy? Am I not allowed? 
The answer lingers in my thoughts and I stop my momentum. 
I do deserve to be happy. I'm not a monster because I want to be, I'm a monster because I have to be. Every horrible thing I've done, I did it because I was hand crafted into beast. Over a year. I spent over a year in that bomb shelter. I was good, and pure, and kind. My maker cut that out of me. Burned it and beat it out of me. 

My hand creeps under the collar of Alex's shirt, unconsciously rubbing at the scars on my shoulders. The scars that he lovingly caressed. Because he loves me, despite of everything. I am allowed to be happy. I can be happy. I -am- happy.

Then why aren't you asleep in your dead lover's arms?

Small drops of red splatter onto the linoleum floor, and I rub the crimson stains away with the toe of my sock. My body smells of Alex. It smells of Tommy. It smells of deep rooted shame and humiliation, like a misbehaving dog awaiting correction. I leave the kitchen, traveling back to the bedroom with the care of a stranger in an unknown house. My eyelids droop as I reenter the room, closing the door behind me. Alex is still in the same position, his arm and hand reaching out for his missing lover. Peeling his shirt from my back, I crawl back into the bed, facing him, pressing close against his cool skin. I kiss his bare chest, murmuring his name before drifting into unconsciousness.

https://youtu.be/bkcqyKaIwjo