!NEW STORY!

Can't wait to dive into this one

TW: Murder, rodents, bugs, mutilation, suicide, suicidal thoughts/attempt, weird eating disorder, sexual content.

this book is gay btw they are gonna kiss, the question is when, and under what circumstances?

Chapter One

AVEL

The way he moves replicates that of cat. His body light on the pavement, as he takes out his blades, and thrusts his hands forward, stabbing his opponent with ease. Blood pours from the man's neck, as another tries to attack, but he's too fast, Sterling swings back, and rings his arm around the man's neck, twisting it with one pull, the crack of his spine making Sterling shiver in satisfaction and something more. When the final man drops, Sterling returns his blades to his belt underneath his coat, and he turns, walking back to me.

I stare at him, watching silently with my hands in my coat pockets. Rain beats down against me, as he approaches. He stops, we stare at each other, and then I walk over, lifting my hand, and slap him across the face, hard.

"That was reckless" I spit at him, my anger hot in my chest. I want to grab him and shake him; I want to take his blades and show him how to use them. I want to carve his body like stone.

He looks at me, un-phased at my outburst. "I'm still alive, so I don't see why it matters."

I grit my teeth, my glare burning into him. "You stupid fucking dog. I'd be better off with a cat."

He still shows no emotion on his face, no hint of my words bothering him. Even if I continuously call him a 'dog'. "You could never find someone better to protect you than me." There is no arrogance in his tone, he speaks as if he is only talking facts.

I glare up at him, despite my short stature, I am unbothered by his tall frame. The rain picks up, my suit and jacket soaked, stuck to my frame like a second skin. Sterling stares at me, his face expressionless, and I simply turn away. I push my hands into my coat pockets and walk down the street. There is no light down the street, no streetlights, no cars, no light but the moon that is blanketed by heavy rain clouds. This is how it is in Boston. The movement pushed by anti-technology radicals have succeeded in eradicating all technology on the in the city, because of this, there are no police, no laws, and no one to stop people from doing whatever they want.

I walk against the rain, Sterling only a few feet behind me as he follows. Sterling is my guard dog; I pay him to protect me. He's good at what he does, but I can't help but sometimes hate him. His ability to kill without getting hurt was impressive, but I often find him a bit too impressive, a bit too arrogant.

A bit too reckless.

Often, I struggle with him. My inability to control my rage becomes evident when he's around. I want to hurt him. I want to kill him, and I'll never be able too, because he's so much stronger than me.

He knows this, he knows my thoughts, my wanting, my needs.

This is why I keep him around. Just as he's always watching others to protect me, he's always watching me to protect himself.

It is euphoric.

There is a heavy silence between us both. I stare straight ahead, both our bodies soaked, as my hair clings to my face. I move as if the wind did not exist, as if the rain was a figment of my own imagination, as if the cold autumn air that chilled my wet skin was nothing but a passing glance.

I turn into down an alleyway, large rats scream as they run past us, scurrying into the shadows of the already dark atmosphere. Sterling's voice is abrupt from behind me, "Is this a good idea?" Is all that he asks, and I ignore him, because he's right, I should stop, I should go home, I keep walking anyway. When I say nothing, he continues, "I thought rats were smart."

I swing to him, my glare sharp, "Watch your tone with me."

He looks at me almost bored, "Boston's rat king collecting in the dark? Have you finally lost that smart brain of yours, Avel?"

I suddenly grab his collar, shoving him against the brick wall of the building, "Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up or I'll make you. I cannot stand your barking. I cannot stand your mouth."

He keeps his expression cold, the only person who has ever challenged me, not by anger, but by sheer indifference. "I'm simply speaking my mind."

I push him once more against the wall, "Keep it to yourself." I hiss, pulling away from him, and shoving my hands in my coat pockets, my heart racing, my blood boiling, my mind whirling. It is so hard to control my anger around him. I want to bite him, infect him with rabies and sickness. I want to kill him.

I walk further down the alley, turning to a rusted metal door in the corner of a building, slightly hidden behind a dumpster, I kick open the door and walk in. I feel Sterling move closer to me, despite my outburst, he knows his job, and his job is to protect me. I feel him towering over me from behind, but I don't show that I notice him, or that I care. The room is empty, the walls littered with graffiti, blankets and needles scattered on the floor. I can hear the tiny paws of the rats running around the dark room, my ears sensitive of the presence of all rodents, all pests, all nuisances.

I move to a staircase in the corner and climb up it. When we get to the top, we are greeted with a long, filthy corridor. I glance at the numbers above the doors, 22, 24, 26, I stop at 28. I take a step back, and nod for Sterling to open it. He doesn't hesitate, as he kicks the door open, and I walk in, pulling my gun out. He pulls his own gun out, the blades on his belt glistening despite the darkness of the room.

I hate when he uses his gun, despite having my own gun, I find it almost mocking. A man as strong as him, as skilled, to have blades so easily in his reach, to have the ability to hurt someone with pure strength alone, using a gun, a gun that a weak person like me is forced to choose, it's almost patronizing. It's irritating, and my own pride seethes at it.

I often find myself craving the barbaric nature of any weapon that doesn't just shoot. I want to feel my own hands make contact with bone. I want my own rage to absorb each violent stab, like water to a parched sponge.

Sterling begins to search the rooms of the filthy apartment. My eyes glance over at the mice droppings, and holes in the stained couch, most likely from the mice eating away at the fabric. I study the evidence of the rodent infestation, feeling my heart pound against my chest. My blood pumping erratically through my veins, as I find myself growing dizzy, the sounds of little paws filling my head, it's all I can think about, all I can hear.

A hand suddenly grabs my arm, and I start, whipping towards the person, my hand tensing around my gun, only to meet Sterling's cool brown eyes in the dark of the room.

I pull my arm away as if it hurt. "What did you find?" I ask, my heartbeat still loud in my ears.

He stares at me, if he notices my strange behavior, he doesn't acknowledge it, "Bedroom." Is all he says, and my rage ignites.

"No." I breathe, walking over to the bedroom, my vision blurry. "No. No. No!" I shout, my feet stomping on the ground as I enter the bedroom, seeing the lifeless body in the bed, a single bullet hole in the cranium, the gun lying mockingly beside them. "Goddamn it!" I shout, "You fucking bitch!" I grab the shoulders of the lifeless body, shaking her against the mattress. The stench of blood and rot filling my senses, bite marks litter her body from the rats generously taking their shares. I'm almost gagging at the taste of it. "Give me my fucking money!" I scream at the body, as if she could wake up and obey. "You fucking owe me!" Of course, she doesn't respond, and when I let go of her, her lifeless body falls back, making a squelching noise against the mattress soaked in her own rot.

Sterling says nothing, he simply observes me, and it pisses me off further. "Find anything worth taking in this fucking dump." I demand, "Take all of it if you have to."

He continues his designated silence, as he leaves the room, searching the apartment. I grab a lamp off the nightstand, and old pre-revolution relic that is useless now, and throw it at the wall to release my anger. Of course, it's never enough. Nothing will ever be enough to stifle this torturous flame.

I walk out of the room; my ears are full of the inevitable little steps in the walls. I'm sensitive to it, the way they walk, the way they communicate.

The rodents feel as if they are a part of me.

I glance into the kitchen, only to see Sterling. He isn't moving, his body stiff as he stares at the window. I watch him silently, his dark skin blending with the shadows, no color on him other than the faint red stitchwork on his jacket. I grab my gun, and extend my hand, aiming it at him.

As I am sensitive to the rodents, he is sensitive to the aim of my weapon, but he doesn't move, doesn't even look at me.

"We should leave." He says, and I keep my gun pointed at him.

"Why?"

He nods out the window, and I slowly walk over and glance out, my gun now pressed against the side of his jaw. Two men enter the building we were in, and one of them clearly had a gun.

I frown, taking an instinctive step back. "I'm not afraid of a few men."

He gives me blank look, and I take that as an opportunity to lower my gun. Maybe next time.

We could hear the footsteps of the two men moving through the hall outside, and I clench my gun tighter in my hand.

"Bhattacharya?" Sterling asks, and my frown deepens. He doesn't hesitate, grabbing out his gun.

He walks over to a window in the living room, opening it, inspecting the fire escape attached. "We should leave." He says again.

I want to argue, want to connect his face with my fist. I want to scream at him for telling me what to do, for trying to find rationality in a situation where rationality feels like myth.

I don't. Instead, I push him aside and climb out onto the fire escape.

The rain engulfs me immediately as I move down the steps, Sterling quick behind me.

I climb down the ladder and jump down to the ground of the alley. Sterling jumps after me, and I quickly begin to move.

My mind races as I walk against the wind and rain. Bhattacharya. How did he find me? How would his men know that I was here?

Sterling moves beside me. "He's watching us." He says so calmly, I almost want to laugh.

"I know." I mutter, glancing around.

"You're reckless." He responds, repeating the word I called him earlier. "He must have eyes everywhere."

I grip the handle of my gun, my knuckles bleeding white. "Let him watch."