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Summary
There was another weight that sunk the mattress, creaking the bedframe beneath. Warmth cupped Oscar’s face — he heard his own breath hitch. What he braced for was the silk impersonality of gloves, but it didn’t matter now that those hands were wrapping around his head, untying the knot of void’s fabric and pulling down the sole barrier Oscar had. When the world returned to Oscar, it was Alex’s face he blinked into clarity, mirthless and coloured by a dying flame. Then, he met his gaze and it was as if Oscar never had a glimpse into what laid past his veneer.
Alex smiled. “Good evening, Edenic.”
Who else should he expect?
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Sodom had deformed Oscar, and there was something ridiculous in him fooling himself that where he fell was the lowest level he could land from where Alex had pushed him. Then there was Alex and an unknown, urging him to do worse. Because this was what he wanted, no?
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