I Love New Yor

Hey readers! Just wanted to give a major thanks to my new editor, Cruel2BKind, for making me reconsider some things and agreeing that my pacing sucks

J

This chapter has been really challenging, and I re-wrote it a few times to produce this. I hope you enjoy!

~PeterPanics

*

em>Faggot.

I felt Gavin's cock pushing into me, filling every inch of space I had. I moaned from the heat and the pressure.

Queer.

His low growls pushed from the bottom of his chest made my cock jump. God he felt so fucking good inside me.

Bitch.

His teeth found my shoulder blade, sinking into it with ease. With a hard, long thrust, he hit my most sensitive of places and made me cry out.

Slut. Whore. Cunt.

I awoke with a gasp, sweat pouring from my skin. My boxers were sticky with come, my breathing was heavy and uneven.

Faggot. Queer. Bitch. Slut. Whore. Cunt.

It all crashed through my head at a million miles an hour and I felt sick. I bolted to the bathroom and found myself doubled over the toilet vomiting.

I am so fucking sick of myself.

When my body was done, and had nothing left to expel, I curled into a tiny ball on the bathroom floor. The tile was cold, and it felt good against my hot, sweaty skin. A shower sounded delicious, but I was too drained to even try. Instead, I shoved a towel beneath my head and lay there, too filled with self-loathing to care.

Your one twisted mother fucker, Dev.

Yes. Yes, I am. Using Gavin for my own personal shit. Pretending to actually give a damn about him. Having sex with him because it made me feel better about myself.

.

Faggot. Queer. Bitch. Slut. Whore. Cunt.

"Devon." Someone was shaking me. "Devon."

"Go. Away." I managed. Something beneath me was rough and solid. I opened one eye to see underneath the bathroom cabinets. No one had swept beneath them in ages. I closed my eyes tight. Let me go back to sleep, I pleaded internally. Let me wake up when this shit is over.

"Dev, you asshole. Wake the fuck up." I felt a sharp pain in my kidney and realized I'd just been kicked.

I opened my eyes to see none other than Kayden Spark towering above me, his eyes livid.

A series of thoughts ran through my muddled mind.

How the fuck did you get into my bathroom? WHY are you in my bathroom? Why am I sleeping on the bathroom floor? Haven't you fucked with my head enough, Kayden?

I only vocalized one.

"Bitch, don't fucking kick me."

"Don't tell me what to do." He said hotly.

It was in this moment of silence that embarrassment set in. Not only was I still reeling from the burn of the dancer's rejection, but here I was now, asleep on the bathroom floor, sweaty, stinky, and wearing come-covered underwear, while he stood above me unfazed and dashing as ever.

I peeled off the floor, my skin sticking painfully in some spots. I stood up and faced the beautiful boy. "What do you want, Kayden." I mumbled.

The bitch was laughing at me. "You look like shit."

"Feel like shit." Was all I could manage, glancing in the mirror to see that I did indeed look like shit. Disheveled hair, wrinkled boxers (Not to mention the stain), bags beneath my eyes, five o clock shadow looking permanently etched into my skin, sex on my breath.

"You've missed the last two days of rehearsals. I demand to know why." He scoffed, crossing his arms in a very catty fashion.

"You don't demand shit of me, Kayden." I mumbled, walking past him into my bedroom and searching for a pair of jeans. I picked up the ones closest to me, disregarding that they were probably dirty. I didn't care. Why should Kayden get to humiliate me in my own home?

"When you fuck with my ballet, MY work of art, I can demand whatever the fuck I want." He breathed, his eyes hot with anger. "Why haven't you shown up to class?"

"Why haven't you shown up to class?" I mocked in a very childish way, walking away from him again to the kitchen, ignoring the footsteps behind me. "How the hell did you even get in my apartment?"

I took to finding a coffee cup in the mountain of clean dishes on the counter. He disregarded the fact that I was very clearly pissed off at him and sat down at the dinette table and looked at me warily. I stuck out my tongue at him. It provoked a giggle from him that made me want to bash his face in. Even when I wanted him to jump off a cliff he could still give me butterflies. Pssh.

I turned away from him and fell silent.

"The purple headed girl." He mumbled behind me.

"What?" I asked, turning to face him.

"The purple haired girl let me in. She said she was on the way to some expo but I was welcome to stay as long as I needed, and that you'd been sleeping most of the last few days."

"Well, one thing I've always liked about Cassi is she's always honest." I said, boring into his big hazel eyes so intensely he looked away.

I took a long drink of my coffee, the bitter taste not mixing well with morning breath. Was it even morning?

I glanced over my shoulder at the clock above the stove. 3:40 pm. I had no idea the date. My life had been three things: Sleep, Sex, Sleep. It was pitiful and I was ashamed of it, but face it, what was I really proud of anymore?

Everything about New York sucked. The people sucked. The city sucked. August sucked. Everything sucked massive cock. I didn't care that it was childish to say.

"Devon... we need to talk about what happene-"

"Shut your face, Kayden." I warned. "We aren't having this conversation right now. Fuck that."

His eyes narrowed. "Fine. My place in two hours." He said, starting toward the door.

"No. Not your place."

I couldn't see his face, but I could see his muscles tense. "Fine. Central Park. Meet me at Harlem Meer." He slammed out of the apartment with such drama that it would make Richard Chamberlain cry.

My reflection in the mirror said I was superb. Told me I looked great, felt well. Mirrors are dirty liars. This, I had come to know.

I smiled, and wanted to laugh at how easily my reflection smiled back.

What a fake.

I took a deep breath and turned back to my eyes. I hadn't realized how dark they'd gotten. They'd gone from green to black, and it had been a long, long time since they'd been the color of charcoal. It made me want to punch the guy on the other side of the glass.

I stared over the glass lake, bringing myself to smile at the ducks waddling past. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked up to see Kayden, balancing two smoothies on one arm.

"We should go for a walk." He offered.

I took a smoothie and thanked him, and tried to avoid looking at him. I was both infuriated and infatuated by him, and it was killing me. He tried to slide an arm through mine, and I simply shook him off. Who was he trying to kid?

We began to walk along the path, stepping slowly, and carefully.

"What did you want to talk about, Kayden?"

"The other night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He mumbled. "I just... I want you to know why I asked you to leave."

"Because you're not interested."

"No."

"Then why did you push me away?" I snorted.

He ran his fingers through his hair, opening his mouth with no sound coming out.

"I know I'm not the guy that's the best for you okay? I've got an ugly past. I've got bad habits and obsessive compulsive tendencies... But I didn't deserve that, Kayden."

"I know you didn't." he stuttered.

"Then why did you?" I demanded

The words hung in the air, like a noose. He at me, his gaze stead but heartbreaking.

"I told you... I don't want to like you, Devon."

"That's a shit excuse, and you know it." I snorted.

"Is it, Dev?" he grew angry, stopping to stand in front of me. "You're making me crazy. I'm thinking about you all the time. I'm thinking about how you make me feel so new and scared and how fucking great it feels. I can't do that Devon! I came to New York to

dance

. I came to New York to follow my

dreams."

He inched closer, his voice shaking with anger. I could see every detail of his face, every golden fleck in his perfect hazel eyes, and even though I wanted to shove needles in them, they were beautiful. " I didn't come to this city to get tied up in drama and skinny boys with scene hair and a shit ton of teenage angst. You're nothing but a distraction, something in my way." He muttered, his fist closing around the bottom of my shirt.

It crushed me.

Something in my way.

I smiled at him. "Who the fuck do you think you are to judge? You don't know me, Kayden, you fucking asshole." I whispered. "You want to know something? I've been through more shit in my life than you've ever imagined. People have fucked up my head, built me up, torn me down, used me, like you wouldn't believe. You think you know everything? You think your king shit? I can't believe I ever had feelings for you, you selfish bastard." I spat. "I'm sorry your wasted your time."

I turned to stomp away when I felt his hand close tight around my wrist. I gritted my teeth.

I'm going to deck this motherfucker in the face.

"Please don't walk away."

His voice was small.

Breakable.

Fragile.

My heart melted, and all the anger was gone.

"Please don't walk away from me."

I looked back to see his eyes, big, and pleading. His voice was a whisper, low and begging, so heartbreaking and beautiful. I felt the walls tumbling down, slowly, but steadily as I stared into his hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm sorry for everything. I just want to

know

you, Devon. I just want you with me. I don't know why. I can't explain it, but there is something in you that is magnetic, and I can't stop wondering about what it would be like to figure you out... "

There go the walls.

He leaned in closer and I could smell the strawberry of his smoothie on his breath, Whatever scent he was wearing, the familiar citrus of his shampoo. I ached to lean in those few extra inches and feel his gentle lips on my own, but there was something I had to say.

"Don't say things you don't mean." I mumbled, putting my head down and staring at my sneakers.

They were still scuffed. Still scuffed from the first day I saw him.

He smiled, and I knew all hopes were lost. I liked him, he liked me, and this was going to happen, one way or another. There was no hope of shaking him off, or trying to go without him, because these things would never work.

It was bound to be a train wreck, me and him, but to hell with it. May as well throw my hands up and enjoy the ride.

When he kissed me this time, I felt this. I could feel it down to the core of my being. There was no getting out of this one.

Cassidee crossed her arms matter-o-factly.

"What are you going to do, Devon? Run away from your problems?" She threw the ad down on the floor in front of me.

"Its not running away, Cass, it's moving on."

"Can you even imagine how much easier that's going to be for you to do than for Gav? You were his first, Devon!" the disappointment in her eyes stunned me.

"I'm looking for apartments. That night was a mistake. It's not healthy for me to be using Gavin like this... moving out is the right thing to do."

"You're moving out?"

His voice came from the doorway behind me, so quiet and heartbreaking I wanted to kick myself. His intense eyes were confused and hurt, and they killed me. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out.

"Gavin. I was going to talk to you bu-"

Before I could finish he was halfway out the door.

As if on cue, my cell phone rang, echoing dubstep music around the room.

"Hello?" I answered quietly.

"Why hello there Dev." A raspy, seductive voice greeted me.

My stomach lurched uncomfortably. Luke. Lucas. Lucas was talking to me. Right now. When I'm already so far up shit creek it was going to be impossible to get the crap out of my hair. Now.

"Why've you been ignoring my messages? I've missed playing with you Dev."

My skin itched and suddenly I had the intense urge to throw my phone out the window. A blackberry couldn't survive 60 stories. No way in hell.

"Um... I've been busy. School... and stuff."

"And stuff?" his voice asked, and I could picture the little smirk on his face. God, I was playing again. I never, ever, wanted to play again, and here I was hundreds of miles away and he could still spring this stupid game on me.

"Yeah. What about you Luke?" I managed. I refuse to let him do this to me.

"Y'know. Things have gotten real lonely here."

"You? Lonely? Never." I mumbled.

If I closed my eyes, I could see him. He was probably lying in bed, his head cocked to the side, his phone on his bare stomach on speaker.

"Of course I'm lonely though. I've tried to play with others but they aren't as much fun as you."

"Why is that?" I asked, trying not to think of where his hands may be straying as we spoke.

"Because other boys like losing. Not you. You try really, really hard not to lose. And then, you get all angry when you do. Everyone loves angry sex." He chuckled boyishly.

I hung up the phone. The shiver that ran down my back was almost involuntary... almost hungry.

No. He wasn't going to control me like this. I wasn't a pawn in his ridiculous head game.

Cassidee shot me a worried glance. "You feel like explaining what that was all about?" she asked, combing a strand of hair behind my ear. I sighed.

This is all gone to hell.

"No. I'll be back in a little while, okay Cass? I need some... solitude."

"Do you want to play a game?"

I remember the way he whispered so seductively in my ear; his breath was warm against my jaw.

I let my fingers pound against the keys harder. The piano sang louder, the sound reverberating through my fingertips. I quickly pecked at keys, my eyes never leaving the ceiling. One two, one two five. C B, C B G.

I felt the music coming from the massive instrument quicker and quicker, the sound lovely, but distorted with speed. I couldn't run my fingers over the ivory keys any faster. A single grey crack ran through the ceiling.

I wasn't playing anymore. I was pounding. I was slamming against the instrument with all the force my arms could muster, and I was crying.

"Do you want to play a game?"

"Mr. Davis."

I let my arms drop from the keys and hid my face in my hands. Stop crying. You're an idiot. There isn't anything to cry about.

"Mr. Davis. That really is no way to treat a 60 year old piano." Professor Wrought walked down he auditorium steps slowly, his arms crossed. Of course I'd gone to school. There was no where else for me to go. I couldn't stay at the apartment, I couldn't walk the streets, I couldn't even lock myself in my room. I needed quiet, and I needed the piano,, but most of all, I needed someone to listen.

The wretched old man stopped at the edge of the stage and looked up at me in the dark. "Maybe instead of assaulting the instrument, you'd like to talk?"

I stared down at him. I hated the old douchebag, and he was the last person I wanted to talk to. He was the last person I wanted to walk up the stage steps and plop himself down on the bench beside me. He was the last person I wanted to tell all this to.

"Professor... can I tell you a story?" My voice was monotone and unrecognizable.

"I never knew you were one for stories, Mr. Davis. But if it's going to keep you from attacking my piano, then proceed."

Smartass. A 'yes' would have worked just as well.

"I was fourteen when my mom died, Professor. She was a beautiful woman. She was smart and strong and she loved life. She encouraged me to dream the impossible. She promised me I was going to be better than she ever, ever was. I always thought it was impossible. She taught me how to play piano, she taught me to believe in myself, and she taught me to have heart.

My mom accepted me for all that I was. She accepted that my sexuality was not typical. She accepted that my hair was different and I dressed differently. She accepted that her son was not going to marry or have kids. Somehow, she still loved me. She loved me with everything in her."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Davis, but this doesn't explain the beating on my piano." He mumbled, obviously confused as to why I was giving him my life story. I really didn't know why I was either, to tell the truth, but it was all coming out.

"My dad wasn't in the picture until after she passed away. They carted me off to Arizona to live with the drunken bastard. I hated him, and he hated me. He was a homophobic asshole, with no heart... and heart is everything, Professor Wrought."

I felt tears coming, and I didn't want to cry in front of this self righteous ass. He didn't care about my life. He was a teacher, here to instruct, here to show me how to become a better pianist, and here I was wasting his time after-hours. Just shut the hell up and go home, Devon. No one wants to join your fucking pity parade.

I stood to go, grabbing my bag from the top of the piano.

"I agree with you, Mr. Davis. Heart is everything." He said quietly, looking up at me through his thick glasses. "Now, if you'd please sit down, I was in the middle of a story with an intriguing young man."

I sat, and opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I was so incredibly touched.

I turned to the piano and started the first few notes of "Pieces" by Red, and stopped when I felt his eyes watching me.

"One night..." I mumbled, over the sound of the keys. "One night he caught me with my boyfriend... and no son of his was a faggot." I coughed on the words, my fingers suddenly heavy on the ivory. The flashes of that night cascaded through my head. The screaming. The blood. The empty feeling when he walked away.

"He raped me." I whispered, the first tear finding my cheek. I focused on keeping my fingers moving. Just keep going, Devon. Just keep going.

You want a man, you little faggot? I'll show you a real fucking man!

Empty words echoed in my head, ran down my spine and made my very core ache. My chest was heavy with the screaming that usually accompanied these toxic memories, but I kept them inside though they begged to burst from me. I could so easily remember all the horrible details of that night.

I'll show you a fucking man...

"I had a concussion. Four broken ribs. A compound fracture in my left wrist. And he left me there bleeding in the dark." I felt my bones shiver.

"I HATE the dark." I gritted.

"He walked away. And I didn't have anything after that... I stayed in a hospital for a few weeks, some bullshit of I fell down the stairs. I ran away, took a train to California and went to live with my best friend. She fixed me up. She built me back up. She reminded me so much of my mother that she became a substitute. To this day, I love her more than I've ever loved anyone. Without Cass, I would be dead... I wouldn't have made it past those first few weeks."

I fell silent as I got to the part of the song that picked up in tempo, and let the music fill the silence. One key, then the other, solid and never ending. Beauty, without an image. When the song ended, I continued with a Sebastian Larsson number I didn't remember the name of.

"She moved here. To New York. To follow her dreams, when in all honesty, I had forgotten about mine. I applied to this school. I never expected to get an acceptance letter back. But I did. It's been six years without my mother, and I live this for her. But... before my dream even took off... I met him." I talked quietly, and stopped all together for a moment, shifting my focus from letting all this out on a stranger and the piano.

"I was still on the west coast, at some house party I'd been dragged to by a friend. Drank insane amounts of alcohol. Anyway, He was there. He looked like... you wouldn't believe. His hair was golden, and his eyes were so pale blue I felt like he was seeing right through everything. He pulled me outside and away from the party... he asked me if I wanted to play a game."