Chapter One
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"Fuck!" the obscenity escaped his mouth through clenched teeth. He groaned at the intense pain and his right eye twitched as he took a try at his neck again. He never felt anything as terribly painful–well, one thing did come to mind, but he pushed that thought to the furthest realm of his memory banks. Not even the master key could unlock the painful memory, however on lonely days where he sulked around his home with heavy, bloodshot red eyes, his eyelids would betray him and gaze upwards towards the walls. The wooden frames that clung to the wallpaper by rusty nails held an attraction for his eyes for a brief moment, then he would always cast his eyes back downwards on the floor.

Empty. That’s how his heart felt and that’s how the frames were; devoid of everything that he once knew.

Damn, why did his life have to be so miserable?

Shaky, hesitant hands curled backwards on his neck as his fingertips rubbed against the raised indentation that seemed sealed within him. It was like a shadow. It stayed with him wherever he went and never left his side even for a second. Always lingering.

It felt like a million little needles were stabbing at the sensitive spot on the back of his neck with the sharpest points known to man. He had no idea it would be this painful. With parted lips, he tried to maintain his breath, which was short, uncontrolled, and labored. He winced at the pain again when the silver razor that seemed to be a part of his hand, pierced through his skin. One small bead of blood emerged through the surface of his skin, then moments later, as the razor slid across his neck, a smooth trickle of that sickening red flowed from his skin barrier and lazily slid down the spine of his neck until meeting with the white collar of the back of his shirt.

The reflection in his mirror of the razor tearing through the flesh behind his neck made him feel the sudden urge to vomit. The growl, followed by the churning of his stomach confirmed his nauseousness and suddenly, his head flew above the sink as chunks of early morning breakfast spewed from his mouth and hit the bottom of the sink with a sickening splat. He turned the faucet on and watched as the vomit emptied away into the drain, far away from his sight. Humped over the sink with his forearms on top of the cold, white glass, he dared not look back at his reflection fearing the sight of the image of his scruffy, black, neglected hair that needed a clean cut and shave. He feared the sight of his eyes. Those eyes that were once soft now were a pair of cold, stone statues that seemed as if they caught the tantalizing glimpse of Medusa. Those eyes that were once an inviting light brown were dark as the forest night sky that lacked the North Star.

He felt the warmth of his blood from the new wound teasing slowly down his back until the trail stopped as it was soaked by the cotton material of his shirt. After catching his breath, he gripped the razor more tightly in his palm and drilled it in the back of his neck, creating a similar cut. The air that touched his new, fresh wound stung at his flesh creating an unbearable tingling feeling that elicited another wince from his gritted teeth. Goodness, it had to feel as if someone were pouring a hot, steamy bucket of acid on his neck.

"Damn..." he breathed and began the horrible and slow process of slicing through his flesh, creating a square shape that bore into his skin and flapped when he began to peel the outer layer with his fingertips. His eyes shut tightly and his teeth clenched together when the tip of his misguided finger accidentally dug into the cut in his neck, only causing more pain that he never wanted to experience in his life. It was a terrifying, agonizing, tormenting pain, that although originating at his neck, traveled to the bottom of his spinal cord and attacked all nerve endings along the way.

Damn them.

He paused for a second, catching his exhausted breaths, before he quickly ripped the skin piece from his neck and tried to ignore the excruciating pain and discomfort it caused. He was a fool to try to ignore the stinging pain when it intensified. His right hand then surrounded the culprit to his several years of unstoppable grievances, unstoppable displeasures. The salty sweat that collected at his brow and hairline slid down his face, glistening his cheeks along its route. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. He had to get the damned thing out of him. He just had to. His life was already tormented. He had enough.

Armado...do you have any idea what you’re doing?

"Damn it!" he cursed as the voice returned to him. It felt as if it echoed throughout his entire body. The tips of his fingertips pulsed by the malicious tone of the man’s voice. The thin, short, barely noticeable strands of hair on his arms stiffened and stood to attention at the familiar sound. It felt as if the insides of his stomach plummeted to his feet and he groaned. It was almost as if someone was right behind him, talking directly into his ears. As if stone-hard lips, with the menace to kill, hovered above his ears, and spoke those threatening words.

You can’t get rid of us, even if you try!

"Oh, is that right?" a sardonic chuckle erupted from his throat as his hand still clenched tightly to the object lodged tightly into his neck.

We’re warning you Armado...

"Well, I have news for you..." he started his rebuttal but his lips froze in their place. His fingertips twitched, the veins on his arms throbbed, and he gripped onto the sink’s edge with his free hand. The silver razor he held dropped to the tiled floor with an echoing clink that bounced off the bathroom walls. The blood that coated the tip painted specks of red by his feet. He removed his other hand from the warm, bleeding core in the back of his neck and held them over his ears.

"No, please. Please! Not again..." the hardened demeanor he tried so hard to construct easily fell to pieces.

We don’t have to do this. We don’t want to do this, but you’re giving us no choice. We don’t want to hurt you, Armado. So stop what you’re doing and all will be forgotten.

"Shut the fuck up already!" his eyelids squinched closed when the piercing shrill flooded his ears, sending his body in a wild, animalistic rampage inside the bathroom. Wave after wave, the high-pitched shrill flooded him, submerging his body underneath its deafening frequencies. Crashing into the sink, the walls, and the toilet, he scrambled in hopes to get rid of the damned noise that was sure to make his ears bleed.

"Stop! Please!"

Surely, red bruises had to be covering the tips of his shoulders that thrashed violently against the bathroom walls. The ear-splitting shrill seeped into the billions of skin pores that dotted the surface of his body and he felt more heat building in his neck.

More blood was flowing freely from his self-inflicted injury. It oozed and oozed. There was too much red. Too much.

It seemed as if his AB blood couldn’t wait for that particular moment. It was as if they thirsted for his razor for several years, and when the tip poked his skin, they all raced to meet the world that was above.

Time seemed to be drugged as it dragged by slowly, keeping him in a state of utmost discomfort. Minutes seemed like hours when finally, the shrilling stopped—only to be substituted by the return of that damned voice.

Armado...

He shook his head from side to side trying desperately, frantically, and hopefully to remove the voice but to no avail. Moments passed and he wished he could just die right there on his bathroom floor. His body would be found curled tightly into a ball–cold, white, and pale. The only color would be his previously all-white shirt that would soak up the ever-pouring blood. His hands would still be clamped on his ears, trying to block out the sounds of distraction. The thought of dying without being able to live frightened him, yet tempted him with a desire stronger than the Sirens.

Armado. Don’t let us do this to you.

"G-Get...out!"

We’re a part of you like you’re a part of us...don’t forget that, Armado.

"I-I’m never..." he fought to control his labored breaths, "a part...of you."

The snicker scared him more than the sadistic tone of the voice. It was teasing, ridiculing, but most of all, degrading. It was everywhere.

Don’t be foolish! You don’t even realize what you’re saying, you stupid, stupid boy.

He closed his eyes and summoning enough willpower, he removed his hands from his ears only to move them behind his neck. The snicker still lingered in the air that was thick with the scent of his blood and poisoned by the inhumanity that stirred his self-inflicted neck wounds. The voice still spoke, yet, the threatening words gradually became inaudible. What was once the loud, taunting voice of his own uncloaked, black Reaper equipped with his long, silver scythe ready to strike the deadly point into his chest at any moment, became the muffled sounds of a tiny glimpse of hope that ensured his victory over death.

With trembling fingers, his digits surrounded the item sunk deeply into the back of his neck. He felt the solid, squareness of it. He felt the small, silver gratings on the sides and the base of his finger probed across the smooth, wet surface. He had to catch his breath. This would be more painful than anything. Almost anything.

As if an invisible messenger relayed the information, the metal in his neck sprung to life. Compressed air escaped through the grating framework. A red light flickered on the side at a constant rate. Then, there was a brief, subtle movement, followed by another movement. Before he knew it, the damned metal chunk began to vibrate against his neck with the ferocity of a caged lion.

His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head.

Trying his best to maintain his composure and shake off the waves of defeat that rolled over him, his blood crusted fingertips gripped underneath the chip and without wasting another second; without drawing another faint breath, without waiting for the return of his oppressor, he yanked at the chip.

The heavy groan that birthed from the pits of his stomach traveled up his lungs, knocked on his teeth, and exited his mouth in haste.

It’s not so easy to get rid of us...

"You little fucker..." It made no matter who he directed his obscenity towards. Both the chip and the voice were stubborn.

Try as you might but you’ll never...never be able to get rid of us.

"I’ve had enough of you...I s-swear, talk one...more time."

Even as he challenged it, his voice faltered from the throbbing pain still wholly present in his neck. He tried to yank it again, covering the chip with his fingers and giving it a strong yank.

Almost.

His teeth felt like they were going to break and crack as he clenched down on them even harder. His fingers pushed deeper into his flesh to dig underneath the chip.

Another yank. More forceful. A thousand times more discomforting. His angered, hurtful shout rang through his own ears a thousand times louder.

He heard the voice one last time.

Armado, this isn’t over...

With the chip finally in hand, he turned towards his toilet and watched as it slipped slowly out his hold, leaving a fine trail of his own blood down the length of his palm. He sneered and saw it plop into the toilet, where it sank to the bottom. His own blood that painted the chip quickly eased off the metal and swirled lazily in the water. His hands went to flush the toilet and he saw the chip swim out of his sight.

"My name’s not Armado...it’s Rhyne you piece of shit..."

He backed away from his toilet in staggering footsteps. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. It took years for him to finally commit to it, and he had done it. What felt like a celebration quickly melted away as he still felt and smelled his own blood leaking onto his shirt. His body felt weak.

Too much blood was escaping.

As fast as he could without feeling the need to faint, Rhyne addressed his wounds and stopped some of the bleeding by placing a gauze on top of his neck and taping it down. He washed his bloodied hands and picked up the weapon he used against his self. He cleaned the razor off too and left the bathroom looking the same way it did when he entered it, however, he left it with a darkness that would never escape the opposite side of the door.

He was finally free, thank goodness. It was good riddance to that damned chip.

Good-fucking-riddance...





Moments passed by as he slowly eased his way into a parking spot. His eyes gazed towards the window where they found her slender silhouette moving across the room. A grin slithered across his face and his pupils dilated in fascination as he continued to watch her. His fingers twisted the keys in the ignition and he turned the engine off. Rhyne sat quietly in his car, underneath the moonlight as he saw her silhouette slipping a top off over her head and throwing it to the side. His tongue escaped the confines of his hot, wet mouth and he licked his bottom lip.

His fingers begged to touch her. He wanted to feel how her smooth skin felt beneath his manly, rugged fingertips. How he craved to circle his thumb across her cheek over and over and over until he felt satisfied. He wanted to wrap his fingers in her curly, black strands of hair that probably smelled of lavender perfume or the fragrance of strawberry shampoo. Just the thought of her scent elicited a low groan from his throat.

She moved gracefully from one side of the room, as she stripped from her clothing and put on her nightgown.

He couldn’t believe she was a nightgown person. He shook his head in wonderment and smiled slightly as he saw her turn to the side, where he could clearly, easily, and freely see her bulbous breast. His lips needed to be licked again.

He held his breath and didn’t realize he was holding it when he watched her slip her clothes over her head. Seconds later, the light in her room turned off and he frowned.

He continued to sit in his car, hiding from the world behind the tinted windows that encircled him. Minutes later, when he was sure she was sleeping, he revved the car up, and headed back home.

He stopped counting the days when he watched her through that small, tempting window of voyeurism.

Tomorrow, he would see her again...