(no subject)

[katanaxoxo]

I do not own ny of the characters. Of course it's fictional comments are always love. Duh.

Summary: Bam gets Ville in an agonizingly miserable predictament.

When I woke up he was gone. I mean when I say him a little sweet mischievous angel. My beautiful disaster with the wild grey eyes and even wilder curls framing his cheeks. I've always called him disaster since as far back as my old brain will let me remember back.
  I first met him whhile he was high off cocaine and drunk off absinthe, trying his best to cook a grilled cheese sandwhich while admitting to me the pedestal he put me on--as well as the crush he harbored for me. Needless to say, one lusty candy tinted kiss later the smell of burning bread greeted our noses.

Not that disaster was ever really that hungry, he ate like a bird as it was without the influence of his beloved white powder.  I think cooking just kept his sped up little mind from going insane, yes, that must be it. He was always frantically baking something only to ignore it after it was edible.

Shortly after disaster and I met we began to see each other, at first, because of his still uneasy assumptions about changing his lifestyle so severly, he stayed behind me holding my hand in the shadows. Eventually, either he felt comfortable enough or he was drugged up enough, but he stopped caring what people would say and I'd recieve kisses and hugs from my wreck in public. It made my heart swell to see him so lively to be with me, so unafraid.
I was blinded by his change of heart so that I didn't realize his downward careen as fast as I should have.  His ribs were showing under his thin inked flesh and he had trouble sleeping, I could feel him breaking into cold sweats next to me all night. His sex drive went from romantic to needy and demanding, it was quickly used as a way to keep him fromn thinking about the next buzz. I did nothing for the first few months, giving him what he wanted, always deelivering more, until both of our bodies wracked from the beatings we gave it forcing another round after another until we were both numb.

One night I held disaster to the bed and I watche him crack, pushing his face against the pillow and begging to be let up--begging to go to his poison. Disaster loved adrenaline, it gave him a lovely sort of glow.

As I said, when I woke up this morning my angel was gone. I found him on the bathroom floor.

He looked so peaceful, as if he were asleep so I kissed his cold neck, littered with love bruises that matched my mouth so perfectly.

Angel took too much and now he's gone.

He used to call me chaos "If I'm disaster, then you must be chaos! Because there can not be the one without the other, Ville" he reasoned

Chaos survives without Disaster. But they all think I tore the wings from my angel.  I didn't hurt  him, I never would, but I will die for it. And I will plead guilty. Someone should die for the death of an angel...And to die is to have that last chance to be with him... my beautiful disaster