Ash made a muffled sound, mostly out of surprise and not pain. This wouldn't do; Edgar needed to hear him clearly. Suddenly, with his other hand, he grabbed a tight fistful of Ash's hair close to the scalp, and yanked his head away from the bed, drawing out a gasp.
Ash had a higher pain tolerance than most. He needed to be pushed further.
Edgar cut Ash again. Edgar watched the way his knife glided across the skin without an issue. Disappointingly, though, it was mostly silence. Ash had tensed his back and exhaled sharply but it was the only indication that he had felt anything.
Again, Edgar cut. The hot blood poured from Ash's wounds and down the hills of his muscular back, rolling down his sides and staining the bed underneath him. Ash let out a shaky sigh as the cuts on his back had uncomfortably started to burn. His skin was sticky with sweat and blood.
Again. Deeper. This time it elicited a pained groan. Edgar noted the way Ash's skin parted obediently to expose the twitching muscles beneath. Edgar smiled. Ash needs more of those.
Again and again Edgar cut, the intervals between them getting shorter and shorter. Edgar cut between his shoulder blades, down along his spine, and everywhere in between of varying lengths and depths. Eventually Edgar realized he had run out of space and found himself needing to overlap them. Ash writhed beneath Edgar, his back feeling like white hot agony. Burning crimson gushed from his wounds. The edges of his vision blurred as nausea settled in his stomach.
Only when Ash's pain eroded into hoarse groans did Edgar finally feel satisfied, letting go of Ash's hair, his head thumping unceremoniously against the pillow. Edgar set aside his bloodied knife and flipped Ash onto his back, making Ash arch in pain as the bloodied sheets chafed against his gaping cuts.
Edgar got a good look at his face. His messy hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. His eye was red-rimmed and lifeless. How amazing it felt to reduce a man bigger than him into a pathetic mess.
"Here, Ashley," Edgar's voice was a low, gentle whisper. He assisted Ash in sitting up. Ash winced with every movement. "I have something for you." Edgar reached into his pocket and produced a small bag of pure white powder. Ash's eyes followed it as Edgar placed it on the bedside table.
Ash wasted no time. His hands were a bit shaky, but his movements were rhythmical. Edgar watched him the entire time with revulsion. When Ash was finished he wiped his nose with his arm and sniffed.
It took a minute for Ash to realize that something was wrong. It wasn't the normal cocaine high that he was expecting. His heart pounded and his limbs tightened. His hands shook and he looked to Edgar, his dilated pupil overtaking the blue of his eye.
"W-what's in this..?" He stammered. Paranoia began to overtake all of his senses. He swallowed uneasily.
"It's nothing you can't handle," Edgar sat next to him. He leaned forward, his gray eyes flashing with feigned hurt. "Why? You don't trust me?"
"I-I... T-That's..." Syllables tumbled out of Ash's mouth. He physically couldn't form the words. His eye darted around nervously. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His body grew weak and heavy. Even just sitting close to Edgar was too much to bear. He reached out with trembling hands and leaned into Edgar, searching for anything to anchor himself.
Their lips met for a fraction of a second and Ash relaxed into it. Edgar grimaced. It was disgusting how desperate he was. Edgar then pulled away and spoke against Ash's lips, "Open your mouth." And Ash obeyed.
Then Edgar grabbed his tongue. With his knife he cut along the middle line. A few dark pearls of blood formed on the cut's surface, but Edgar only got to watch it for a moment before Ash recoiled from his touch. Edgar was momentarily blinded by anger, gripping Ash's chin and snapping his head towards him.
"Don't move," Edgar ordered. He kissed Ash again, using his tongue to open Ash's mouth. Edgar ran the tip of his tongue along the cut making Ash shudder. The taste of iron filled their mouths, filling Edgar with hunger. Ash's high made the sensation of the kiss even more heightened to an uncomfortable degree. Their lips crashed together and his head felt fuzzy and his body burned with pain and nausea and desire. He felt like he was going to pass out.
As they kissed, Edgar kept his eyes open, staring at Ash's closed eyes. The scarred one always drew his attention. Edgar had viscerally imagined carving up the rest of Ash's face when they met. His fingertips buzzed with the thought.
Their mouths parted. Blood and spit wet Ash's lips and dripped down his chin. The cuts on his back and tongue pulsed angrily with each heavy beat of his heart. The room spun around him and he struggled to keep his head upright.
"...Edgar," Ash slurred, drawing out each syllable. He was barely able to keep his eye open. Even the dim light of the bedroom was too much for him, blurring everything into an indiscernible watercolor. He reached out, wanting to kiss Edgar or cuddle him or do anything at all just as long as he's with him--
Edgar ignored him, and pushed him back onto the bed.
It was afternoon when Ash finally woke up. Edgar had already left. He sat up and winced; The blood on the sheets had dried and stuck to his back, peeling off his cuts as he rose. His tongue throbbed. He groaned, his head spinning, wishing he had more coke to stave off the crash.
He stood. The pain shot throughout his back and shoulders. His wrists and hips ached. Fuck. He had a fight tonight. He felt warmth dripping down his back.
Ash entered the bathroom and passed by the mirror. His eye drifted loosely down past the countless bruises and cuts covering his body. His gaze didn't linger. Instead he wondered about the last time he showered.
He stepped into the shower and turned the water on. The ice cold water woke him up further. He turned around and grimaced as the water hit his cuts, the cold doing little to calm his burning back. Looking down idly, his eye followed the way his blood mixed with the water and swirled down the drain.
He washed himself, wincing as leftover soap washed over his cuts. Every motion made his back scream in protest. His back and hands grew numb and he became lightheaded. His shower lasted only a few minutes but felt like an eternity.
Ash stepped out and dried himself off. The towel felt like sandpaper against his skin. He eyed the now-bloodied towel dully. He needed to patch himself up now.
He twisted his torso to look at his back in the mirror. Dark red cuts littered the very corner of his peripheral vision. It was all he could see, but it would have to do. He grabbed a pack of thick gauze pads, bandages, and painkillers. He had bought them after he had gotten injured in one of his earlier fights. He found himself using them more and more lately.
He trailed his hands along his back, flinching as his fingers grazed against his wounds. He pressed a gauze pad along a cut, then wrapped the bandage around his midsection, securing the gauze in place. The process was achingly slow; It took a steady hand to wrap the lengths of gauze across his torso and shoulders. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he hissed in pain as he wrapped another pad tightly against his back. He did this again and again until his back was fully covered. The bandages made bending even more difficult, but he would manage for a while.
He opened the bottle of strong painkillers and took a couple, washing them down with water from the sink. Finally finished, he sighed and slumped his head, letting his lethargy take hold of him for only a moment.
Ash left the bathroom, scooping up his discarded clothes besides the bed and putting them on. The gauze protruded from underneath his tight shirt, its low neckline further exposing the bandages wrapped around his chest and neck. He put on his jeans, boots, and finally his jacket.
Once dressed he sat down on the edge of the bed. He saw his dog muzzle that Edgar had gotten for him on the side table. He took it, staring at and feeling the cold metal. He ran his thumb over the muzzle's leather straps.
Now, there wasn't anything to do besides wait. All he had was Edgar, and when he wasn't around, all Ash did was wait for him to come back. Without him, the numbing loneliness was all encompassing. He tried his hardest to think of nothing while time passed. But in that nothing he always found himself thinking of his twin.
Ash was nothing but a burden to him. He knew that. Mike knew that. Even Edgar knew that. Mike must finally be happy for the first time in a long time. Without Ash weighing him down, he now gets to live the life that he's always wanted and deserved. The life that Ash had always wanted for the both of them. Selfishly the thought of his twin's happiness gave Ash a deep ache in his chest. An ache that he hated himself for. An ache he knew Mike hates him for. It felt almost cruel that Mike's happiness could only exist without him. Mike was complete without him, but Ash had a gnawing emptiness.
More selfish thoughts. He shut them down as soon as they arrived. Horrible people like him didn't deserve to be happy.
But no matter how much Ash tries to justify it to himself, he still misses Mike. Despite all that Edgar does for him. Despite everything.
Even though now their lives are better without each other in them.
Ash noticed that he had been holding the muzzle so tightly that the metal left indentations on his palm. He put the muzzle on his face and tightened the straps until they dug into his cheeks.
Aren't they?