Entry 3

Today I was thinking about my brother. It has been a long time since I thought about him. But, since I met Charlie, I’ve been in a mood for thinking about unexpected things -- entertaining ideas I otherwise wouldn’t. After all, I thought I would never be able to stand another person being present in my life for any substantial period of time, and I thought that no one, in turn, would ever be capable of being in my life. It was my experience with my brother that caused me to feel that way.

My brother was the only truly intimate relationship I’ve had before the blue bunny. I let many people in between think they held meaningful relationships with me, of course, but without exception each of those was for the purpose of sex, taking something from them, or killing them. 

It’s not that I felt differently towards my brother. I feel nothing towards anyone. But with him, I at least attempted to be myself and maintain something. He loved me. Problem was, he desperately wanted me to love him back. He tried to change me. He was unable to comprehend the nature of who I am. So I killed him. Through that experience, I learnt that there would forever be a disconnect between the true me and neurotypical people. It played out that way ever since, and I thought it forever would. 

I might have been wrong.

Charlie is different. 

It is not that I feel anything towards him. Like everyone else I’ve ever met, I'm not capable and not interested in feeling anything for him either. The difference is, he realises that. I showed him the truth of who I am, and he fell in love with me. And not once has he expected me to love him back. In a strange way, I think that makes him love me even more. 

Most people I expose the void within me to aren’t long for mortal life. It is like the vacuum of space to people. They can’t stand the emptiness. They suffocate. But Charlie saw it, and instead of recoiling, wandered towards me, eyes wide open, hands out and reaching for me, wanting to sink into the vast emptiness and lose himself inside of my void. No, that’s wrong. He didn’t lose himself inside of me. He found who he truly was inside of me. He found freedom and liberation and ecstasy.

He wanted more than anything to be claimed, and I could feel the truth aching from his pretty little body. So I claimed him. I expected disappointment when he inevitably expressed regret or tried to escape what he had done or tried to kill himself because he couldn’t deal with the guilt. But as I tortured and raped his boyfriend, Charlie’s eyes didn’t turn glassy. He held my gaze with determination. We watched each other as his boyfriend sputtered and died on my cock. We made love in the blood. And he was there. Not distant, not disassociating. He was with me.

Since then, we have killed together. Each has been memorable to me. Even the ones that would normally have been rather mundane. That’s because with him there, we experience the kills simultaneously, but so differently. And that fascinates me. 

Nothing brings me more satisfaction than ending a life by my own hands, and his presence adds something new and different and interesting and that makes me happy. I see his heart race, I see his hands shake, I see his chest quiver, his lips tremble, and his eyes open wide. In return, he sees my cold eyes, firm grip, and slow tongue licking my lips in pleasure. I see his arousal in response to my comfort in brutality. That fascinates me. I fascinate him. As different as we are, our cocks don't differ in their hardness. Our hearts don't differ in their desire to see me end a life. 

He is special. Neurotypical at birth, but drawn in by his family being murdered in front of him as a child. He was forged by that trauma and it somehow gave him the armour to withstand being in orbit of my black hole. We both are grateful to the wolf who put him on this path. He could have lived a normal, boring, delusional life. Instead, he is here in the darkness with me. He is as close to the void as someone can be when they are not born within it. 

There is something beautiful about that, I think. I think that's why I'm fascinated by him. It's one thing to be born the way I am, already entirely and perfectly untethered by emotion and empathy. But he was not. He found his way here to me, to the void, despite those chains. Through him, I get to have a taste of what it is to have these experiences, and pleasures, through the lenses of emotions. It’s stimulating. I like it. I like him.

My brother loved me. He wanted me to love him back. I couldn't. He asked me if I would be sad if he died. And then I killed him. And I felt nothing. He was delusional, an idiot, and a waste. His only purpose was to open my eyes to who I was. 

Charlie loves me. He knows I can't love him back and he doesn’t want me to. He doesn't seek to change me or fix me. He doesn't imagine some kind of warm and happy ending where there can never be one. He sees beauty in my iciness and in the vacuum inside of my soul. He loves me more because of that. 

If he died, I still wouldn’t be sad, I don’t think. I mean, I have an understanding of what sadness looks like and what its symptoms are. And I know I wouldn't lose sleep. I could kill him myself if I wanted to. One day I hope I will. That's how I want him to die. That's how he wants to die. I don't want to kill him for now. 

But, if he died, I would be annoyed at the fact that someone as interesting and unique as him was dead, and I would prefer him to not be dead. He is pleasant to have around. He pleasures my body nicely. He fascinates me and elevates the enjoyment I get from killing. He provides another lense to experience my murders through. His body feels so good against mine. He is beautiful when he sinks into my big arms and looks at me with watery but firm eyes, and the blood on my body mixes with the cold sweat on his and runs down his soft blue fur in thin rivers. He expects nothing more from me than what he gets and he sees perfection in that and so do I.

And… I sometimes am willing to make minor sacrifices to my comfort in order to benefit him. When he holds me firmly, but I am starting to get bored or uncomfortable, I will endure an extra minute or two of his hug. As far as I can tell, I don’t do that to benefit myself. I don’t do it because it’s easier for me. I know if I told him to stop hugging me so I could sleep or stretch, he would, and he wouldn’t complain or mope. But he likes to hold me. So I let him. Just a little bit longer than I want to. 

He loves me. 

I don't mind letting him.