Soured Milk, 9

He said his name was Poseidon. An obvious lie, I know, but one that I let him keep. He said he once lived within a mighty sea of sins, and in the end, he was almost consumed by it, but just as he was about to surrender to his fate, something stirred within him; this violent need to fight, and he swam up to surface, and he rose above the sea. What once almost drowned him, now lied tepidly at his feet. Poseidon; master of the sea.

Now, of course, it was all absolute bullshit. I mean, surviving an overdose is hardly a triumph of will, plus that whole 'sea of sins' business sounded shady as hell, but he seemed adamant on having some awe-inspiring tale that I just fucking went along with it.

Speaking of going along with it, my time with Don was actually much better than I excepted it to be. Don was nothing like Sven; he was a master puppeteer, his manipulation was done from way afar, so far that you could barely even see the strings. That being said, he was no better than Sven. In fact, he was much worse, for at least Sven was honest about the piece of shit he was, while Don twisted and turned and spun himself into a lie just so he could go on pretending he was somehow above what Sven was.

"Don, can I ask you something?"

He peered at me through his reading glasses, "You're quite the inquisitive one, heh."

"What did you see in me?"

"What can I say, Lamm, you're such a scrumptious little thing."

"Don.." I purred in that sing-song voice he seemed to enjoy so damn much, "Please?"

"That Sven, he's not right in the head. Sometimes you just have to put him in place."

"That doesn't make any sense. How on earth was he being out of place? And what does this have to do with him, anyway?"

He sighed and shook his head, "You don't understand the situation."

"No shit! I think that's why I'm asking you to fucking explain it."

"Lamm," he put his hand on my shoulder, and I could tell from the expression on his face that he was going to do that patronizing shit he does whenever he thinks I'm acting 'out of control', "Calm down, okay? Calm down. You're being hysterical again, Lamm, calm d—"

I don't know what compelled me to do such a thing, but next thing I knew I was staring at Don's spit-splattered face, and I burst out laughing.

Don, however, wasn't the least bit amused, and even though I've always known he wasn't as harmless as he liked me to believe, I never, never, thought he'd be capable of doing what he did next.

"Take off your clothes and go to the bathroom," he calmly ordered, wiping the spit off his face and walking into the kitchen, "And if I hear another word from you, I'll cut off your tongue, too."