Whore (Oliver Sykes Fanfic)

Masochistic Fuck

This book was beyond fucking twisted. It was from the point of view of a kidnapper that had accidentally killed his favorite kidnap-pee. I almost wanted to throw up with the sickness that possessed the man's mind. He only kidnapped young teen boys that had a certain look. It was odd, and I couldn't fathom how a writer could even write about it.
Few things the narrator, Dave, said made sense. And from his point of view, one could kind of see where he was coming from. The world was messed up, and yes, people didn't see him as if he mattered, but that didn't excuse his immoral actions. It was wrong to take people from their homes because they reminded him of his dead son.
The boys' views were never discussed, only Dave's. I understood how Dave felt that he wasn't very important on the grand scale of things. But who was? Not even Beyonce was important on the grand scale of things. Why? Because at the end of the day, we are all going to die. And nothing can stop that from occurring.
With every chapter that I'd finished of the book, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. With the final chapter, I was empathetic towards Dave and didn't want him to be arrested, because he never meant to hurt any of the boys, he merely just wanted to fill the hole his son's death had left in his heart. The boys were never hurt, except the one that he'd accidentally killed. I knew he was wrong, but yet, I didn't want him to be caught.
Tears rimmed my eyes as I turned the last page, Dave having shot himself in desperation and fear of being caught. I wiped at my eyes and shut the book. I'd been so far off. The book being titled Dave, made me assume that the book was about a girl who was in love with Dave from afar. But there weren't even any girls mentioned in the book in the first place. I took a deep breath and went downstairs and to the library, I wanted to throw the book, because it was so good and had such a depressing ending.
"What the fuck is this!" I screamed showing Oli the book. He glanced at it, a smug grin coating his features.
"I'm guessing you finished the book." He said slyly. I nodded. "I loved it."
"I kinda did, but then, I hate Dave, but then I understand Dave. I hate this book. I hate this book so much. I hate you for telling me to read it. Why did he have to fucking die? He could've lived! It would've been okay!" I took a deep breath. "How could you love this?"
"I told you, I like tragedy. I like pain and depressing shit." He shrugged. "Dave wouldn't have survived in prison. You and I know this. But, maybe you're right. Dave might've never been caught." Oli rummaged through a few books.
"Well, I suck at this whole betting thing." I said with a sigh, handing him the book, which he laid on a random shelf. "I should pick the book this time."
"Fine, go ahead, bet I'll still win." He was being a cocky little shithead. I rolled my eyes and began searching through the books for something that contained an unexpected story behind it's thin cover.
"Why do you like pain and tragedy so much?" I was curious about how Oli could be into those sorts of things. He just laughed.
"I dunno why per say, I just always have, I guess. Pain's good. It makes me feel alive, I guess. It's odd. Some people like skydiving or chase adrenaline. I prefer to feel pain to feel alive. There was a point in time where pain was my life, and that was all that surrounded it. I'd felt so much pain on a daily basis that the pain had become a numbing feeling and it was nothing more than a daily activity. Pain is sharp, like a razor to innocent flesh. But it can also be warm like a hug from a grandmother. It's just how you take it. I also like screaming. Screaming hurts my throat sometimes, but it's a good pain, 'cause that pain comes from me screaming out my feelings and things that hurt me emotionally." He sighed. "I don't like emotional pain though. I don't like that. I like physical pain. Emotional pain is too much and I just can't deal with it."
"What do you mean by 'emotional pain'?"
"I mean like self-hatred. Hatred of yourself so much that it's all you can focus on. Hatred that makes you want to be the one to cause your own destruction. Then there's desire. Desire so painful that makes you ache at the thought of receiving what you want so badly. Or just wanting to be with someone so much that you can't imagine life without them and they wind up just leaving. Then there's the emotional pain left behind when someone dies. It hurts cause no one ever cherishes anyone enough, that's why everyone grieves."
"But, how could anyone avoid emotional pain? Emotions coat and cover every thing we do." I reminded him. He nodded, his fingertips sliding mindlessly across a few books spines. "We all feel things, you feel things."
"I probably feel things far more intensely than you do though. My mind isn't like your's. Haven't you figured this out yet? I'm fucking twisted." His words were like chocolate drenched poison. The words almost stung and burned but yet seemed kind, or Oli's own sort of kind. I looked at him. "I feel pain more. I feel angry like it's a blinding red filter over my eyes. Sadness blurs the colors of the world, draining every living thing around me until I resort to pain to refill my own kind of enjoyment. Irritation is blinding and leads to anger for me. Except when it's you that causes the irritation. Honestly, you influence my emotions and thoughts in an odd way. It's like you cause the world to be more bright and less shitty. But that's odd, because if you were really that wonderful, then you shouldn't be here."
I understood what he was saying, and it caused my palms to sweat with nervousness. He was being very open, exposing his thoughts and feelings to me. And I wasn't sure how to respond to his vulnerability. Should I let him in? But there wasn't much to know. I wasn't as complex and hard to understand like Oli was. I was simple. A hopeless dreamer that always saw more good than she was given.
"What do you do to control your emotions?" I dared to ask. He chuckled darkly.
"I cut them off like a cancerous limb. A diabetic foot, if you will." He answered. "And you my dear, are one cancerous limb I can't bare to part with." My cheeks burned with his words. He wasn't supposed to say things like that. Oli was a cold-hearted person, or so he came off. He wasn't kind. He was quiet and kept to himself for the unseen monsters that taunted him were enough company.
"So you don't feel. Or try not to?" I was a bit tongue-tied. Not quite grasping what he was saying. He shrugged.
"I like to feel on my own terms. I use my emotions as a way to inflict pain upon myself. Like you. I feel very vividly around you. That's why I like to be around you."
"And that's why you like pain? Because it gives you control?"
"If you want to water it down to that, then, yes. You're absolutely correct." He began to walk away from me. "Forget the wager. I'd much rather forget this conversation completely, but you, my dearest, Holly, won't let me, would you?"
"No, because a lot of what you're saying lets me know who you really are."
"Fine, I'll keep it simple for you; I'm a utter bastard. A masochistic fuck and a tormented artist."
"No, you're Oli." I took a deep breath. "You can use all the adjectives and descriptions you want, but you're still Oli to me."
"What's your point?"
"I don't think you're insane. And I care about you."
"Caring is as useless as trust."
"Stop bullshitting yourself. You care about me too."
"Piss off."
"You want me to do that because it'll make you upset that you'd let me leave. You're not going to get rid of me that easily."
"I take that as a challenge, sweetest, Holly."
"What's with the terms of endearment?"
"Didn't you say it yourself? I care about you."