The Boy Who Loved Wicked

by C.P. Harris

Halfway outside, I peered behind me to see him gazing out of his patio sliding doors with a look of longing. It was in that moment that I fell from grace.

He circled in place, lost. And, once again, the light of the moon only had eyes for him. I felt envious that it got to touch him.

In Mr. Wicked’s arms I was protected. If I imagined we were in a forest, I’d reach a hand out and run it over the tops of the trees as we passed.

If someone had asked me to explain what triggered my interest in Mr. Wicked, what sent me crawling over the edge, it was his sadness. I fell in love with his sadness first.

“You deserve better than me. You always have, but I wanted you anyway. You challenged me with your wisdom, stimulated me with your innocence, and your beauty stole my heart. I’ve never loved anyone more than I’ve loved you.

We were selfish beasts raging at the world over the hand we were dealt. And we extracted our vengeance on each other.

And I thought back to something I’d asked myself once. I’d wondered how much longer I would love him. And my answer then was forever. Then I’d asked myself how long I’d be willing to wait for him, and without hesitation I answered as long as it takes.

Falling in love with Sebastian was both immediate and gradual. That initial rush hit like a potent dose of morphine, but if asked then why I loved him it would’ve been hard to explain. I just knew. Now the reasons why were infinite.