Midnight Blue

by L.J. Shen

Alex Winslow was beautiful in a way storms were—only from afar. Just like them, he had the power to sweep and ruin you, two things I was too busy surviving to entertain.

Los Angeles was like a B-Grade prostitute. She let anyone in, looked less than average, and once inside, you realized there was too much traffic and that whoever’d been there before you had left a mess.

Indigo was pretty. Like a wasted sunset, beautiful in a taken-for-granted sort of way.

“When I finally lay my hands on you—and make no mistakes, Stardust, I will—you will be crying, all right. My name. Over. And. Over. Again.”

“If you want me to believe you about not wanting me to fuck you raw, you should probably stop looking at me like that. Like you’re already mine,”

You look at me with dynamite in your eyes, waiting for me to light up the match and finally set you on fire.”

“When I look at you, I see something broken that isn’t worth fixing. And you look at me like I’m a cheap thing to replace the expensive one that’s been stolen from you. See, we’re all vases. And you’re the one scattered on the floor, shattered beyond repair. So I’ll let someone else pick you up. It’s really that simple. Have fun with your temporary glue.”

For the first time in a long time, I knew I was in deep trouble. Something I couldn’t control. Because Alex Winslow was a broken vase. But I wasn’t the glue. I was the stupid cleaner who was about to try to pick up the pieces and, inevitably, get cut.

“Anything essential is invisible to the eye.” My eyes shot up. I’d recognize those words anywhere. “The Little Prince.”

Life is full of secrets, and narrow-minded people, and sugar-coated, empty conversations that hold no weight. What’s real is what’s inside us. What’s important is what we feel.

“I apologize in advance.” He cocked his head to the side. “For?” “Ruining you for any other man on this planet. I’m going to fuck you, Indie. So hard you’ll think about me years from now, when you lie under your boring, missionary-loving husband. I will own every orgasm, every shiver, every wave of pleasure inside you. From here on out, it will be me. Just me. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

“You taste so salty,” she breathed into my mouth.

“You taste so innocent,” I countered.

A lost boy who was incredibly lovable, even though he may not have thought so.

“What do you want from me, Alex?” Everything. I want everything, and then all the things you’ve already given away to other people. I want them back, too.

My Alex. My little prince. My fallen star in the dark, dark skies.

“Why, I’m wearing the most beautiful thing one could wear, darlin’. My smile.”

This wasn’t fucking. This was something else entirely, and if I were a good man—if I were halfway decent, even—I’d stop, flip her over, drive into her from behind, and make sure to bang her head on the headboard for good measure. But I wasn’t a good man, so I let her fall in love with me in that moment, because she was the only person who took my loneliness away.

I put her under my spell, to make sure she was mine. Scribbling onto her the notes only I could play. Now that Tania was gone, Stardust was my main instrument.

Once upon a time, a mere mortal fell in love with a rock god. You probably know this is not a fairy tale by now. Mortals and gods don’t mix.

She was my muse. She was my life. She was my all.

Alex Winslow made me lose a part of my heart. But he’d also sewn it back together, in tattered patches, in ugly patches, but it was whole. In its own, imperfect-but-still-working way.

He licked my cheek like a dog. “Mine. Claimed it.” “Yours.” I licked his stubbled jawline, smiling. “Until the very last note.”

We found our planet. Our home. The only place we want to be in.

That’s the thing about broken princes. Not all of them have to die. If their soul is whole, they sometimes survive. Sometimes, they even grow up to be kings. Mine did.