Dear Agony

It all started when he was just a kid. His father had never been a man that was cut out for fatherhood. Obviously all his attempts to try and stay with the mother of his child and play house were futile. Up in his room, Vincent could hear the muffled shouts of his parents arguing. He didn't know what his father had done to upset his mother so much. Seven years he'd lived in a family that just didn't get along. His father was a distant figure, barely around and then one day he just wasn't around at all.

Vincent found himself recoling within himself then. His mother just seemed to want to focus on the Church and his grades. He became the perfect little son, doing all his schoolwork and not getting into trouble. He didn't want to upset his mother. She'd cried a lot when his father had gone away, and now she always looked so sad.

He kept everything up until he was thirteen.

And then he was attacked.

No God would allow such a thing to happen to such a young and vunerable boy. His mother praised that fake heavenly host when her little boy made a swift recovery after being attacked by what he could only describe as a big, grey dog. No dog could have been that big though. No dog could maim a child, only for the injured boy to recover in under a month with barely a scar marking his skin. The full moon brought fourth the whole truth. The mother's perfect little son turned into a monster. She drilled it into him before she told him that she never wanted to see his face again.

A life that was harsh only seemed to get harsher. Vincent had no clue how to survive on the streets, but for near enough two years he did just that. Thin, emaciated and filthy, no one would look twice at the wretch of a human. He held such a self loathing of himself that there had been times when he'd just wanted to die. But he could never tie that rope. Countless cars had smacked into him as he stood in traffic, hoping to die some John Doe in a morgue - but the werewolf venom wouldn't let him die. Broken bones healed too quickly. There was no way a homless teen could find silver to stab himself with.

Then someone came along that seemed to want to offer the suffering youth a chance of redemption.

But even that fell through, slipping away like water through his fingers.

The vampire wasn't interested in the boy. He wanted the werewolf - fierce, strong and unbeatable. Vincent's loathing for himself only fueled the power and rage in the beast. It took a while, but eventually Vincent started to see through the cracks. His sense of self began to lurk within the mind of the wolf. The vampire was not friend - but a captor. Something inside of the broken boy knew that he would not be caged. He was not some immortal's pet. Breaking free hurt deeper than being thrown out of the home he'd grown up in. It was the only place in years he had felt truly comfortable. But that comfort came at a price. No home was a true home when it came with bars.

Vincent stared up at the night sky, cigarette smoke drifting up from his lips in grey-blue tendrils leaking fourth from his mouth. Lips curled into a dry smile.

"That's quite the tale," Sullivan said. He'd received a text message from an unknown number requesting that he go to the park. What he had found was a boy only last month had he witnessed turning into a big, black beast. It had the shape of man and wolf combined, yellow eyes burning like fire in the sockets. Before he could even ask why vincent had asked him out, the eighteen year old had began talking, telling of where his life had gone wrong. Since Sullivan had witnessed him changing, there was no denying what he was, but for some reason Vincent felt he owed the older male an explanation. He meant something to Marshall - even if that something was shaky and fragile like thin ice.

"I'm rehersing it for telling my Dad," he announced, lifting the cigarette to his lips and taking another pull. "At least after the bit where he left."

"So why tell me?"

Vincent grinned - the curl of his lips and flash of teeth made the smile seem simply malicious. "Because I need someone in this world to admit that I'm a monster. I tell myself everyday that I'm strong; that I'm not some beast designed for pain and killing. I can hurt someone, like I nearly hurt you, but I tell myself that I will not let the wolf win. I shouldn't bury myself under my self hate." He looked away from the sky and directly at Sullivan, the fire that had been eyes of yellow in those brown-grey depths. "I want you to fear me like I should be feared. I want to die. I want to live. I want to rip my father's throat out. I want to crunch your bones in my mouth." He moved on the bench, crawling over to where Sullivan sat. "I want Marshall to hate me like he should. Hate and fear me like the monster I am."

Sullivan just sat there, only a slight trace of fear evident in his face and eyes. "You're no monster, Vincent."

"I'M A FUCKING WEREWOLF!" He reached out and slapped Sullivan across the cheek. "I should be caged! I should be hunted and killed."

"What would Marshall think if he heard you talking like this?"

Vincent sighed and tossed the cigarette away. He moved closer to Sullivan, but instead of striking him again, he laid down on his side and placed his head into the older male's lap. "Marshall thinks he's a monster, but he isn't. He's never killed someone. He's never seen terror in a person's eyes as you sink claws and teeth into them. He eats only what he needs to survive - I'm the wolf thats killing the sheep."

Sullivan, unsure of what to do, say or where to put his hands just placed them either side of himself while the younger male rested his head in his lap. "Neither of you are monsters. You both have so many human characteristics." Slowly and tentatively, Sulli lifted one hand and stroked it down Vincent's arm in a soothing manner. "You didn't invite me out here to make me hate you."

"When my mother witnessed what you had, she told me she never wanted to see me again. I'd been the perfect little boy for her. A good son. I went to school - I went to church. I did everything a good son would do that would make his mother proud. It took one night, one glimpse of me turning into a werewolf that turned all that I had done into ash. I'd pulled my own skin off like the devil and turned into a demon before her very eyes." He let out a shuddering breath that racked his entire body. "A werewolf's first moon is always the hardest. Pain beyond belief. Its what causes you to forget what you are and what you do while you're the beast. You pass out from the pain and the wolf takes over. I've been a werewolf for so long now that the transformation is easier. My body is used to the shift now. It also means I'm stronger and much more deadly."

"If Marshall hadn't come when he had..."

"I would have either killed you or turned you." He closed his eyes. "This is why I am more of a monster than Marshall will ever be. He can't kill a person - or damn them to the same Hell that I live in." He pulled his knees up to his chest, the arm he wasn't laying on curling around his legs. "I want to make Marshall smile. I want him to know that he's not suffering alone, but I just don't know what to say to him, or how to tell him."

"You seem to be doing a pretty good job at the moment, Vincent. He really likes you. You make him believe in himself again. You give him a reason not to hate himself."

"He should still hate me," Vincent admitted glumly. "When he's just eaten he smells simply delicious. He has such a sweet scent about him, of flesh within flesh. Blood like sugar. He should hate me for the way I feel when I can smell him. I just want to immerse myself in that scent."

Sullivan looked down at Vincent, taking note of how the male's profile looked in the gloom of the streetlights. "I don't think Marshall could ever hate you."

Vincent opened his eyes and stared out unseeing. "He should - because I love him."