The Lovers
It wasn't like they knew anything about the other.
“I don’t believe that,” Barnes leaned forward, placing his elbows upon his knees.
“You already know everything about me.”
“Like I said. I don’t believe that.”
“But what if it’s true?!” Tony shouted. He drew in a sharp breath. “What if I’m not some mystery to be discovered? Plucked apart and rearranged like a puzzle. What if I’m genuinely nothing more than a drug- and alcohol addicted slut. Would you love me still?”
Barnes leaned back and rolled up his sleeve. His left arm was covered in ugly scars. “And you,” he said, “would you date a suicidal psychopath who hurts himself, so he won’t hurt others? Because that’s all I am.”
“I would date you,” Tony admitted.
“I would – and will – love you. No matter who or what you are.”
And that’s all they were.
A sad rich kid who drank and fucked his loneliness away. A drug addicted slut.
A poor boy who rather hurt himself that others. A crazy psychopath.
At least the asylum had brought them together.