I Am No Evil

The line that separates good from evil is not too thick; it is even super thin. And above all, we do not all have the same understanding of these two words.

Evil and good have cohabited for days. There has never been one without the other, which is not likely to happen one day. But we are the carriers of these two viruses, giving them all their meaning. Maybe after the extension of humankind, there will be no difference between the two, or one will win the bet, so only then will one exist. Who knows?

But one thing is sure; we are not always bad or good. We balance the two, and we just have to be careful not to lean more on one side than the other. Balance is essential for human survival.

I know that in Aim's head, this line is almost non-existent because I see how he analyzes people around him. People are just data to him. He always looks for solutions without knowing that sometimes it's not really what people need.

Some people only need to know that there is someone there for them; others sometimes want to be helped, and there are also those who refuse help from others no matter what torment they face.

Sometimes they are afraid to say what they face every day, and others are resigned to their fate and let themselves be bullied by whomever it seems.

Quincy does not consider these factors; he looks at the problem, analyzes it, and finds a solution without knowing if it is what the person needs.

This way of acting makes him invasive, meddling, and insensitive to humans' complexity and almost incomprehensible needs.

But there is one sure thing: he hates people who mistreat others without them being able to defend themselves in return. Even films that advocate this kind of violence piss him off.

Believe me, if you want, I don't care how he is as long as he's not a danger to himself, and I know that deep down, he's someone dangerous.

He analyzes everything and never takes unnecessary risks, but with me, he drops all his barriers and becomes reckless.

To see him show up at my house out of nowhere, without warning, is something unexpected and downright crazy, but he is him, and there was a risk that he would arrive one day, but I did not expect it to be today.

Even though I acted to make it happen, I just wasn't sure yet.

Since he spent the last few days without speaking to me, ignoring me, I did not think that ignoring his call-in turn was interchangeable with a volcanic eruption in the garden of my home.

It was a shock to see him here at my house, in my garden with my grandparents and father. I knew it would take an unimaginable turn, so once I came out of my stupor, the first thing I did was contact Cody.

He is stubborn. He doesn't like his bodyguards sticking to his ass wherever he went out. I thought he came here on his own, and knowing my grandparents, he wouldn't get out of here without paying a high price for his impoliteness.

Believe me or not, he doesn't even know if he's been insolent. He can only confide in what he sees on other people's faces. He recognizes these few expressions as repugnance, fright, doubt, disgust, fear, and joy. For the confusion, I'm not too sure he's already picking up on the nuances.

I was mad at him so much that I enjoyed seeing Zack put those few punches in his ribs.

Seeing him fight was something surprising. I didn't expect him to be able to defend himself so well, and he fights as if he had always done it his whole life. Yet I know he doesn't mix with others, so it's a tad difficult that he gets into fights or someone bullies him.

And to tell you the truth, that's the only thing that shocked me about his behavior today. I didn't expect him to know how to fight so well, even less for someone who refuses human contact.

He acted like a hoodlum, and it suited him well. He has the build and charm of a thug. I mean, a bad boy... they are attractive, dangerous, and even way too sexy, and that's why we should stay away from them. And he is all that, a hotty bad boy.

When he ran away like crazy, it was like he woke up from a bad dream. It was like he suddenly realized what he'd done, and it scared him.

I saw the fear in his eyes, and he was back to that soft, fragile child in a split second.

I would have liked to go after him like a madman, too, like all the others, but not for the same purpose. I could not leave Zack like this in the pitiful state he left him.

And no matter what Aim may believe and understand about this situation, Zack is not a coward. He has a particular fear and respect for my parents and my grandparents, which is, however, different from the members of his own family.

Indeed, he didn't move when that old fool grabbed me by the shoulders to beat me up and shake me like a useless leaf. He had his reasons, and I don't blame him for that.

After all, I got myself into this mess. Maybe I was looking for a way to get rid of this neither physical nor mental pain that was overwhelming me, a pain that Aim is the very basis of.

I should be able to protect myself from these people who annoy me and think they are the world's kings. Otherwise, they will always have excuses to take their frustration out on me when they feel the need and desire.

Aim's intervention was for the best. I don't mind that he sometimes acts on a whim if that means he saves my ass from situations like that, but I didn't want him to witness such humiliation. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened to me this time?

My grandparents have a knack for humiliating me in front of others, especially when we gather; there is always a scandal when we get together. It is from them that comes my father's disgust towards me. It was they who started it all... Don't misunderstand... My father has responsibility; I am not blaming my grandparents. After all, my dad had his own will.

And I have a knack for provoking them. Although I overstepped the mark this time, it was something I should do.

I'm not like all the other young boys my age, so either they accept it or leave me alone with their gibberish about what a man or a boy should be.

And with Aim, I don't have that weight on my back; I don't have to watch my actions; I don't walk on hot coals. Everything with him is me without gimmicks and that ridiculous urge to please people, to be as they want me to be.

If I can be who I am with him, why not with the people who gave birth to me? Why do they always have to put me down to find my flaws? What the hell do they need to step on me like shit, huh?

There have been times in my life when I was unsure of everything; I believed that I was a problem, that everything about me was abnormal, that I was a kind of abomination, and all because my parents wanted me to understand that I was.

Then there was this boy with such blue eyes that people were afraid to look him straight in the eyes because of their foolishness. He had deep, even frightening, turquoise blue eyes that turned clear, and whatever bluish tint depended on his mood.

People started chattering like magpies, telling stories of all kinds about him; he was abnormal, he could curse you with one look, and his parents had experimented on him since they were renowned scientists.

People can be hurtful and mean when they use their damn tongues irrationally.

They always need to explain things they don't understand and call them evil if they don't go their way, and sometimes there is no one worse than those who are always ready to judge others.

I understood, unfortunately, at a very young age and by myself, that my difference would make me a kind of nemesis. I had not yet understood that my relatives would be the first to stone me and make me a laughing stock to all who were close to them.

When they should be the ones to protect me against everything without hesitation, yet they are the ones who hurt me the most, who have always hurt me mercilessly under this damn pretext that I don't have the build of a Schroders.

And that's how I understood why my father dragged me to his boxing sessions and others at all costs. I understood why he always said: "you are a real man. You can take blows and return them, so put your mind to it and face your opponent."

I used to take that gesture he always made when he looked away from me for fear. I thought he was like my mom, and it hurt him when I got hit under his eyes, intentionally or unintentionally.

But it was only disgusting that he felt towards me because I was far too weak to take a beating, and I looked nothing like him. As they always say, I am my mother's son...

I remember asking my mom, "Does Daddy hate me?" She had a start, and then she tried to rectify her reaction in attempting to avoid answering me; I understood the ploy, and I got my answer without hers.

However, she said one thing to me that day, "If someone is complaining about how you are, let them, because you are normal, and I will not trade you for anything in the world."

I have to admit that the answer was rather lovely, but I also understood that I was not typical in the eyes of some and that there was something wrong with me.

If today you find me a little out of the ordinary, it is not something I try to make my own. I was born like this. I have always been a watchful and quick-witted child from a very young age. And Quincy has understood that since the first day he laid his damn greyish green eyes on me.

At least she never went back on her word, and I am indeed what she loves the most in the world, and that for nothing in the world, she will exchange me for another, which is not the case with my dad.

That same evening, I heard her crying and arguing with my father about his way of treating me and that I had understood his little trick to change me.

He replied in his deep and dominant voice, almost shouting at my mother: "If you want your son to be a man, stop defending him at all costs, all you have to do is to see him in a ring to understand what he is." Your son is a shame. Everything about him is disgraceful, and it's disgusting that I have such an offspring. "

So all those smiles, all those encouragements, were fake. It was just a way for him to try to change me. So I voluntarily stopped participating in his sports sessions, like a sweet little lamb.

So he went the hard way. He went so far as to drag me like dirt to bring me to fitness and bodybuilding classes and such... He went hard, I tell you.

Before, it was just a way for me to spend time with my father, but I realized that was not the case for him.

It was just a way to try to change me, to make me a man that I already am but who is, above all, not the definition he has of what is called a man.

I calculated them every day, trying to understand why I was not "normal," as they say. I was between the ages of ten and twelve when I started to rebel.

I wasn't the type to play with dolls or anything like that, much less dress like a girl. I didn't have any of those habits.

My biggest sin was that I liked to dance, and then came the sub-sins like drawing, nice cars, jewelry, and buying fancy shoes for my mom, "what, that's not a bad thing if I like to offer pretty things to the women I like, but at the time there was only my mother."

On the other hand, I liked taking care of my skin. I watched a lot of tutorials on how to take care of my skin personally or even booked massages, facial and skin care sessions, feet, and scalp with the best professionals in the business for my mother and me.

But that I started at the age of fourteen, when I was sure that they hated me for who I was, for my body, my delicacy, and my beauty.

It has never been like that with Aim since the first day he laid his eyes on me, and until today I could only dazzle him and make him look a little stupid when I provoked him.

I saw him stare at me when I sat down in his eggshell swing and how he stopped abruptly in his track when he saw my face as he got up from his nap. And he always asks me to sit in this damn swing that I like anyway because it reminds me that someone wants to see me as I am.

It's nice to have such an effect on someone so difficult to please and unconventional, someone who has quality tastes and a great void that separates him from others and likes to control his surroundings.

I used to think that he was curious about me and that he saw in me someone who could help him overcome his problems, like his friends, someone who sometimes treated him like a child.

And that he just needed someone to rely on or vent his sexual nerves on when he felt like it, someone he could fuck with without bothering to court a girl more suited for the role.

But no, I saw the way he looks at me and the way he fights everything to keep his cool when he's around me. He always wants to kiss me, makes love to me without ever going further, and likes to use his mouth to give me pretty, holy pleasures so far.

Something that, of course, I have to fix. He doesn't always have to be on his high horse when he makes love to me. He has to let himself go wild because I need and want to go to the end.

What's funny about all of this is that despite how much control he shows, he still lets me upset and annoy him. I push him to act outside his battlefield. He comes out of his sketch little by little with me, and he lets himself be trapped in my games of seduction.

There's only one thing I haven't been able to push him to do yet, but I have my plan.

To top it all off, he doesn't know how to lie or hide what he feels, and not one day as he looks at me with disdain or disgust.

He always has that glint in his eyes when he lays them on me, and the way they change color is exceptional. They become tender and soft with a soothing blue that inspires confidence and self-surrender. He often looks at me like I'm beyond his means.

So that's why I'm willing to run the risk of him showing up at my house unannounced and watching him freak out while he risks setting fire to the house with us inside.

I wanted to see and feel his gaze on me when I looked at myself in the mirror. I wanted to see how he would react to seeing me dressed like this and admire how his eyes would change color just by looking at me.

So when I saw his number on my screen, I thought, "Let's see if he wants to talk to me for sure."

I know he hates that things don't go his way, but I also know he hates when I'm sulking. He'll kill to find out what's bothering me or to figure out what's going on in my head, but fortunately, he has Cody to translate for him, so it's without fear.

And when I pissed him off because he turned around when that girl walked by, he scared the hell out of me.

It was the scare of my life. I was afraid that he had found this girl pretty and pleasant to look at or that he had started looking at her like he used to look at me and that he found her much more pleasing to the eye than me. I was afraid that he would feel ready to go and test other possibilities.

It was the first time I felt destabilized by a simple gesture from someone I was dating. And I was angry. I must say that I was more afraid than angry.

He scared the hell out of me, so I shunned him until he couldn't take it anymore. He drove like crazy to get home, and because of me and my fright, our day was screwed up, and he made me feel insecure for the first time.

Despite the crazy race he made to get back to his apartment, I was strangely not afraid that an accident would occur in his madness.

Once home, he locked himself in his office with Cody for a good few hours while I headed straight for his guest room with my silly feelings. My head was filled with images of him hitting on this girl and other stupidity that my mind kept showing me.

I locked myself in his guest's room with my heart in shards, my brain on fire, unable to think straight. I made films much worse than these dramas, which populate the cinematographic world these last few days.

After what seemed an eternity, he returned to me, started talking to me through the door, and told me that he understood why I was angry with him.

I liked that he tried to figure it out on his own before he asked me to tell him what was bothering me. I did not want to hide anything from him, but I was too ashamed to tell him what was going through my mind and what scared me.

He took it upon himself to figure it out, even though he had Cody's help to figure it out. For someone who doesn't care much about other people's feelings, that's a lot more than I could hope.

So I wanted to know if he's playing with me or if he has something in him that gets attached to me. If I had answered the call, I would have found myself at his place with the eyes of beaten dogs begging for his love, attention, and caresses.

So, like the puckish fox that I am, I resisted the urge to answer that damn call, even though I wanted to call him back, take my car to join him several times, and leave behind this brunch or whatever its name is.

But on the other hand, I needed those grumpy old folks to see me for who I am. I needed to feel alive in front of them, beautiful and wanted like I am when I'm with Aim.

Above all, I needed to get rid of this damn pain that was gripping me, that was tearing my insides out without it being a physical pain. I needed to feel bad to get rid of this shit, squeezing my guts like a chipper.

Sometimes you have to force the hand of fate and people when you have to. Fate or whatever brought us together, has already done its job. It is up to us to beautify and make things possible and everlasting now.

So yes, I am ready for Aim and my sake to force everything possible to watch him devour me with his seductive blueish gaze.

Sometimes, the line is blurred and almost non-existent between evil and good.