I. Fantasy

I love you.

The words repeat themselves over and over in my mind as I watch him drawing, his face screwed up in intense concentration on his picture. I wonder what kind of amazing things he’s creating with his tiny, sharpened-down pencil. I know there are amazing things in his head; I’ve seen them manifest themselves in the form of brilliant schemes, of evil plots and words filled with poison and hatred. His creativity has so often been expressed through pain – not his pain, but the pain of others – that it astounds me to see him pouring out his feelings on paper instead.

I imagine what those feelings might be… I imagine that he loves me, and that we aren’t enemies. There’s no hatred, no competition, no bloodshed. Just two equal individuals living and loving and treating each other equally. We have no contempt for each other. We dance in the rain and play in the snow, and once, we even kiss under the stars.

But every time, something prevents the fantasies from working out in my brain. They all feel out of place, like it simply isn’t the way it’s meant to be. No matter how close we get, no matter how much we work together and try to get along, we can’t seem to erase the years of pain and violence between us – not even in my head. Our lips are pressed together, but soon they begin to bleed, drenching our clothes in the crimson reminder of the truth. We hate each other. That’s the way it’s meant to be.

II. Reality

“I hate you,” he spits out of nowhere, his voice full of wrath and it stings at my heart. “You fucking Jew.”

God, why do I care so much? Anyone else could say the exact same words to me and they would barely mean a thing. Yet here I am, balled fists shaking at my sides, my eyes twitching visibly with anger and nearly foaming at the mouth. I know he's only trying to get to me with everything he says. I know I shouldn’t care. And yet… I do. I care about him more than anything else in the entire world.

“Shut up, fatass,” I snap back.

“Ooh, such a clever insult, Kyle!” He waves his arms in the air to indicate his sarcasm, as if his tone didn’t lay it on thick enough.

I punch him in the shoulder - hard, not playfully. As hard as I can, in fact. “Like your comment was any more clever!” My knuckles sting. The punch probably hurt me more than it hurt him. And it hurt me on the inside, too. I feel distressed and it takes me awhile to realize why, but eventually it hits me.

I hate him. And he hates me. That’s the way it is, and the way it’s supposed to be. But… I wish that it didn’t have to be like that. I wish so much that I could love him, and that he could love me. I wish that things could be like my dream, and that those fantasies didn’t have to feel so awkward and out of place. I feel like we’re destined to kill each other, but I wish we could be meant for each other as lovers instead.

I think he wishes for the same things.

I think if he could learn to love, that he would love me.

And I could love him, too.

III. Destiny

I stare in shock and awe at the spectacle laying before my feet. His strong, thick body lies motionless on the ground, his face forever frozen in the same position. There’s a huge red gash on his throat, blood spilling down his neck and blending in perfectly with his bright red coat. I drop the knife and it hits the ground with a clatter that I barely hear as I cover my mouth with my hand. I wish the world would stop moving around so much, before I realize that it only looks like it’s moving because I’m shaking so violently.

“Oh… oh God…” I whisper. “What… w-what did I…”

I kneel down and stroke his forehead, my heart beating so fast I literally think it’s going to jump out of my throat and I’ll fall over dead next to him. But I don’t. Instead, I press my lips to his, licking off the splatters of blood that fell on his face. It tastes salty, and I start bawling my eyes out. I wrap my arms around his dead body and want nothing more than to stay here with him and cry forever. I glance to the left, and see the crumpled drawing in his lifeless hand – it’s a picture of him and I holding hands, smiles on our faces, standing under a rainbow with a heart in between us.

“…F-fuck,” I sob. “It’s not s-supposed to be this way… oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…”

Why the hell did I have to be the villain?