Your words are pretty but I already know who you are.
I knew you before you met me long before we would part...

The room was dark, dank, and small. There were no windows, one door closed firmly with at least a dozen locks fastening it shut, and no noises drifted in from outside. Pipes lined the walls, and rusty valves littered them, untouched for many years. A faint hissing noise could be heard coming from them. The room was sound-proofed, and the smell of sweat and piss lingered in the air, along with the faint, rusty scent of blood.
In one corner, there lay a pile consisting of knives, crowbars, and other potentially harmful metal objects, each stained a deep, red-brown.

Two people were in that room.

The first stood in front of the other. His hair, once a rich-brown, now hung over his eyes, matted and greasy. The face that it framed was no better - and his eyes, his eyes once filled with a love of life, of his fans, of the man in front of him, were unseeing. The eyes of a mad man.
His 'DROP DEAD' t-shirt was stained with the same substance as the weapons a mere metre or so away. His skinny jeans hung off of him, and were ripped, to the point where they would soon be no longer identifiable as 'clothing'.
The second man, not much more than a boy, was a beauty.
Or had been.
His hair, which you could tell had once been admired by many, was no longer silky. Instead, clumps were missing, and the rest matted with sweat and blood. He was far too thin, wearing only a tattered pair of black boxer-briefs. His rib-cage was so visible you could count how many bones it was made up of, and his skin was grey and unhealthy. Not to mention the amount of cuts, bruises and incisions that littered his body. Some faded to scars, some still bleeding. One frail wrist, so thin that it looked like it would snap if the wind changed direction, was fastened to the pipe beside the man, rubbed raw by the tight handcuff. It didn't matter, though; he had long since stopped feeling pain. It was clear in his eyes, once bright blue and so full of hope, now faded to a dark grey.

Haunted...

Broken.

Before you tricked me and laid on my bones.
Before you kissed me and buried my hope.
Before you stole my spirit and rode the show into the wall.

Brown eyes latched onto baby blues, and the older man spoke. "I love you, Andy."
His voice was raspy from lack of use, yet held something un-recognisable in it. It wasn't love, though. More like obsession.
'Andy' responded, "I love you too." His voice was almost robotic. Emotionless. As though he'd been trained to say it, knew what would happen if he didn't. His eyes flickered over to the pile of torture weapons. Escape as much pain as possible. Make life easier.
In the beginning, he'd tried to fight against it. Had tried to escape so many times. All in vain. There was no way out, unless Oli wanted him out. And Oli never wanted him out.
Dry, cracked lips with teeth that hadn't been brushed in far too long pressed against his own, and Andy didn't kiss back, but didn't pull away. Andy had once loved those lips, but not anymore. He just sat there and took it, because there was nothing else he could do but let the older man ravage his lips, hands roaming over his abused body.

He was Oli's, but Oli wasn't his.

They shore you up. They lay all their dreams on you.
They let you in and you start to believe you're soft as a miracle.
Unfurled, I was new and unfurled.
Innocent and open as any lamb and hoping for paradise.</i>

It hadn't always been this way. Once, Andy had been an aspiring musician, taking a university course on teaching. He was loved by everyone, hated by none, envied by many. He had the perfect life.

Andy looked up and smiled as his boyfriend of five years, Ashley Purdy, walked into his work at the Starbuck's on campus. "Hey baby," he said with a smile, already holding out a cup of steaming liquid. "Your usual?"
Ashley smiled back, displaying pearly white teeth. "Yes, you know me too well babe!"
He took the cup and paid, then snuck a quick kiss from Andy over the counter, earning 'awes' from most of the other customers. Andy and Ashley were well liked, and most people found them 'cute' together. They genuinely loved each other, and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. "We still on for tonight?" He grinned.
Andy nodded. "Yeah, wouldn't miss it."
"Ok, good. Gotta dash!" Ashley said, already at the door. "I'll pick you up around five for dinner! I love you!"
Andy barely had time to respond before he left. His boss turned to him and they both shared a laugh.
"He's such a sweetheart," she said, and Andy nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, I'm lucky to have him..."

Little did he know, that in the corner of the shop, another man was glaring at the door Ashley had just left through, his coffee cup gripped so tightly in his hand that the cup had burst, coating his hand in the hot liquid. Andy, oblivious and too love-struck to notice his expression, came over with a cloth and giggled.
"Watch what you're doing, those cups aren't the strongest!"
As soon as Andy spoke, the man's expression melted.
"Oh yeah...oops," he replied, laughing. "Sorry 'bout that." He stood up to leave, and knew what he had to do. His angel deserved far more than that dirty slut Ashley Purdy, who'd slept with half the population of LA before Andy. No. He wouldn't stand for it.

His angel needed him...

He knew what he had to do.

That winter's night, it was already dark out as Ashley made his way over to Andy's dorm, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He was humming under his breath, smiling to himself. Life was good, life was great.
Little did he know that someone was waiting in the shadows for him.
As he walked past the abandoned dorm that had been charred and made uninhabitable the month previously, he heard a soft cry for help.
Frowning, Ashley immediately pushed the door open, wincing as it fell backwards, its hinges breaking apart. He stepped inside, cautiously, squinting in the dark. "Hello? Is anyone in h-"
Those were the last words he ever spoke, before a wrench collided with the back of his skull.

He couldn't even cry for help...

And  he was never seen again.

...

Meanwhile, Andy prepared for his date. Fluffing up his hair and rubbing his lips together, a perfect shade of rose red. He looked up as a knock on his door sounded, and grinned, flinging the door open. "As-" he paused. "Um...hello."
At the door stood Oli Sykes, the same boy from Starbucks who had broken his cup. Andy smiled. "Can I help you?"
"Um, yeah... your boyfriend-" he said the word oddly "- he asked me to give you this." He held out a piece of crumpled paper. "Seemed in a rush."
Andy blinked in confusion, but nodded.
"Oh, OK, thanks man," he said, opening the piece of paper. A second later, he screamed, dropping the note to the ground. He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks.
The students in the dorms surrounding burst out of their doors, all saying "Andy, what's wrong?" They all had looks of concern on their faces.
"H-he..." Andy looked up, eyes red and puffy. "Ashley left me."

Yeah I hate love
Yeah I hate love.
So I hate love.
Yeah I hate love.

Andy woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar place. His mind was hazy, and he felt heavy and as if he'd just been drugged. He groaned as pain shot up his stiff back and tried to sit up, frowning whem he noticed his hand was cuffed to a pipe. Tugging on it experimentally, he cried out when the cold metal cut into his wrist. "A-ah..." Shivering as draughts blew at him he noticed that he was only clad in a pair of skimpy, silk boxer-briefs. He blushed.
"You're awake..."
Andy's head shot up and he met Oli's eyes. "You...is this some sort of sick game?" Fear settled in his stomach as he noticed the wrench clutched in Oli's hand. "Man...don't do anything stupid..."

Love leaves you desperate and feeling a fool.


"'Man'?" Oli laughed. The sound wasn't friendly, as Andy's laughs that day in Starbucks had been. They were creepy and manic, and sent a chill up Andy's spine.
"You never noticed me. Not once. I've been in love with you for years, but you've never acknowledged me. Instead, you betrayed me with that slut."

Love makes you ruthless and love makes you cruel.


"Ashley wasn't a slut!" Andy defended his ex-boyfriend, then paused, remembering the betrayal he felt. His eyes pricked with tears, and he gasped as Oli grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet the older man's brown eyes.
"He didn't deserve you. He was a filthy, horrible slut. He wasn't good for you."

And love makes you crazy with nothing but lies.


Andy felt sick to his stomach and flinched away, gasping when Oli's hands roughly grabbed his thighs and forced them apart, pulling his boxers down. "N-no...please..."
"Ple-AAH!"

Love promises nothing and then your love dies.
</i>

Andy lay on the floor, Oli having unlocked the cuffs. Andy wasn't going anywhere. His will to live was completely gone. He was broken, just lay there and took whatever Oli did to him. Just the way he liked it.
Oli was lying over him, propping himself up on his elbows, peppering kisses over Andy's bruised body, whispering sweet nothing's against his skin. Andy's mouth was open slightly, and white semen dripped from his lips, eyes closed tightly. He was choking, trying to allow himself to die.
"Shh..."Oli whispered, standing up. "Sleep." Andy felt something warm draped over him and through his dehydrated, starving mind, thought confusedly as to why Oli had done that. Feeling the thick fabric with his fingers, he froze.
The jumper Ashley had been wearing that day in Starbucks.
He forced his mouth to open, forcing out the semen in it, and spoke, his voice raspy from lack of use. "A-Ashley...he...he didn't leave me...did he?"

Unfurled, I was new and unfurled.
Innocent and open as any lamb and hoping for paradise.

Oli laughed and leant back over him, pausing when his mouth was right next to Andy's ear. "I took care of him so that we could be together." With that, he stood up and started to unlock the door.
Andy looked down and realised that he hadn't yet re-attached the handcuffs. A simple slip of the mind on Oli's part, brought on by getting cocky. Thinking that if he left Andy un-attended, he'd be fine. But what he hadn't counted on was the love Andy felt for his boyfriend. Shakily, he stood up as quietly as he could, his legs almost buckling as they tried to support him.
Picking up a wrench from the corner of the room –coincidentally the same wrench that had ended his love's life- he brought it down forcefully on Oli's back.
Oli screamed. "What are you do-!?" But he was cut off as Andy brought the metal down again and again, strike after strike. Blood poured, bruises formed, Oli had never known such pain.
"That," Andy said as he collapsed, feeling his own life slip away...
"Was for Ashley."

Yeah I hate love.
Yeah I hate love.
So I hate love.
Yeah I hate love.

Then your love dies.
Then your love dies.
Then your love dies.