PurpleMike - The Piano

The Loneliest You Feel Among The Crowd.

Mike was sitting in the audience; he watched how Vincent's fingers intensely moved along the black and white keys.
He could hear the energetic music drifting through the air....
He, like the rest of the remaining audience, cherished the lovely sound.
This music, the pure golden sound, is definitely one of the most beautiful songs that they have ever heard.
Nevertheless, Mike can't help but feel anything except for disgust.
Mike felt deep, hateful disgust for the author, the one who changed the beautiful songs into nightmares.
Because, despite the fact that Vincent could create something so amazingly beautiful, he would rather choose to make something else entirely...Oh no, Vincent chose to destroy.
But it was not limited to simple equipment, he took another approach for fear that it would be ..."Boring", as he put it.
He was destroying people.
He broke down their psyche, their health and their identity; they were no longer themselves, exactly like he had destroyed Mike.
He did it piece by piece, snatching the normalcy of his life, leaving him completely naked to the darkness of the world.
His dignity, once pure and powerful, was now ragged and broken.
Mike hates Vincent's preferences, and he hates the man himself.
He tried and failed to suppress a feeling of repulsion going through his being about the very people around him.
He knew that they aren't aware of anything, that they had no clue about the truth. But if they even knew, would it even change anything?
If only they knew, that after leaving the stage, he barely could feel them and that they will become numb from all the poor blood supply and only then would they start to fuck?
Not love, there was no emotion to it, not sex, there was no pleasurable sin. Simply getting fucked.
Mike can help but think that it would be quite funny to see how peoples' faces would change and suddenly, he feels the strongest disgust he's felt all night.
He felt disgust, not only of the people, of the monster, but also of himself.
Because Mike, free of will, was usually tied up, fucked, beaten and ill-treated. He simply gave Vincent what Vincent loves the most.
Vincent wanted control.
He wanted control of Mike, mike's body and Mike's mind.
Mike is so badly poisoned by Vincent that he allowed Vincent to move into in his apartment and Vincent, the greedy little thing, brought so many things that they barely can live in there.
Just like that beautiful black piano.
But Mike never once touched it; he rarely even spared a single glance at it.
He can't play it, so he just doesn't see the point of trying to.
Vincent, in his company, also never walks near it.
Only every now and again, when he thinks that Mike is asleep, he plays quietly, he played completely and utterly quiet music.
It was very mismatched compared to him.
But Mike still hears how often Vincent's played and a couple of times, he saw it.
This was really important to him; it was a scene he was willing to kill for.
Vincent was in full concentration, he didn't have a stupid smile, and he was relaxed and stooping gently to play.
He almost didn't seem like Vincent, but some other person from a different dimension or something.
Mike, despite his supreme disgust to the ordeal, had to admit that he was willing to be Vincent's whore, even for his life if he had to.
As long as he was able to witness the man play this music so happily.
That's why, in spite of the beautiful music, Mike feels as if he were about to vomit, his stomach was aching very badly.
Because he knew, he knew of what he was ready to sacrifice for it, which made it so awful.
Mike can see every movement from where he sat; he can see how Vincent tilted his head ever so slightly...
He likes and doesn't like the view he has at the same time.
Vincent was even more open on stage, than he was to Mike, he really hated this and how it made him feel.
Vincent could play, for all those people who are here and that he doesn't know, but he would never play for Mike alone.
Maybe Vincent just loathes him as much as he loathes Vincent?
Mike sticks his fingers in wooden seat and breathed, slowly and evenly in a calming manner.
Perhaps, it was to somehow protect him from the strange, annoying and unpleasant feeling that suddenly appears inside of him when Vincent does.
Vincent finally stopped playing and bowed to the crowd, finally looking up to them all.
The crowd, that knew nothing, claps with clear admiration and approval of his skills.
But Mike doesn't move a muscle, no, not even a millimeter.
He only looks to the stage, to the man on the stage who is bowing, at Vincent.
And he can only hope that Vincent will not notice his presence or his eyes that burn for a mysterious reason.
However, Vincent sees him, like he always does somehow.
He smiles faintly at everyone and then leaves the stage, but Mike just feels his stomach churning.
He suddenly feels stuffy, he could barely breathe, the air was constricting. So he gets up with much difficulty and quickly moves away.
He ran to the bathroom so he could wash his face with cold water. He then loosens the bow tie and practically fights for every last breath as panic rose in his system.
As mike noticed his condition he almost laughed as panic consumed him when he saw the condition he was in.
"I don't understand, Michael, why do you still come here?" Mike doesn't have to turn around to know who it was. He straightened abruptly, not allowing, no, refusing to show even an ounce of weakness.
He knows it is Vincent; Vincent was comfortably resting against the wall and staring at him with a bored expression on his face. Mike felt a pang of worry when he realized he didn't hear the man enter. "After all, you hate these shows."
Mike doesn't know what he should say in return, so he just shrugs, trying to look like he always does.
Like a strong, independent and unshakable person.
He thinks that he did it perfectly (it isn't the first time he had to keep a straight face), but Vincent pierced him with a one look, a look that made him feel weak. Mike feels like a child who's done something wrong, even though he knows it's stupid to feel that way.
"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?" He speaks as harshly as possible, but he knows that Vincent in a state, a state of tranquility caused by playing, so that he will not respond to Mike's attempts to provoke him.
It annoys Mike even more than Vincent's normal behavior, but he just clenched teeth in silence knowing it was a lost cause. He walked a few steps to the front, forcing Vincent to move aside. Vincent closes his eyes and straightens up, so that he suddenly became taller than Mike. He usually uses his, undoubtedly high, height advantage to look down at Mike narcissistically, but this time, he doesn't do it.
Mike feels that he is already on the verge of self-control, but still remains silent and only looks as Vincent relaxes completely, putting his hands in trouser pockets.
Now he doesn't look like a typical gentleman anymore, Mike thinks it's even better this way.
He waits for Vincent to leave the room because he doesn't really want to go first and expose himself to this indifferent gaze.
So he comes out second, looking solely at the floor. He hopes that nobody will catch Vincent and try to talk, because he wants to get back home and breathe the air without the company of so many snobs and fanatics as soon as possible.
His head is hurting so badly, it feels as if it's going to bust, he's so sick of this damn place.
He feels like he was about to explode, and this time, there will be no control to it.