Disclaimer:
not mine, don't sueA/N:
The title and the inspiration come from the Linkin Park song "My December." Yes, I know I should be working on "Radio," but this just sort of.. happened. If more inspiration hits there might be a second chapter from a different POV, but I'm not making any promises. Please review!This Is Me Pretending This Is All I Need
You don't live here anymore.
I hate you. I love you. I hate you I love you I hate you I love you I hate you but I love you, dammit, and you didn't understand that I wasn't going to be able to deal with you leaving. It's not like I'm weak, really, it's just that sometimes it hurts too much for me. And I would cry and scream and let myself fall apart if I thought it would make you come back, but it won't. Because you think love is something to throw away, and you act like it doesn't matter if you have it or not, and maybe it doesn't for you. I remember biting back laughter when you once said you were strong, and so now of course I feel guilty and foolish, because you are the strongest man I will ever meet. I only half realized back then that you didn't mean the kind of strength I always valued, you meant the kind of strength that you knew—you always knew—I would never have. And I've had to realize that you must have been right, because I'm breaking now. And so I don't understand you. I never thought you would be—or even that you could be—the one to do this to me. I always thought we would end up together, maybe not the way we were going to for awhile, but just together. Best friends, like always, nothing having changed us except a few more funerals and a few more years.
So where are you? Where is my protector with his perfection and his whispered words of happy endings? Because I need those words right now, murmured in my ear, sugar-coated lies that, even now, I'm still far too willing to believe.
You thought you had caught me crying for her again, holding her picture and decorating the glass and wood with tears. You were wrong. I was crying for you. Clutching the faded picture of us, grinning at the camera like the end of the world really wasn't approaching at top speed, I was sobbing and breaking over my own mortality. I was no longer afraid of death or dying but of what would happen to you when I was gone. I guess I shouldn't have worried, though, because I'm sure you're doing just fine without me. After all, you left, didn't you? And as you turned to walk away, your face wasn't etched with the fear of being alone, just with anger for what you thought I had done. I never got a chance to explain. I wish I could know what would have happened if I had run after you, kissed you, held you, begged you to stay, instead of crumpling to the floor like my legs couldn't hold me up anymore.
You left me here with myself, and you just had to know what was going to happen. But you still packed up your bags and walked through that door and never looked back, so nothing really matters. It doesn't matter that it was you in the picture, not Mimi, it doesn't matter that I'm falling apart without you, and it especially doesn't matter that I still love you. People like you don't have to care about things like that; they are content thinking I wasn't over her, they are brave enough to leave me and love behind. And I'm sure you're fine. You're surviving, you're strong, because you always did and you always were. But every day I wake up alone in bed, something in me breaks, because I'm not like you. I am not a survivor. And because you aren't here anymore, I don't have to worry about you. So I can let myself fade away. I can slip off the edge until I'm dying and it won't matter, either, that I won't be taking my last breaths in your arms, telling you I love you, begging you not to cry. It won't matter. Because you're gone. You don't live here anymore, you walked away and left everything painfully empty and I hate you for that.
But I love you, and I'm dying here, and you're gone. So even though you'll never hear me and you'll never care..... goodbye, Mark. I'm sorry.
