I wrote this because I couldn't get into the mood of "As Walls Crumble." So, yeah, take this as a sorry.
Warnings: Form of self-harm by the end of the story. No cutting. No blood.
It was agony.
It was ecstasy.
It was torture.
It was heaven.
I feel all of this, loving someone so perfect that they are flying so far up into the sky, somewhere I find hard to breathe in, that I can only reach my hand up and grope the air above me, wondering why I can't fly higher. Why I can't reach those standards. Of course, though, there is no need to wonder, because I know why. I'm not that person. I don't have perfect rouge lips, dark, feather-like hair, bright eyes, and gentle smooth hands. I have chapped lips, white, unkept hair, dark eyes, and tough, calloused fingers. I am his opposite. And so I am at the opposite end of our scale, crawling like an ugly insect to reach a destination that I know I will never reach. And I might as well be under his boot, being smashed and trampled. I wouldn't mind. He was my everything, even if he hated me. He could stomp on me as much as he wanted. I'd pretend to stomp him back. It was a cycle I was willing to keep so long as we were communicating.
And yet, I was not willing to do so. I was far from ready to do such nonsense. I can't keep it in forever. I can't possibly be content with this. I can't possibly believe that simply pretending to return his hatred would keep my thoughts and wavering palms at bay. No, definitely not. Not when he sat there, elegant fingers playing with the ends of a few strands of his hair, staring outside the window at the incoming thunder clouds. Confident, fearless, condescending. He was above the clouds, heavenly, angelic. Calm and sophisticated. The picture of a noble. Clothes neat, old-fashioned, fitting and shaping with his body deliciously. He was a fantasy taken out of a painting. The dimming light accented his rosy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes, hidden behind dark frames, casting beautiful shadows. His lips were parted, and I imagined a faint beg, my name echoing in my mind, and it was his voice. My eyes raked over his lips for seconds, minutes. He licked them, and I snapped away from my view, holding my hands back, occupying them, steadily moving to clutch my chest, feeling my uncontrollable heart-beat.
Stop.
I bit my lip, breathing in deeply, slowly, silently, unable to bring myself from disturbing the other.
Resist it.
I gently let my breath go, looking back at the other. His eyes were now closed, and thunder sounded, loud but distant, and the rumbling calmed me down from my sudden rush. I let my hands rest on my lap, and I played with the hem of my shirt, again, a way of occupying my hands. Keeping my thoughts from wondering. I fixed my eyes onto a single point in the room, staring absently at a portrait, but quickly came to realize- no. It was him. Look somewhere else. And so, my eyes darted to the window, trailing over the swaying trees, the grass and flowers rolling with the wind, petals and leaves flying and dancing midair. But my mind muddled over and brought back the memory of the portrait, and anger boiled in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't him. It didn't capture his beauty. It didn't capture his perfection. It was too far away from it. In no way did it deserve to be hung on the wall when it was simply degrading the essence of such a brilliant being.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
My eyes glance to the side, and I suppress a gulp, thinking- yes. Beautiful wasn't even the word.
"What?"
I could only manage to choke out that word, and I feigned confusion with it. No, not feigned. I was confused. Because I could not fathom what could possibly have caught your noble orbs. I could not cope with the fact that you deemed something outside, probably filthy and soaked, to be any more beautiful than what I am watching.
"The rain. It's beautiful."
No. No it was not.
"Yeah. It is."
I looked away, staring out the window again, watching as the drizzle slowly grew stronger and stronger, it's drip getting louder and growing mightier to the point that the beauty had deemed it time to walk away, lithe figure gracefully gliding through the double doors of the large kitchen, and I stared after, clutching my chest once again, deep breathes. Shaky, I stood up, feeling the cold seep through from someplace and freeze my ears and nose. My jaw had been subconsciously clenched, and I relaxed it, feeling a blazing ache, but I ignored it and made my way to the corridor. I heard a gentle melody, and I didn't need to follow to realize where it came from. I held back.
Stop.
I gulped, turned the opposite direction, a dark feeling pooling into a lump in my throat as the sweet clash of keys grew fainter, easing out into near silence as I approached the front of the oak door.
Resist it.
My hand reached for the knob, and I felt my head nearly strain back to look over my shoulder, but I stopped. No. And I turned my wrist, put my hood on, stepped out, and closed the door behind me. I was sure the other will lock the door later.
I stepped out into the soaked floor, treading slowly, in no hurry, because even outside, the melody was playing in my head, repeating endlessly. Tormentingly. Gripping my heart and lashing out. Causing me to feel lightheaded, sick, hot. Hot, even as chilling water ran down the back of my coat, over my shoulder blades, soaking my sleeves. My core built heat upon heat, stacking higher and higher as the piece rose to a crescendo, and I could see slender fingers dancing on black and white every time my eyelids shut. My breath hitched, and I stopped in my tracks. I could see it, his face, twisted ever so slightly as his passion freed itself, it's sound powerful and ground-shaking, reverberating through all who heard it, causing you to quiver, making you feel light or heavy, manipulating your emotions. I could see his body swiftly raking side to side, shoulders shaking in excitement, a bead of sweat running down his brow, he too concentrated to notice.
My knees nearly buckled, and I caught myself in time, realizing that I had stopped breathing.
No.
Stop.
Resist it.
These words played in my head once more, and I lifted my shaky hands, moving them to my mouth, and I bit. Hard. Enough for the pain to occupy my mind. And I began walking once more, down the road, hoping that I could make it home before I went insane once more.