Author's Note: Yum. Tortured romances are actually adorable to write. Does that make sense? love, screw us over is on a pause, so it'll be back. With this one, I'm taking risks again and it's going to be a bit strange. Unrealistic but so realistic. All mistakes are mine, but besides that, enjoy. I did.
disclaimed.
"There are two types of listeners in the world,
there are the ones who actually care and the ones who are just curious."
mb:
She forces a smile.
Deep down, she hope he's looking at her - because secretly, she wants him to fall for her smile just as hard as she fell for his.
But deeper down then that, she knows he's not looking. He doesn't care. Never will, and never has.
She forces another smile anyway, because these days, all she's been doing is pretending.
dh:
He wants to hold her.
He wants to tell her it'll be okay and plant soft kisses on her cheek, whispering in her ear.
He wants to love her.
Forgive her, his heart screams.
Forget her, his mind whispers.
"Just love her," His lips demand.
It's a battle between his heart, his mind, and his mouth.
The greatest battle a lover can fight.
::
mb:
Her face was a canvas, and tears were the paint.
Her arm was a canvas, and the blade was the paintbrush.
"Why aren't I good enough?" She whispers, feeling herself slowly fade.
Her shaking arm reached for her phone, blood dripped on the perfectly white carpet. Kendra would be pissed.
Slowly, but without hesitation, she pressed CALL and dialed a number that she hadn't dialed in months.
There was a time when she'd just call him, but never say a word. She'd listen to him breathing, and he'd listen to her sobs.
Then she'd hang up.
This time around, she wasn't hanging up. "Derrick?" She whispered.
He was panting - soccer practice, she remembered - "Yes?"
"It's me," She spoke, her voice unsually high. "It's Massie. I need to talk to you."
His voice became bitter, "I'm at practice, Block."
"I can't take this anymore, Derrick," She almost screamed, "Talk to me. Please, I need you."
dh:
"I need you."
That was all it took to make his heart melt.
Massie Block needed no one. No one but him. He found himself running as fast as he could go, his heart racing and sweat dripping down his face. He knew how to get to her house. He could never forget. And finally, he was there, throwing rocks at her window.
The window flung open, and she looked out. She was a mess.
Blood stained her arms, scars lined her cheeks, and tears streaked her face.
His heart skipped a beat. "I'm coming up," He hollered.
"I'll be down in a second," She decided, and with that she was gone. Five minutes later, clad in an oversized Harvard sweatshirt, there she was with his arms wrapped around her.
"What happened?" He whispered.
She looked up at him, with large amber orbs staring at him wisely. She was only sixteen, but she looked so damm old as though she held the weight of the world on her shoulders. "I'm so broken, Derrick. I'm so fucking broken. And, I'm so fucking done."
"No," He said, harshly but sternly. "You're not done. You're young. You've barely began."
mb:
They fell asleep in her lawn, wrapped in each others' arms. A tortured embrace.
As soon as they woke up, he kissed her lightly on the forehead and ran. He ran from the estate. Home probably, she thought with a grimance.
She recollected the events of last night. She was sitting in her bedroom, and suddenly, her hand found a blade. She started with one cut, and didn't stop. She felt sick inside, and wanted to stop. But this was her way of coping. Each cut became a scar. Each tear became a sob. She had called Derrick, and here he was to save her.
"You've barely began." She whispered his words to herself, and sighed. "I've barely began."
She closes her eyes, the perfectly filed grass tickling her neck.
Derrick didn't have to come. But he did. And she hated him for that, because it made her love him.
makes no sense.
whaddya think?