So this one was actually inspired by a few different songs… They will be present throughout the expanse of the story. Although my main inspiration was "Miss You Love" by Maria Mena. I love her music. This will be a two-parter. I have a general sketch of how I want the second part to go, but alas, it is not yet written.
Part of the Cabal mass post! Woo! :)
Enjoy!
Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
-Kahlil Gibran
"r u n a w a y train"
FanFic by: KeyLimePie14
"But you can set sail to the west if you want to
and past the horizon till I can't even see you
far from here where the beaches are wide
just leave me your wake to remember you by…"
-Boats and Birds by Gregory and the Hawk
Cold breath with cold hands, meshed against one another, fumbling passionately in the dark. For a fleeting moment you remembered, you were back in that bed, his forever chilly hands roaming your ever hot body, the callouses on his hands rubbing every sensitive spot, causing you to squirm- it always made you squirm. You remembered how he always stopped abruptly, right where soft, milky white flesh met elastic. You were forever getting annoyed at him thinking he always had to ask permission- now that was one of the things you missed the most- like there was some hidden boundary that he never dared to cross. Once you smiled, the confidence he had hidden away for a brief period came back stronger than before and that's when the real moment of all your weakness took place- you never could be strong with his hands on you.
Your eyes open and you look around, once again realizing that you were simply lost in another daydream. He wasn't here- "I can't do this anymore, Sam."- His words played over and over in your head, causing the open wound in your heart to seep blood once more. He had given up on you, all because you couldn't carry through with his request.
"Why can't you just do it for me? Just this once?" His large brown eyes tried to draw you in, like they always did. You forced a small, tight smile hoping that it conveyed your sincerest apologies. You really were sorry that you couldn't be who he wanted you to be- You never knew how to live up to the expectations of others anyway, why should he be any different? – But if he only knew how sickening the sound of your heart ripping open was, he might understand. He might. "Say it?" He was begging now, his voice soft but firm.
"Freddie…" You looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. With every beat of your heart you could feel the fissure ripping open just a little more- Oh, how you wish it was just a fissure now, instead of a gaping chasm- and you had to close your eyes to keep the tears from spilling out and over onto your face.
"Yeah," His voice was void of as much emotion as he could muster, but you knew his face would show his true disappointment and sorrow. "I need to…go." Before any words could come out of your mouth he had grabbed his jacket and left, the door clicking shut loudly behind him- You loved him, so why couldn't you say it?- causing you to wince at the sound. It tore you open even more and you gave up, letting the tears spill down your smooth cheeks, taking the same path that his thumb always did when he looked into your eyes and told you- "I love you, Sam."- What you are now whispering to yourself, replacing your name with his.
Now you roam the empty hallways of the apartment alone, looking but not really seeing, touching but not really feeling, hurting to the point that it becomes part of you, the dull ache in your heart no longer an enemy, but now a friend. A part of you wishes that he could see you now, a ghost of what you used to be- a ghost that you are without him- but that is irrational. He left you, why should you be the one feeling guilty?
The phone rings from somewhere down the hallway- you can't seem to remember where you threw it after calling him so many times- but you make no effort to retrieve it. It abruptly stops ringing and then the sound of his voice- are you imagining things? - pours through the speakers. You turn halfway so that you can hear what he's saying better, only, after a few words your heart sinks as you realize it's just the answering machine- maybe you knew what it was all along- and then, as if on cue, your voice joins his, harmonizing to a tune that you no longer recognize. Your voices come to the end of their message and then there is a brief static coming from the other end of the line, but the voice that soon reaches your ears is not who you want it- so achingly bad you want him- to be.
"Sam? Sam, I know you're there," A brief pause for a sigh, "Can you call me back this time? I'm-We're really worried about you."- who is we? - "Come on, Sam, please pick up. Please." A lump forms at the back of your throat as you imagine the scene on the other side of this invisible conversation. You picture Carly trying- so desperately- not to cry. Maybe Spencer is standing by her, trying his best to awkwardly comfort her? Maybe…you choke on your next thought, the tears- the ever threatening tears- ready to spill forth again. Maybe even Freddie is standing there, listening to Carly beg you to pick up the phone. No matter how hard she begs you won't answer. You won't answer unless it's him. You never wanted to hurt Carly, you never planned on it hurting her so much- you can't help that you hurt so much- although you figure the reason she's hurting so badly is because you've been ignoring her- you just wanted to ignore everything, but your mind wouldn't let you- ever since it happened. It wasn't your fault really, you just didn't know what you would say if you did pick up the phone.
She would beg you to work it out with him, detailing all the reasons you should be with him- you knew all of the reasons, inside and out, maybe a little too well, actually- and you just couldn't take that. You didn't want to hear her speak his name- you didn't even want to think his name [FreddieFreddieFreddie] but it was always there, resting on the top of your tongue, idling just above your subconscious- you were afraid the wall would crumble completely, leaving your last hope for defense shattered. Once the wall exhausted entirely you didn't know what would happen to you- the wall had been intact ever since you could remember.
"Don't act like you don't know me
It's still me I never changed
I'll be here when you come back
And I miss you love, I miss you love…"
-Miss You Love by Maria Mena
You wake to a loud pounding on the door that is mere feet away from you. Taking in your surroundings you realize you fell asleep on the couch again- it was never a mistake, you couldn't stand to sleep in the bed- and you groan, the dull throb in your head intensifying with every knock. You disentangle yourself from the small throw that had been covering you and get up. You have no idea why you feel the need to answer the door, it's probably just some Sunshine Girl trying to sell you cookies again- but a tiny part of you knows that's not who it is [FreddieFreddieFreddie]- but his name begins to chant in your head along with the raps on the door.
"Shut up!" You yell as you grab the door and jerk hard, swinging it open to reveal the last- the only- person you want to see. Your face pales and you step backwards, suddenly feeling like your airway has been blocked off.
He pushes past you, not noticing your sudden struggle as he starts for the bedroom- the bedroom you once shared. You gasp for air for a few more moments before you gather the nerve to follow him. "Where is my stuff, Sam?" His voice is soft, almost kind, but the meaning of his words causes your heart to rip open a little more. You point silently to a corner of the room where a box is setting beside the dresser. He nods and swiftly retrieves it, glancing through it as he stands before you.
You bite your lip and watch him, "That's why you came?" Your voice is barely a whisper and you cringe at how fucking weak you sound- you secretly know you can't be strong without him- "Just to get the stuff you left behind?"
"Yeah, pretty much," he states, taking one last look around the room to make sure nothing was left behind. His eyes linger on you for a moment, softening a little. "I was going to have Carly come here, but she said I had to. Probably right." You nod slowly, keeping your gaze to the floor. "You really should call her, you know," he continued, "She misses you." [Shesheshe misses you. Shesheshe not himhimhim.]
You don't say anything, choosing instead to turn on your heel and collapse onto the bed, curling up into the pillows, trying to block- you wish he would crawl in beside you and hold you- out the fact that he's standing there, staring at you. He sighs audibly and then a few moments later you hear his footsteps pounding back down the hallway- you're patheticpatheticpathetic- your brain chants to you with every thump of the headache that still plagues you. He's leaving once more and you are doing nothing about it. You can't let yourself care anymore.
The front door opens, but you don't hear it close. You sit up in bed, head cocked, as you listen. You can hear him cuss out loud and then his footsteps are coming back down the hallway, toward you. Your heart thumps erratically and you try to breathe evenly- you're not sure you could ever breathe evenly around him- as your eyes squeeze shut. He barks your name, but you don't open your eyes. You don't want to see his face, his forever perfect face, staring at you with those cold eyes. They had been cold ever since he had arrived. The next thing you know he's shaking you, causing your eyes to jerk open.
You let out a low growl and grab his arm, flinging him off of you. "Don't fucking touch me," You mutter, staring at him hard. His eyes widen just a little but he doesn't step back. "Just leave, Freddie." Just speaking his name makes you want to cry- you don't want to cry over him anymore. "You made your decision, so just go." You turn away from him once more choosing to stare at the wall instead of his face.
"I made my decision? I think you made it for me." You feel your face heat up with anger. You didn't tell him to leave. You still want him. He left you.
"You left me, Freddie!" You cry, a sob escaping your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut and clasp your hand over your mouth. His eyes go wide- so much for not crying over him- as the tears begin to fall down your face. You bury your face into the pillow- it still smells faintly of him- and cry harder, hoping that he will go away soon.
"I-I did not, Sam," he pauses, shifting awkwardly on his feet, "You made my decision for me." You don't answer. His words chant in your head like a broken record [Youmadeitforme.] making your head spin- your heart just ripped completely in two. You gasp for breath- ripriprip goes your heart.
"Sam…?" He questions tentatively, "Are you okay?" You look up at him with dark eyes, large tears threatening to spill out and over onto your normally pale face- red; the color of your bruised and battered heart; the color of your lips after he kissed them; the color of the blood pumping through your veins; the color that flashes behind your eyes.
You don't answer; you just focus on breathing- you just can't bear to look at his face without begging him to come back. [inoutinoutinoutinout beatbeatbeatbeatbeat] Your heart continues to betray you- you wish, no you need, to stop loving him [tellhimiloveyoutellhim]. Your heart begs you to tell him what you know will bring him back, but your mind protests, the damn wall that you built holding the words back.
His fingers flex by his side- you want to think that he's aching to touch you- and he bites at the inside of his cheek, eyeing you wearily. "Sam…" You shake your head slowly and turn away from him one last time.
You pretend it doesn't hurt you when you hear him leave, the front door shutting loudly behind him- but it really finishes off your heart, leaving it lying in a mangled heap.
"And when the worrying starts to hurt
and the world feels like graves of dirt
Just close your eyes until
you can imagine this place, yeah, our secret space at will…"
-Shut Your Eyes by Snow Patrol
A month later you sit in a corner booth of the café you used to frequent with Freddie. You are happy that the booth you usually sat in is in the back, where no one will notice you. You've started perfecting the art of slipping under the radar, of not being noticed. Nobody notices you anyway, so why not accept it?
You stir your coffee slowly, not realizing that you've forgotten to add anything to it. You're stirring black coffee. You sigh and rest your head on your other arm, still stirring. You haven't seen Freddie since he left the apartment that day. Carly has called nonstop, but you rarely answer. You know what she has to say. And she's wrong. He doesn't want you.
"It might help if you used the milk, Sammy," A female voice chirps as she slides into the booth beside you. You don't even have to look up to know who it is. You would recognize that voice anywhere.
"Carly," You glance up at her briefly, acknowledging her presence before looking back down at your coffee. You feel her eyes staring at you; it's been a long while since you've actually seen her face and you're acting like it was just yesterday. Along with keeping yourself from being noticed, you've begun to pretend like nothing ever happened. Denial hurts a lot less than letting yourself feel.
"Sam…" She reaches over and pulls your coffee cup out of your reach, making you look up at her for lack of a better distraction, "Please, call him. He misses you." You sigh; you've heard this entire spiel before… "He never stops talking about you", "Just call him and tell him you love him", "You know you were meant to be. Stop being stubborn." It's always the same.
"He does not. If he really missed me, wouldn't he have called me?" You feel your blood start to boil, the pent up anger begging to be released. "I didn't break up with him. He broke up with me. For the stupidest damn reason in the world. So if he wants to be so goddamn petty, then let him!" You begin to yell, drawing attention from other customers in the small café. Carly winces at your tone, but the look in her eye tells you she isn't backing down.
"I swear to God, he's as stubborn as you are! Hasn't the thought crossed your mind that he's afraid to call you? He's afraid you're still mad, Sam. He doesn't want to deal with even more rejection."
"Rejection? I never rejected him," You huff, crossing your arms indignantly, your expression hardening- he rejected youyouyou.
"You're both being stupid," she sighs, shaking her head slowly. "Just please make up with him?" She pleads one more time before throwing down a few dollars on the table to pay for your coffee and gets up- her look makes you feel even more pathetic- and turns to leave.
"He can call me," your voice sounds foreign- why are you opening yourself up for hurt again? Your heart won't be able to take it- "You know, if he wants." You try to smile but it feels more like a grimace and you stare down into the black abyss of your coffee cup.
The atmosphere has settled into winter, the air bitterly cold when it reaches your already pink cheeks. You sniffle and tighten your scarf around your neck- though you are numb to the cold, to everything by now- out of nervous habit. Your eyes remained locked on the sidewalk in front of you, they do not stray from side to side, nor do they look up at the snowflakes falling from the sky. There are many people passing you, but they blur together into one jumbled mess of eyes, hair and noses. And oh, you feel so alone.
You frown and look up at the sky, the flakes of snow cascading down like a blanket, whispering, let me soothe your soul, but you grimace. It does nothing to soothe you; in fact, it makes you even more restless. It beckons silently of its true purpose- there is always fine print under the bolded- and reminds you condescendingly of the Christmas to be had- the one in which you will be all [alone].
Suddenly, tears prick your eyes- they were bound to fall some time- and your feet begin pounding into the soft layer of snow coating the sidewalk. The only sound you can hear is your feet beating against the concrete and your breath becoming increasingly heavier. The condensation of your breath comes in short puffs, and you don't notice the way you start to become lightheaded. All you can think about is home- home; just a word you use for the place you sleep, home; only slightly less suffocating than where you are now, home; not really a home at all.
The tears fall in cold streaks down your face- you don't notice- as you run. People might be staring at you, but you can't be bothered to care- you never cared in the first place- but yet, you have this gnawing feeling in the bottom of your stomach. You gasp for air. The frigid temperature provides your already frozen lungs no comfort. The sobs are coming faster now, harder. You just wish you were home.
By the time you stumble up the stairs, manage to unlock the door and push it open you are exhausted. You feel like you might collapse, though at this point it sounds kind of nice, and you barely make it to the bedroom. Your fingers curl around the sheets, your teeth sinking into the fabric as you scream. You scream his name over and over- [FreddieFreddieFreddie]. You will never understand why he left you to cry into the cold- ever so cold like his hands- sheets and not his warm, strong chest.
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, drawing blood. You miss him so much. You crawl up to the head of the bed, your curls splaying out behind your head as you lay down- but you don't relax, you can never relax. Your eyes close and suddenly- not so suddenly- you were in a memory. A memory that made you want him- made your body ache for him- and then your hands are working to unbutton your tight jeans. Your fingers fumble as they try to shove the denim down your still thawing thighs, and oh, the tears are falling again- did they ever stop? - but your body is shaking so badly you hardly notice.
Eyelids flutter as your hand grazes over the slick, cold dampness of your folds. Fingers tangle in coarse hair. Sobs rack your upper body, conflicting with the lower. Your eyes wrench shut and you're mumbling- practically shouting- his name as your fingers delve deeper into your core. It isn't a want, but rather a need- a sick, mocking need. Images of him hovering above you, pleasuring you, jump to your mind. They play behind your lids like a sad movie, one you've seen a hundred times- one you know the pathetic ending to- and then your fingers are moving faster. You just want to get it done. It's a senseless need.
But you can't help but feel something as you pretend your dainty, cold fingers are his larger, yet still chilly ones. The echo of his name escaping your lips becomes louder- if that is even possible- and then, oh, you feel the release. Your hips leave the softness of the mattress as your legs tremble, matching your lips. The tears cascade down your cheeks as you slowly come down from euphoria. Your pillow becomes a life preserver as you clutch it, shoulders shaking from the sobs, and hold it close to your being- you want to believe that it still smells like him, but you know that it doesn't. It hasn't smelled like him for a while.
~The CABAL~
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From fluff, to face melting angst.
The Cabal authors produce the best.