Nothing makes sense anymore.
To be honest, things didn't make any sense before you got intoxicated with various Bacchus liquors either, but at least then you were aware of it. Now, all that matters is finding a way to stop your neurons from dancing kazachok inside your brain, and the furniture inside the room stop spinning. You find a stable point and cling to it desperately, like you'd cling to a lifebelt in the middle of a nasty, restless sea.
The spinning dance hasn't stopped, and not even the harsh and cold wind can pull you out of the dizziness. Maybe it's better this way. You forget about yourself, and about the others. But especially about yourself.
There had been something else, though.
He suddenly shows up in your face, victorious and surprisingly sober; or at least sober compared to you.
He seems surprised to see you, but you know it's not like that.
"It's me, Ash." He says, as if you haven't already seen that. He's not a person to be easily forgotten, though you had wished he'd be.
You make a face.
"Whatever!" he smiles at you and he doesn't seemed affected at all by the less than friendly reception that he's gotten. You realise he's not as sober as he looks, but suddenly it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter that he gets closer and closer; you can almost see your reflection in his large, glassy eyes.
You pull yourself backwards and look him up and down, and up again. He has a crumpled aspect; you probably look worse. He differs way too much from the person you've seen the first time you met him. You decide you prefer this version; for various reasons.
He doesn't avoid your gaze; he never does, but this time there's no hate and no rage in his eyes, like in other circumstances. His gaze is liquid, excessively dreamy; you find yourself making a face again. You want to leave.
This is not the Ash you knew; not the Ash you wanted, but this warped replica is all of him that you can grasp.
You find the strength to turn away, but only for a second. A hand catches your forearm and refuses to let you go. His fingers sink into your meat, although you feel no kind of pain. He lets himself fall into your arms and for a moment you fear that your legs might give out; they were already trembling like jelly even without the supplementary weight. For a moment, you think of letting him fall, but you don't do it. Instead, you pull him closer to your chest as if he's the most precious thing you have. If you come to think of it, he is the only precious thing that you still have left.
He clings to you desperately; you are his lifebelt inside his own sea of drowsiness and insecurities. You realise you've been running your fingers through his tar hair. You sigh and push him away, hoping he'll understand and leave. He doesn't.
Suddenly he's around you and his lips press painfully into yours. You jump and feel his smile against your mouth. And then, nothing matters anymore.
You straighten your back; you're several centimeters taller than him and you just have to point it out. It gives you a feeling of superiority over him.
He never avoids your gaze; and now it burns with loathe and animosity. Maybe he doesn't remember anything, maybe his overly-inflated ego prevent him from admitting it; you are left with the satisfaction of being that one person he comes running to whenever he needs it.
You smile maliciously, but inside you're empty.
What's between you and him will never be anything more than a fairytale spiked with alcohol. And that's what's killing you.
Been feeling extra gloomy lately, lol. xD
Review, please? )