sprinkled evil fairydust
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It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. I didn't want to believe. I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen. If I myself hadn't seen how she slowly destroyed everything that was me. Page by page, without remorse, she shattered my words and thoughts away.
"…"
How could she?
"No mama please… MAMA NO!"
SLAP!
"MAMA! PLEASE DON'T!"
Didn't she see?
"This is… This is SICK!" she screamed as page by page she ripped the album apart. Into the flames of the fireplace they went. My eyes watched as page by page, memory by memory, went up in flames. Completely gone and gone forever, never to be replaced.
How important they were to me?
No. She didn't see or care enough to try to. This is all because of her. But if asked, she would claim no recollection. To her I'm a rotten child that has been given too much attention. Failing to see the truth as it sits bluntly in front of her face.
I'm completely damaged beyond repair and she doesn't see me. The only me she sees is the shadow of the girl I used to be. Before when I used to be the ideal princess and my fairytale was rainbow colored. I was so naïve. I actually believed in shining knights coming to somehow save me. Not that I needed saving back then. Back when I was thirteen and free.
Time has a way of changing things. Now that I'm no longer thirteen I can see. I can see how people lie and deceive. How people hate and discriminate against things they refuse to see…refuse to comprehend. This world is covered in a hue of darkest black yet no one sees.
I see no purpose. I see no point. Why should I have to get through today, when tomorrow's going to be the same?
I am told this is a phrase. A perfectly normal stage in the life of an adolescent teen such as me. That I am confused and cannot see the consequences of my words; of my actions against me. But I am fifteen and I can clearly see my wants and needs. No longer am I blinded by the pretty light mama puts in front of me.
After all was said and done I had finally figured out a way. A way to keep me clean. It was a way I could relinquish myself in me and still be the me she wanted to see. It is ironic. That now, because of her, I have start again when it is because of her I even began.
Staring at my watch, it reads 5:30AM. I should be in bed, yet somehow here I am. In my old blue jeans by the pond - under a tree - off Marblehead Meadow. My secret hiding place. My private sanctuary to do what I please without concern for anyone's plea.
My lips are horribly dry from the cold wind blowing against them. So dry they hurt. They break as I try to add moisture by running my tongue over them. A failed attempt of course. My tongue is drier then my lips. Despite the coldness, I can't help but laugh. The weatherman had predicated sunshine of course. A clear morning sky or so he said. Instead dark clouds fill the sky. But I suppose this is irony at its best. It seems god has provided me with the perfect setting to begin again.
So who am I to disagree?
Not that I can. No. I can't deny it. Not when I can feel it again. Running through my veins in a somewhat pleading patronizing sort of way. The itching…the need…it is all but dominating me. But I can't fight the need to scratch this itch that is pleading to be picked. Fighting the urge feels unnatural and pathetic…releasing the urge will set my mind at ease, I just know it. The itch grows stronger and I know I must give in for my skin burns and my lungs are constricted. I can't breathe.
It's a good thing I brought my little friend with me. Hand in my pocket I slowly pull it, my beautiful switchblade. In an instant three marks are made. Light enough to be alive yet deep enough to make me cry.
My bare feet wiggle in the mud as the blood flows free. To say it feels amazing would be an understatement. To say it would also be sickeningly twisted and frankly just pathetic. But regardless I cannot deny the way it frees me. Just one cut and it all flows free: the pain…the hurt…it all trickles down my arm in the form of the crimson red.
A strong gust of wind blows making me shiver and making my body fall back. The wind wasn't that strong: I was just that weak. Stretching out, I lift my right arm over my face. My fingers lightly tracing over the newly created markings making me flinch on contact. As my fingers touch my now bumpy- whelped - skin, I feel the itch arise in me again. With the blade in my left hand I gently trace the edge along my skin until I found the spot. The perfect spot right along side my wrist. Pushing it deeply and moving it in a straight line, the thin red liquid begins to spill through the wound.
Its looks so beautiful…
"Not again…"
The voice surprises me, but not completely. I don't even bothering moving my eyes to him. I merely continue fixated on my wound, my perfect relief. Still. I can't stand his eyes on me. They make me itch. A different type of itching this time and I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks.
"Go away Reid."
Despite my words he doesn't leave. I know because I can still feel his eyes on me. I let my arm fall and lay against my chest. My eyes now directly looking at him.
A hand in his pocket and the other behind his neck, he stares down on me. The mask on his pretty face completely blank. But his eyes cannot hide what he sees when he looks at me. The oceans of blue look at me and see me. The actually me. Not the me that cries herself to sleep but the me who can smile and be glee.
Sigh…
Looking at him looking at me I begin to see why I'm in love with him.
Not in love in love. The love for him is special and unique. It can't compare or compete. It is a type of love that is blind and cannot see. A type of love I've had since I was three.
Holding out his hand to me, he has that cross between a smile and smirk. His voice is deep from obvious lack of sleep. "Come on." He says, his hand coming down to reach for me.
In silence, I put my hand in his. The simple touch sends warmth up my arm and slowly to my heart. I can feel his warmth now all over me. It makes me slightly flutter and flush. But as I stand, my eyes narrow and anguish flows through me once again.
It's the same. It is always the same.
Yanking my hand away from his, I frown and in his eyes I can see the clear confusion. I scoff and turn away from him, not letting myself sink in those oceans of blue. "Why…" I pause for a moment letting myself take a breath. "Why do you always come after me?"
And then there was silence. Complete and utter silence. The silence was cold and engulfing me. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.
"Ahh…" The gasp comes out without consent. My lips part as I feel him wrap his tattooed arms around me. My back pressed tightly against his amazingly warm chest.
His head leans down resting on my shoulder. I could feel his hot breath against my skin. "Don't you remember sleeping beauty…" he whispers into my ear as fingers trace along my pale cheeks. "You said you were always mine."
I frown and shake out of his embrace. "Don't call me that." I scoff as I turn around and poke him in the chest. Meeting his eyes I felt the familiar heat arising to my cheeks so I let my head fall to the side. My fingers hook on my belt and I slightly shrug. "Besides…" My throat is dry now and I knew my voice had grown shaky but I still manage to reply, "I lied."
Strong hands grab my shoulders and spin me around to face him. And although I had a frown on my face, he had a wide - seditious - grin on his. That grin. It's making me lose focus. All I can think about is our closeness. How his eyes twinkle with vivacity as he looks into my dull listless ones and how his hands move from my shoulders to cup my cheeks. He licks his lips, and my attention shifts to them. And in an instant, like lightening striking, his lips capture mine.
Our lips began to move together in familiarity. My heart rate escalates the way it always does. Even if this is wrong - a deadly sin or a seditious taboo - I don't care. I need this. It is selfish of me and it hurts so much that it strings. The thought does nothing to make me stop from continuing to respond to his actions. Parting my lips he enters my mouth and I caress my tongue with his own. I take a breath and gasp as he captures my bottom lip. His teeth gently nibble on it making shockwaves flow through me. There is no way to compare: he is definitely the best kisser I have ever known.
"Mmmmm," the sound escapes before I could stop it. I feel Reid smile against my lips and then his hands drop from my cheeks as he breaks away. And just like that the fire comes to an end.
Unzipping his orange hoodie he slips it off and flings the clothing around my shoulders. "Come on." He repeats for the second time today as he turns his back to me. I immediately know what he wants and I smirk. Some things never change. With a hop, I jump on this back, his hands holding me by the back of my knees.
Reid shivers when my hands trace along the inked design on the back of his neck. "Fuck! Your hands are freezing!" He whines as I finally crack a genuine smile. Tucking my hands against my chest, the side of my face presses against his back.
The smile on my face stays in place as Reid continues walking with me on his back. His body strong and muscular compared to my feeble undefined one. But I don't mind for I know he doesn't either. Just like the way it has always been even before I lost myself. He has always been here: always next to me. Not judging but just aiding me. Even though the others – Caleb…Pogue…Tyler - care they have never seen this side of me. All our friends would never guess the taboo act that has grown between this boy and me. In all these years we have learnt to hide it well.
"Well…what did she do this time?" The tone of his voice slightly irritated, knowing full well momma dearest is somehow behind this. It didn't take much to know she was at fault for my…habits.
"She threw it away." My breath came in a little shallow as the memories and the itch flood back into my consciousness. "She threw my collection away."
"It was stupid anyway." He pointed out completely dismissing it. Guess it was his way of telling me to get over it. It was a bad way but it was his way nonetheless. He knows what this does to me and I know just as well that he doesn't mean it the way it sounds. But it does not stop the feeling washing over me.
Stupid.
I felt the need to defend myself; though deep down I knew it was stupid it was still something more. "They were… special." I mumble more to myself than to him, but when I heard him sneer I knew he had heard me.
"Since when is a scab collection special."
A lump fills in my throat at his statement. He can't understand. He never has, he just accepts it. More importantly he doesn't question it. Well most of the time anyway. "It isn't simple to explain." I say though I know these words will fall on deaf ears I still feel the need to retaliate.
"It is simple."
Groan.
And so it begins. Another classic discussion between mister hot shot and me; miss self-destruction. Such an unlucky pair but a pair nevertheless and that was enough for either one of us.
I snort. "Nothing is simple." I try to tell him, but I already know it's useless even before this conversation had began.
"Everything is simple."
"We can never agree."
"Because you have to disagree." He answered clear amusement in his voice and even though I couldn't see his face I knew he was smirking. That intolerable taunting smirk he has that makes me melt at his feet when it is directed at me. It is a sure sign of his victory and my obvious defeat.
Sigh.
"Fuck you Reid." Curling my finger, I flicked the tip of his ear and a small chuckle emits when he flinches. He glances over his shoulder and I could see him give me a crooked smile.
"Right back at'cha…Anastasia." He retorts, fully pronouncing my first name. I cringe at the sound of it. I hate my name and he knows that fact well.
"Jerk." I mutter groggily and a loud yawn comes from my mouth before I can even think about it. It wasn't surprising that I was so tired.
Reid jiggles me a bit and then laughs at groans of protest. "You're pouting aren't you?" My eyes narrow so much they're in thin slits. How did he always know? I don't say anything; just huff and I guess that was enough to confirm his accusation because he starts laughing again. I open my mouth to make a come back but another yawn comes out instead. "Get some sleep."
Although he can't tell I still nod my head slightly. I yawn again and rub my eyes a little. As I do, something suddenly crosses my mind. I wonder… will he remember this?
"You think you could sprinkle some fairy dust on me." It is more than obvious that I catch him off guard because he makes a small grunting sound. It is his grunt of confusion and I know it all too well. My small smile grows; he is so cute when taken off guard. "So I can fly away." I fill in hoping it is enough for him to catch on.
He shakes his head softly. I think he is laughing, but I can't hear the sounds. "Maybe someday." I was down right grinning by now. He did remember.
"Will you fly away with me?" My eyes drift close but my ears hold out awaiting his answer.
"Doesn't the prince always follow sleeping beauty?"
The goofy smile on my face is unstopped as my mind wanders further in unconsciousness. It was the perfect answer. Only I'm not the perfect person. For a female like I should not have her heart fluttering over male such as him. A heart such as mine has no right to flutter for a boy like him…a boy who I was raised with. Regardless of that fact, for a sleeping beauty such as me prince charming does not exist.
No.
Not in my dream. In my dream sleeping beauty slumbers alone. No matter how much fairy dust is sprinkled on her.
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The End.
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Author Notes: I truly love this oneshot! It is all angst-y and weird…totally love it. Please review folks
September 05 2008 Update – Story has been bumped since it was edited and a few things were added.