Author shenanigans: Claire left Gabriel in some future that they were together. Inspired by the beautiful song by Damien Rice "Prague (All Dressed Up)." This is kind of how I felt hearing it. Short. To the point. Sort of. Review if you feel so moved.
Rated T for sporadic language.
Disclaimer: No own Heroes or the song. And the title is a Kelly Clarkson song. Heh.
"Prepare myself for a war
Before I even open up my door
Before I even look out
I'm pissing all of my bullets about."
Damien Rice, Prague
I hate myself for losing you.
He could tell you a thousand and one things that pushed her away.
He could tell you every flaw that would make her leave, every mistake, every unjust decision.
But, he could not for the sake of his own life tell you why she ever stayed.
...
Alcohol was a beautiful evil.
It brushed off the memories for a little while, buried the pain deep inside his chest to be dealt with another day, to be sorted through like a deck of cards—searching for the King of Hearts.
He drained his glass. Again.
And again.
He was shrouded in darkness inside the apartment. Only natural ambiance filtered in between the window panes. He drank it in with the alcohol, intoxication destroying his perception and creating a new beast far worse than his former demons. He delighted in its presence; he wanted to dance for relief.
But, the misery would increase tenfold by morning when all the hurt and hangover had been healed away.
God damn it.
...
Watches didn't exist anymore.
Time didn't either as life became extended by each generation.
Less children born, less joy in the world.
What he would have given to be a father.
...
Atonement. He thought he had achieved it. He thought he embodied its very essence.
He thought. But never did.
She reminded him when the chance presented itself. Every day. Every night.
Her father was dead. Her mother was dead.
So were his.
He killed whatever he touched.
So did she.
His life wasn't meant to be; he should have perished long ago.
She should have, too.
A dual, a dance. Never ending. Exhausting.
A strike, a counterstrike. One step forward, five steps back.
Eventually, they'd fall into one another's arms, defeated by themselves and their past.
She'd nurse his wounds. He'd kiss away the scars.
Peace, freedom—at last.
...
He loves her.
Loved her.
…Loves her.
...
One more drink, he told himself.
One more drink, and he'd disappear forever.
Forever.
He laughed to himself. At himself.
She promised him forever.
Fuck forever.
...
A girl hates to see a grown man cry.
He walked on the sidewalk, counting the cracks in the concrete.
The little girl tapped his elbow as he passed by.
He turned, gasping, jumping on contact. It'd been so long since another human being had touched him.
Her bright green eyes didn't say a word. Her dark skin gave nothing away. One of the few children in the world.
He knelt to her level, meeting her steady gaze.
Tears all over his face.
She wrapped timid arms around his strong neck.
He was stunned. Shocked. His senses overwhelmed him.
She smelled like bread. Fresh bread from an oven. And her hands were so soft.
"Don't cry, sir. Please, don't cry."
...
One more drink.
One more tear.
One more ending to the story.
She stayed because she loved him.
All of him. The dark and the ugly along with his beauty.
The two warring sides of his soul. She loved him.
She left him not because he was flawed.
Not because he made a mistake.
Not because he had hurt her.
She left him because she hated herself.
...
He lifted his glass to the air.
To you and your lover, he thought.
And just as sure as night precedes day, he disappeared.
Fuck forever.