A/n: Yet another Angsty one-fic conerning poor Leo - I just can't seem to stop writing them... I'm not quite sure what I think of this one.. so please review and give me your opinions!
Stop.
Please stop.
I'm begging you…
It is nights like these, when the house is too quiet, and the sky is too dark, that he hates. When the moonlight is barely a ghostly blur, no longer the beacon of light he has always sought after.
Please.
Bring back the light…
He hates the way his heart beats frantically in his chest, the way he trembles, the way he feels inside. He hates those small whimpers he makes, the way he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the tears.
Stop.
He hates the way that smile flashes behind his closed eyelids, forever burnt into his memory, like a never healing wound, tearing and clawing at him, forever bleeding, forever hurting.
Never ending.
He hates that he can hears soft whispers in the midnight, the way that his voice drifts around him in a blanket, the way that he never can quite catch the words, the way he strains to. He hates it.
Over and over and over.
He hates that the shadows all resemble him, that he stiffens when they fill the room, that his hands fist in terror, but his heart leaps with hopes. The way the tears fall listlessly down pallid cheeks.
To the end, and back to the beginning.
He hates that he thinks he can feel warmth beside him in the darkness, a presence seated beside his own shivering, deluded figure. He hates that he can even imagine such things, that he wants these things to be true. He hates the way he feels.
Stop. Now.
He hates that on these dark, nightmarish nights that he remembers and remembers and remembers. And it's because that he remembers that he is disillusioned, that he knows. He doesn't want to remember the warmth of trust, the light exhilaration of friendship. He doesn't want to remember that he was ever happy, or cheerful or glad. He doesn't want to remember that there was time when he didn't hate. He just hates and hates and HATES.
He hates many things. His memories, his feelings, his needs. He hates the smiles, and laughs and jokes that pass through his head in an unending cycle, forever haunting his thoughts, Never letting go.
Let go.
But he could never hate him. Never.
Remember, remember…
But it's the memories of him that he hates. Eyes bright, brandishing his newest copy of his beloved 'Holy Knights' series. At the piano, seated beside him, shoulders brushing, as they played together, blocking out all but one another, creating their own crazy world within the chaos of reality. His scowls, his frowns, his smiles.
Memories that would never let him go.
Memories that he hated with passion.
Memories that he himself had ruined.
His fault.
Blood splattered everything in his sight on these dark lonely nights.
He was never quite sure if it was truly there or nothing more than another illusion to add to his insanity, but it covered all, the walls, the sheets, the windows.
It soaked through the memories too; Elliot's face staining scarlet as he lay upon cold tiles, his chest smothered in the crimson substance that refused to disappear.
Stop!
He knew it was fault. It was an undeniable fact, and like everything else, he hated it.
He loathed it, he despised it…
He hated himself.
Just end. Just stop.
It was on nights like this that he wanted to die. So badly. He wanted to join that shadowy figure that was just out of his reach in it's realm of darkness. He wanted to leave the reality he had chosen to face, to enter the dream of never ending numbness.
He hated that he couldn't comply. He hated that he had ruined everything beyond repair.
He hated everything, damn it!
Everything but him.
He could hate and hate and hate, and spend a whole lifetime hating…
But never, would he hate Elliot Nightray.
STOP!
Fingers tightened their grip on the sheets that surrounded their master.
Never.
A/n: Review? Please?