notes: I really should stop trying to be original.
suspended in the air between
Silver likes to think that he is lifeless, nothing more than a dead man walking, but every time he checks, his pulse is still there and it's killing him slowly. And she kills him even more, with her clever looks and quick smiles that always seem to linger on her lips. She never says anything about it, although she knows—oh yes—she knows. That's because she's different, he thinks when he gets drunk with fifteen for the first time in his life, Nice and thoughtful, and he throws up right in her mother's precious petunias.
They find him the next morning, cold and sick, but not dead; never dead.
It feels like victory is the only thing she truly denies him. She probably does, believes it will harm him, so she nurses him back to health.
He doesn't want to lose and knows he shouldn't and then she laughs at something he didn't say and—
he can't help but give in.
Silver likes to think she is bound to win any battle; that she can't change it even if she wanted to. It makes him feel better and less like the pathetic antagonist everybody whispers behind his back he is, because. If she can't do anything about it, who can?
The next day he sees her cry. He doesn't know why. It's a grotesque scene. The kind of grotesque that makes you want to gorge your eyes out and bleed yourself empty. He's at a loss as to what to do so he throws up again; it's something he's growing accustomed to. Maybe, he muses later to himself, lying on the couch and listening to her even breathing apprehensively, Maybe it's the only thing I'll ever be able to do properly.
Silver likes to think everybody else is worthless to make him forget who he is or so he won't stand out, at least. That's probably why he came back here, back to this windy, fresh town with pretty and innocent girls who make boys die to trust.
As she wakes up, she tells him how glad she is that he's fine now and blubbers on about all the places he needs to see, later on, and other adorable nonsense which he easily drowns out. He watches her dance through the house; watches her how she does everything he tells her to and wonders why she even bothers.
She hums a light tune that mocks him with every little note and he wishes he could be someone different, somebody with a heart, big enough to match hers. But he's the darkness left undead and not even the greatest heroine could stop him from leaving and doing the only real thing he's been made for:
Living his demise.