AN: A short, introspective piece. I did have a particular pair of characters in mind when I wrote this, but it could potentially apply to many different people. So I will leave it up to the reader's interpretation. Who do you think it's about?
A long time ago, when I was a child, my teacher told me this: "Deception is easy. Most people want to be deceived. All you have to do is nudge their perception in the right direction."
It's true. In my case, it's even easier to hide my real self because my outward face is not false. It is part of me. But there are other things behind it. Dirty things. Weak things.
Not many people even bother to look for the face behind the face. Most people see what they expect. So I remained alone for a long time—an unseen heart within the separateness of myself.
Then I found him, and my world changed in a flash.
It was his eyes that first caught my attention. Eyes that knew pain. Eyes that still shone with their own clear, brilliant light. Eyes that would not admit defeat, no matter how often the world kicked him in the teeth. I saw in those eyes something I needed more than life itself; a reflection of my own heart, but better, purer.
He follows me. Wherever I go, I have but to turn and he's there, a step behind—like a faithful shadow. He will never abandon me, no matter how many times I hurt him. And I have hurt him so much. I've endangered him time and again, for reasons more selfish than he will ever understand.
Still, he never blames me. He blames himself for not being strong enough, for not being better.
I am the one he fights for. My face is the one he sees in his heart, spurring him onward through hardship after hardship, my name the mantra always on his lips. Everything is for me. Me—the most unworthy of objects.
I don't deserve him. I know that. But I need him. I need his faith in me, his devotion. His love. Sometimes, I think it is all that keeps me alive.
He knows me as few others do. He's glimpsed my real self—the self hidden behind this face I show the world. But even he doesn't know everything. If he knew the whole truth, would he still follow me? Would his eyes still hold the same light when he looks at me?
No. He would despise me. And how can I blame him? I'm unworthy of this angel. After all, look at what I've done to him. He's bleeding. He's broken. And it's my fault. I let him do this—for me.
Mea culpa.
-The End