Disclaimer: Obviously, these characters aren't mine. Meh.
A/N: So, this is just a random ficlet that came out of my head today in an attempt to finally update Hit Me Harder Now. It's kind of short, so I apologize.
He stomps out of the loft again, again, again. I'm the always the enemy, always the bad guy. He stomps away again, slamming as many doors as he can find. He's always trying to make a scene, and a scene he makes. Out again, in again. Fuck you, I'm sorry. Leave me alone, I need your help. Slam the door, open the door, only to slam it again. I'm always on the wrong side of the door. On one side, it's him, content and peaceful. I'm on the other side, the other side of the dead-bolted door. And he is on this side with me. Him, angry, jealous, sarcastic and acerbic. His words gouge my skin, my blood oozing out and tainting the floor of our relationship. We're dead, we're dying, he says we live. I'm alone, he's alone, he says we're always and eternally together. He hides, hides behind his door of safety. From behind it, he can insult and injure to satisfy his asinine whims. He blindly shoots me from his hideout; he'll never see the damage he causes. All I want is to be on his side of the door, to escape the ferocious beast on my side, and be with him forever. My calloused fingers want to touch their strings again, but he has stolen them. My tired lips want to sing their words again, but he has stolen that too. My weary brain wants to be connected by coherent thought, but his animosity has stolen all coherency from me. He says I know why this happens. He says I know, but I'm just in denial. In denial, just like always. That's what he says. All he does is twist my words. It's no use for me to argue, I'm no match for his wit. Not me, I'm the musician who will never understand the music. That's what he says. And he slams the door again. Instinct says follow, common sense says don't. I stand there, perpetually stranded on my side of the door, trying to decide between instinct and logic. Forever I will stand here staring at the door and hope that some day, he will simply close it behind him. But I know that is a long way off. And the door slams again.