All Of Me
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'...I stayed with the dark for you…..I isolated myself for YOU. This was all for YOU. EVERYTHING I do is for YOU…So that's it you chose him….'
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"I chose you and you broke my heart,"
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'Oh Bo please….Maybe that was our problem….Do you know my name isn't even Lauren….'
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"Whoever you are, I know you and I love you," another whisper for my own ears only as the words get carried away with the chilled, cleansing breeze.
My breath lingering in the frosty air as my eyes stay fixed on the pale moon looming in the sky above. It's just there staring back at me like a window to my fractured soul, staring back at me like a mirror-then again, what are mirrors if not windows into the soul.
God, I fucking hate mirrors.
My eyes fluttering shut as I swallow the lump in my throat, built up pain I suppose—at the memories themselves-maybe at the question it poses to me.
Not who is she but….who am I?
Such a simple, childish question which seems to have an equally simple answer.
Someone asks you who you are, you say what? Your name, your job, status in the community, maybe a significant hobby-crime fighter, writer, race car driver—whatever creams your Twinkie.
Ask yourself that question when you're staring into a mirror when you've hit rock bottom—see if that once simple question doesn't scare the shit out of you.
I've tried to answer that so many times but I always come off like I'm trying to join one of those anonymous groups, Hello my name is Bo and I'm-yeah, that's about as far as I can get.
Well, that's as far as I get before I have to turn away.
As it turns out I don't like what I find myself looking at any more today than I did all those years ago, bed hopping and searching for answers to questions I didn't know—or at least questions I didn't fully understand.
Back then it wasn't a question of who I was but of what I was.
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'….If you learn to control your abilities, you may even actually like being Fae…'
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For the most part I have….my dirty little secret though is that I didn't have as big of a problem with what I was as they believed.
There was times where I would slip in and out of having a conscience for months at a time. I didn't know what I was and as frightening as that was—making myself out to be a monster and believing it—just made it so much easier.
Faceless victims that all began to blend together until they were merely shadows haunting the back of my muddled mind—haunting may be too strong of a word.
Honestly after the fifth kill I didn't feel much anymore, after the tenth kill is when they became a series of blurred memories and by the time of the fifteenth—it barely even registered anymore.
Sure I never touched anyone under eighteen or over fifty, all of them were normally the less than stand up members of society. I mean it wasn't like I was out on a vigilantly kick or anything but if I had the choice between the dope dealer on the corner or the waitress trying to make ends meet, it was an obvious choice.
But none of that is really an excuse or a justification, now is it?
I never spoke those words aloud, never told a single soul about my dirty little secret. Not Dyson or Trick or Lauren-not even Kenz.
Don't get me wrong, I never once forgot I was a monster-I just didn't focus on the victims because—well, how could I when I couldn't even answer what I was.
It's simple when you're a human and you know it, that's very uncomplicated. You're a regular person and you KNOW you aren't allowed to kill but imagine yourself waking up one day to find out that despite logic, despite popular belief—you aren't a regular person, you aren't even human. You aren't anything you can even put into words-unless you use the general approach, then there is a single fitting word for you….
Demon.
It's sort of funny-in a way-depending on my mood.
I used to tell myself that I was one-that I am one, the funny part is that in EVERY book of mythology and creepy, fucked up, children's books that's exactly what succubi are.
Kind of conflicts with the approach of my inner circle, you know the approach that goes something like; 'Hey, you're Fae—there is nothing wrong with you. Say it loud and say it proud,'
I wish people would make up their minds.
It wasn't until I began to wonder who I was—I mean really began to wonder-it was then when I started remembering each and every one of those shadowy, nameless faces. It wasn't until then that I began feeling shame—guilt—disgust-with EVERY kill-EVERY feed.
Maybe it wasn't so much the fact of not know who or what I was that allowed my conscience to take a vacation from time to time but the fact that I had no ties to this world which I was made to believe I didn't belong in. Maybe it was in believing that I didn't belong, that I wasn't welcomed, that I was alone that made me feel like these people weren't real. Maybe it was in feeling like I was a shadow myself that allowed me to convince myself it didn't matter what I had to do to survive.
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'Bo you're not a monster….I know that and whatever happened back then it wasn't your fault….you're a different person then you were then…'
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Another dirty little secret of mine-I had thought about ending it all a few times.
Irony of that was I would make my decision yet I would always find myself feeding to survive hours later. I tried twice, the first time I couldn't actually go through with it but the second time some poor guy happened to stumble upon me and well biological need to survive kicked in.
It wasn't the last time I thought about it but it was the last time I tried it.
Another ironic thing-or maybe this is just sad-I had tried twice and thought several times about this when I was on my own but-but with these people, my so-called anchors I have never thought more about it or at least I didn't-it's been a while since my mind has wandered onto the topic.
It's all just another part of me I never told any of them about though this I think they understand-I think they have seen it and chose not to draw attention because in the end—all of us are broken in our own ways.
I see something broken in them all and despite what I tell myself I know they see it in me, maybe that's why we all gravitate toward one another. They say people tend to fall into what they know, athletes with athletes, abused women repeating the same relationship over and over again just with different abusers, murders with murders and I suppose the same could be said for the damaged.
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'….I'm not happy….I feel like I'm losing myself….I think that we need a break….'
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Wounds heal—scars don't.
Perhaps that's why the same issues I have continue to come back around-perhaps that's why the same issues we have keep coming back around.
I used to think that if you forgave someone then that was it and well if it kept bothering you, if you kept holding onto it then you didn't honestly forgive that person. As it turns out, it takes forgiveness to heal a wound—but the scar will always be there if the cut was deep enough.
For instance I forgave my mom a long time ago but those words will never fade within my mind. I can remember them even now as clearly as the times she spoke them. I forgave Trick for lying, for the many other indiscretions-most don't faze me anymore-others tend to popup every now and again to fuck with me.
At the end of the day though the pain from theirs help shape me into who I am—I'm not always the best person but I have my moments.
Dyson I have forgiven mostly everything he's done, maybe it's because I loved him once—I mean I still love him just not the way I once did—sometimes I wonder if I ever really loved him that way as opposed to loving what he offered me. It doesn't really matter anymore now, that was years ago, all that matters pertaining to him now is that I love him how I do in this moment.
His actions never really left a scar, they marked me for a while like a bad bruise but they always faded. I guess if I had to pick one thing that left a mark it was him giving up his love for me, a grand and noble jester that was lost on me.
All it did was remind me that I wasn't worth his love-any love.
Kenzi on the other hand has her own personal collection of scars on me, some aren't even her fault-I just love her so much that the littlest thing has the potential of leaving the deepest of cuts. I never forget the scars she's caused—I couldn't if I tired but most of them make me strive to be better, do better.
They remind me of my failures and push me not to make them again.
But then there is her,
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'We have your best interest in heart….. I think I'm always going to be asking for more than you can give to me…And I loved you…Just once I wish you could be sure….And here I thought you were just playing at being a doctor….I guess being a doctor would seem easy to somebody who never even finished high school….I know I'm not enough for you…..'
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The scars I have from her—they are so much more pronounced than any of my others not to mention I bear far more from her than anyone else—even Kenz. To the 'touch' they are still rough and ridged—occasionally given the right amount of pressure they turn back to wounds which still bleed.
I suppose hers are the worst because—she is everything to me.
She is my family, my friend, my lover, my ex, my complication, my regret, my passion, my soul, my heart, my life, my pain, my solace, my conscience, my lust, my pleasure, my guilt, my shame, my lack of all, my savior, my destroyer, my downfall and my uprising.
The reason I live yet she can also be the reason I want to die. The reason I aim to be hero yet can be a villain at the drop of a dime. The reason I want to know what forever is like though some days I want it all to end tomorrow. The reason I breathe and the reason I can't. The reason I am strong yet the reason I've never been weaker.
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'….the person you are now I absolutely love….'
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She remains the reason I believe that even though I've slipped it will be alight. She remains the reason I believe that no matter how grave my sin there is forgiveness. She remains the reason that even though I have fallen I will once again stand tall. She remains the reason I know the meaning to love.
Solace….forgiveness….acceptance…love….heaven….all different words with different meanings-unless you are me, because to me they all mean one thing-HER.
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'…..For giving me the freedom to love and I do…..'
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A small smile sneaks onto my lips, chilled fingertips moving up from the metal railing to my collarbone. The tiny chain underneath the feel of my skin enough my make my heart skip a beat, I still have the box and the letter though I don't need it-those words will forever be engraved in my mind.
Even in death they will never fade.
I might not have known it then but all those years ago fighting so hard for Leah-Ann, I was fighting for her. I thought it was for Leah-Ann and for myself to have a choice-but that choice was her.
I wanted the freedom to love-HER.
Blinking back tears as I clutch the little pendent so tightly it hurts but like every painful scar she has left me with-I bare them proudly.
Taking a deep breath through my nose I let it go and look over the skyline before down onto the empty street knowing it won't be long now before the good people of the city would be off and shuffling to work—to their lives.
Turning around I take the five steps back into my room pulling the glass doors shut again, a shiver shooting down my spine for the first time realizing that bare feet and a sheer, black kimono may night have been the best attire to stand out on the balcony in the middle of a December's frosty night.
I slip into the messy bed leaning against the headboard while feet slip under the sheet. A heavy smile comes over my lips once more, an even heavier weight tugging at my heart.
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'….Can I sleep with you…. in your arms….'
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She shifts ever so slightly bringing my eyes down to her and I lean over pulling the sheet up from her waist to cover the rest of her bare body. Hand resting on her waist as I lean over and let my lips graze her temple.
It had been twenty years since we got Kenzi back. Fifteen years since I convinced her selfishly to use that brilliant mind of hers on herself making forever an actual possibility for us. Ten years since my last slip up before last night's. Eight years since we all packed our bags and moved to the states for a new start. Six years since we had to actually face anything even remotely Fae related until last week. Four years since watched Dyson and Tamsin marry. Three years since we buried my grandfather next to my grandmother.
She rolls onto her back making a soft whimper, her brow furrowed-no doubt she is dreaming about what is coming for us. It's a pensiveness written across her features that doesn't come from overdue papers and the stress of winning awards.
Eyes travel down to her pouty lips, her tense jaw to her collarbone—another smile pulling at my lips seeing the necklace she wore which bore little similarity to my own.
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'….I'm yours…'
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It was my grandmother's once, now she wore it like I wore hers-belonging to me, being claimed by me didn't have such a negative stigma attached now that she wasn't human.
My eyes traveling down her recently covered body stopping at her hand that lay over her stomach almost as if she had been posed this way—smile fading a little.
It had been six months since I bought that gold ring that is now hidden in the bottom of my desk at the police station. I wanted the moment to be right and now here we were preparing to weather a storm.
It has been six hours since I slipped….since I broke my commitment to her….since I forgot who I was or at least who I've tried to be….since I reminded myself the reason I hadn't given her the ring months ago-years ago…
I'm not worth it.
"Baby," her sleepy whisper brings my eyes back to her face, eyes only narrow slits. "Please get some sleep before work." She snuggles up to me, arm wrapping around my waist. "Grumpy succubus is no fun in the morning." She mumbles as she buries her face between the side of my thigh and the mattress.
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'….Whatever happens; we are in this together…'
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My right hand coming to rest on her elbow as I drape my other arm over her so to speak, my hand resting on the middle of her back enjoying the feel of her heart beat. Eyes close as I relax against the headboard, head tilting down just a bit.
In this moment I forget the past. I forget the pain. I forget my sins. I forget my insecurities.
I forget everything other than her because she alone is….
….my end and my beginning.