Faded Past

Nothing lasts forever. Memory fades, people forget, and everything is erased...

It all depends on your view of life, he would tell me. He would explain the good things, the bad. The neutral and in-betweens. All of it. And I would hang onto every word he spoke. Every movement his face and hands made as he spoke. Yet, I could never fully understand what he was saying, until he stopped talking. When he stopped, he would smile down at me, with a gentle look in his eyes. As if I were fragile and would break dare he not. And we would kiss.

It was then that I felt I knew what he knew. Good, this was good. Chasteé and nice and sweet. It was good, I was sure. Small and clean.

And then we became more into it, deepening the kiss with tongue. At that point it was neutral. Nothing too good, yet nothing too bad. Just... neutral.

Then dominance. Someone had to take over. It was different each time who would top. Never predictable. Not at all good, but not at all bad. In-between. That's all.

But, after that, that's when bad set in. The bad that heated our bodies, made us lust. The bad that took over our common sense and good judgment. The bad that made us disgusting every day.

And it always made me hate myself in the end.

We're Nobodys, we can't love, we can't hate, he would tell me after wards. I would nod, dress, and sulk away to my own room. It was true, we cannot feel. So, I couldn't love him. And he couldn't love me. But, it was always at this point that I felt a fire begin in my chest and my face get red. I couldn't explain it, however. I remembered the feeling before, but I could not place exactly what it was. It was terrible.

I guessed hate again, for it was all I could remember that made me feel this way. But it was never toward him. Never. It was only for myself.

I couldn't ask anyone else of their own memories for feelings. It never helped. Everyone remembers something different. And memory slips after some time, I found. I could barely remember anything anymore. I could remember happy, hate, love, but nothing else. I couldn't feel anything anymore, I would have to remind myself over and over again.

Still, I didn't know this heavy feeling. I knew it wasn't happiness, nor love. But I'm not so sure it was hate, either. However, seeing as that is all I could it could be, I trusted the memories. I trusted my... hatred.

Yet, this just made me hate myself even more.

It's all in your head, he would tell me. I sighed, the fiery feeling coming back. I turned to leave, but he stopped me. He kissed me lightly on my forehead, then he sent me away so he could continue concentrating on an upcoming mission. And as I left, the fire welling in my chest grew stronger, hotter.

It was unbearable.

I ran quickly to my room, my face burning. Again, I couldn't explain it. I didn't know this hate. I wasn't familiar with it.

This 'hatred' was terrible, as if it were trying to to rip open my body and soul. As if it were going to burst through me, destroying me in its path. As if it were going to take over me completely if not stopped. All this at once, and I couldn't stand it.

I swallowed hard, lying down on my bed, and kept quiet. I kept it hidden away. For the first time, I didn't have to be with him to know that this was bad.

And I later hated myself for it.

He asked me one time, what feelings I could remember. I told him the only one I could remember when I was with him: love. He smiled, sat up, and went to his room. The fire burning in my chest wasn't there, replaced by a warming compassionate one. I followed him, shortly behind him. He pulled me onto his bed. And we experimented with the tastes of goods and bads again.

Afterwords, I told him I still had the warmth spread through my body. The memory of love. His hand went up to caress my cheek and he leaned in to plant a kiss upon my lips.

And that was left at that.

However, the warmth I knew was good left. For when I asked him of his memories -- of his feelings -- he replied forlorn. He told me couldn't remember. He couldn't tell me what made him come back to me every night. Or why he liked to spend time with me. For he could no longer remember.

The fireball in my chest grew, choking me almost to death. I nodded, then, as I usually did, I left. I left without anything to say. I couldn't even think.

That night, I felt a small drop of salty water leak down my cheek.

But I didn't hate myself for it.

Okay, about this: I don't know why I wrote it. Probably just to blow off some steam or something. I was just feeling very sad and distressed, so this came up. It has a short and bad ending because I couldn't think of how to end it. I might make it a two-shot, if I can think of something. Or you guys can just give some ideas, if you'd like.

Anyways, I don't own anything...

Reviews are welcomed with open arms and warm cookies and milk!

Much respect, much love. Goodbye!