Author's Note: My all time favorite MB20 song combined with a little oddness on my part, and you get this one-shot. I hope you like it, I totally loved writing it, reviews are always welcome.
Crutch
She said I don't know if I've ever been good enough
I'm a little bit rusty
And I think my head is caving in
And I don't know if I've ever been lovedBy a hand that's touched me
And I feel like something's gonna give
And I'm a little bit angry
I want to take you for granted…
Push – Matchbox Twenty
I've always had this picture of what love would look like. I kept it stuck at the back of my mind, as a kind of reassurance of what I thought I wanted. It wasn't anything serious, just something to help me along. Give me some guidelines, because I sure didn't know where to look. Or whether I'd even recognize it if it came and gave me a big hug.
I glance in the mirror and almost can't see beyond my own facade, it seems I can even fool myself at times. I seem happy, hidden away in my little pink box. When I was little, I'd pretend I was one of my dollies, and stare aimlessly in the mirror. I tried to perfect the empty look they possessed, not moving for the longest time until I really looked glassy eyed and hollow on the inside. With the backdrop of my frilly pink little room I would feel like I was this gigantic present that had been discarded. A pretty dark-haired doll that had been forgotten to be unpacked, and utterly ignored by the birthday girl. Instantly I'd feel such an immense guilt towards my dolls, and I'd dash off and play with each and every one of them until my conscience was soothed. Until the thought of abandoned gifts and dollies was pushed far back in my mind.
I didn't want to think about how it made me feel to see how easy it became for me to master the emotionless expression. How honed that ability became, to make my feelings disappear. Like a skilled magician I'd watch them evaporate right out of me, and feel such immense pride at my very own brand of magic. And yet at times it made me cry so badly, I imagined myself such a cold little girl, frosted from the inside out. How else could I turn myself off like that? How else could I hide my sadness behind a myriad of confident smiles, and paint over the heavy murky feelings that my mother had left behind? The ones that only expanded to such big dark things they sometimes covered all of my tiny frame, no matter how many times I tried to act like I was a simple dolly.
I tuck long strands of dark hair behind my ears, and my fingers itch to cut it all off. All of my prettiness. To slash at the things that could convince me I wasn't really here, the perfect bits of me. The unrealistic parts that make me look fabricated. I wish I could release myself of those parts, only to keep the real darkness that no one ever gets to see. And I'd show it to everyone. Like a battle scar, something to prove that dolls could bleed as well, that I could be ugly too. I wouldn't care anymore, I really wouldn't…
I nod at my reflection, smiling as a good little dolly would, and I can't seem to recognize myself anymore. I can't seem to feel the harder parts of me. I'm a perfect liar, someone who knows how to reflect back the person she's expected to be. Like a carnival mirror with a distorted image to appease the world with. A loyal friend, a popular girl, a sultry woman… I am what is asked of me. I am a whore that complies with the demand that is out there, my smile instantly turns bitter and snide, and I feel dirty all of a sudden.
Sometimes it gets confusing though, playing all of these parts, always trying to be flesh or plastic or nothing at all. It makes you forget what you were before you got frozen on the inside. And I get detached from the girl I started out as, the one no one seemed to love right before the doll took over. I realize that I lie because I got hurt, and for some reason decided that trying to be all these people was easier than being this one hurt little person. Strength in numbers I guess, but it still remained so lonely in my pink room. My breath fogs up the mirror and I am struck by how much prettier I am when I'm blurry, how much more real I seem when you can't really see the definition of me. I feel no need for borders or edges, or any kind of barrier that tells me where I end and someone else begins. I smile dejectedly to no one in particular, and glance at the lean body sprawled underneath my pink duvet.
I feel helpless and wretched as I take in his sleeping form, noticing how long his lashes are, how innocent he seems in this sea of pink. Almost like a doll himself, and I am disgusted at how happy that thought makes me, since I can't want anyone as badly as I feel I want this man. I don't want to be the only fucked up one anymore. He should save me or join me, and I know he'd do both if he could…since he's so valiant in his own gentle ways.
I tiptoe my way towards my bed to softly sit beside him again, and try my damnest not to breath. The light in the room seems to dim, or perhaps my mind is just playing tricks on me because he seems to be the brightest thing in this place. So shiny and new, and I want to be the first one to unpack him, or maybe I'll leave him untouched and just stare.
A grim smile quirks my lips, as I realize temptation and madness are doing a dance in my dizzy head while his fluttery breath is challenging me to resist. I cave in of course. I feel no shame in admitting my weakness for this man.
I touch his cheek, and he stirs, frightening me with how real he is. How simple despite my incessant complicated ways, since he knows who he is and what he's made of. Unlike me, unsure of everything ever since I got abandoned by life's promise for me. I turned bitter and icy and removed from everything. I've thought about leaving before, but in all the disappointment I found this picture that I had forgotten I ever had hidden. This image of what love was like, a promise of something I could have if only I paid enough attention to notice it amidst all the crap. A second chance perhaps, and it came in the most unlikely unassuming shape. I allow my fingers a dip into his curls, unafraid of showing my frailty for him.
Seth opens his dark intrusive eyes, proving how beautifully peculiar he is, and I'm at a loss for words. He just smiles, pulling me down and kissing me like he understands the meaning of what's erupting between us. The pink room seems to twirl around us, and I close my eyes tighter as this boy sweeps away my sad memories. We only ever part for air, and in a way that's how desperate he makes me. My perpetual crutch, as his hand glides along my naked back I am certain he'll let me know what I'm made of. He'll reassure me of my reality, and I'll do the same for him. I'll get through this, as myself, and my lies won't matter because this boy never abandons his truth. He never abandons me.
"Are you alright?" Seth mutters against my collarbone, his kisses distracted me from his words but never his meaning. I groan in response, and slowly frame his face with my hands to pull him closer. "I was just thinking." I whisper in the hopes he'll kiss my thoughts away. "Yes…" the stubborn boy urges in a low raspy tone that makes me arch my frame into his touch. I blush when I see him smirk at my reaction to him. From a doll to a marionette, I never cease my transformations…
I realize this is not the time to share my demons with him, but his heavy eyes pierce into mine with such a grand determination. Seth props himself up on his elbow, giving him a better position to look at me. I try not to think of what I look like, all flustered and exposed like this.
"I'm sorry about before…" Seth looks confused, and I can't really blame him, "I never meant to ignore you, I just – I wasn't myself, for a very long time I didn't know who I was supposed to be." I want to curl up against him, splay my fingers on his chest and fall asleep, but I won't. I'm holding back because I honestly don't know how to be with him just yet… and my skin prickles with such anticipation I am almost afraid he'll never speak.
He parts his lips in a way that has my squirming underneath the heat of his lanky frame. "Come closer," Seth angels his face towards mine, and we lock eyes. His darken with a rattling intensity, and I wet my lips instinctively. "You couldn't cope, not by yourself at least. I get it, but I'm here now." I don't remember crying, but the sensation of his hand cradling my cheek and wiping it dry shakes me out of my daze. "I'm really not that special Cohen." I want to explain about the dolls, about losing myself to disappointment, about being handed down and no one ever wanting to keep me once they got me. I want to thank him for breaking me out of my box, unwrapping me in a way no one ever tried.
"Lucky me," Seth gives me a rueful smile, one that stops my heart completely and then starts it up again. "Cause it doesn't get any more special than you." I suddenly realize how deeply I let him get under my skin. How badly I needed him to be a part of me, even the dark bits. My heart swells as he kisses me with all the conviction he owns. I wrap myself around him, knowing I've been lost ever since he turned those pure, turbulent eyes towards me. I get my eyes to twinkle for him, because I'm certain that I won't be able to push these feelings away for anything.
"You're pretty damn special yourself." I declare softly, feeling less foggy because he's here with all his certainty and strength. Something to lean on, more substantial than anything I could've dreamed of. Seth grins at me and I'm lost for air as his hands travel up my ribcage.
It doesn't get more real than this, does it?