Title: Dare to Look
Author: RedK_addict (Rags)
Rating: T
Genre: Angst
Summary: "Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even dare to look or bear to think of me? This repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly dreams of beauty. Secretly, secretly…" Nobody ever looks past the scar. Kid Blink dreams of finding someone who can love him for who he is.
Notes: Yes, I know. Not another chapter of CtB. Again. Let me explain. I went to see Phantom on Sunday, and since then my muse has been playing havoc. In other words, it's coming up with all kinds of other story ideas, but refuses to actually get to work on what I've already got going. And it's making up all kinds of stupid excuses for it, too. Little detail stuff that's really not important to the story whatsoever but for some reason still manages to hold up the entire thing. Anyway, just for the sake of getting something out, and because it's Blink week over at newsiesforever[dot]webs[dot]com, I threw this together. This story is actually inspired by three different songs, Stranger Than You Dreamt It, No One Would Listen, and Learn to Be Lonely. Yes, I am aware that the last two are technically the same song, just with different lyrics. Hence why I'm actually only posting the lyrics to the first one at the end. Anyhow, very angsty piece, though I tried not to make it too bad. I hope you enjoy it, at any rate. Your reviews would be greatly appreciated.
"Come on, Blink, please?" she begs. Always begging, with those adorable brown eyes as big as quarters that I can never resist. I should just give in. I should…
"No, Christine."
"Why not?" She pouts. My resolve is crumbling. I can't stand to see her unhappy, and that is perhaps my greatest weakness. Worse, she know it, uses it to her advantage at every opportunity. Anything she wants, she has. And only because I can't bear to disappoint her.
But this one thing I can't let her have.
The pouting instantly stops the moment she realizes that I won't be swayed by it this time. Instead she tries a different approach. And this one, I fear, may be even more effective.
Distraction.
She steps in close, letting her breath ghost across my neck as she tilts her head up toward me. The feel of her hand on my left shoulder startles me, and she gives a small smile when I jump at her touch. Her right hand moves behind my head, pulling me closer to her. My heart races as our lips meet. My head spins, all thoughts of her previous request flung from my mind in the process. I feel myself floating on the moment, hanging on her every breath. She is my world. I would do anything for her. Anything.
She breaks away abruptly and whispers my name. My mind is left in a daze, and all that comes out in response is a muffled sigh. "Kid," she breathes. "Let me see. Just this once."
Something in the back of my mind suddenly snaps to attention as I finally realize her dastardly plan. But too late. She's already reaching for it, and I can't see her hand. A cooling breeze hits my left cheek as she whips the patch away, air touching skin that hasn't seen the light of day in years. Not since…
"Oh my…" I hear her sharp intake of breath just as my vision comes back into focus. I've tried to warn her, so many times when she's asked before to see. But she never listens. That's the thing about Christine. She really only ever hears what she wants to.
As a matter of fact, everyone I've ever tried to tell about the accident only hears half of what I say. Nobody is ever prepared for the harsh reality. I'm used to the various reactions of disgust by now. But they really don't have the right. I mean, that's what I wear the patch for in the first place. I know what it looks like. And I'm the one with the constant reminder digging into the back of my skull every minute of my life.
The scar is ugly, and the eye itself is really no better. In fact, sometimes I wonder if maybe it's worse, faded and discolored as it is compared to its twin's brilliant green. It's a solid, pale blue spot on an ugly, tarnished ball of white, the entire thing surrounded by a grisly, puckered scar running all the way around it from cheek to eyebrow.
My poor mother. The surgeons really did the best they could, but there was so much damage. Father went off crazy after a night of drinking and pointed a gun at my face. Lucky for me, it backfired. Or not so lucky, really. The explosion, while also seriously damaging his hand, left my face open and bleeding and the eye completely blind. When she first saw the still-healing scar, my own mother screamed and threw me out into the streets. The one woman who should have loved me no matter what… Even she couldn't bear to look at me.
Some part of me hopes that with Christine it will be different. But I know it won't be. It's the same with everyone who asks. Because nobody listens when I tell them they don't want to see.
"Christine…" She backs away from me, her hand going to her mouth in horror. Her eyes – those beautiful, sparkling brown eyes – are wide in shock. She's going to scream, too. "Christine, angel, please." I reach out for her, dying to bring some comfort, but she pulls back in disgust. It's in that instant I can feel my heart shatter.
And then she screams. As she turns and runs down the street, her terrified wails piercing the peaceful evening air, my own hands reach up to hide the monstrous view. I don't complain about much – the price of papes, maybe, or the quality of the headlines on a particularly bad day – but somewhere deep down inside I wish this had never happened to me. That I could just have a normal life for once. Or, at the very least, someone who can look past the scars and just love me for who I am.
And there are some rare moments, like right now, when I wish that the damn bullet had just fired.
- - -
Stranger than you dreamt it
Can you even dare to look
Or bear to think of me?
This loathsome gargoyle who
Burns in hell, but secretly
Yearns for heaven
Secretly, secretly…
Fear can turn to love
You'll learn to see, to find the man
Behind the monster
This repulsive carcass who
Seems a beast, but secretly
Dreams of beauty
Secretly, secretly…