The Things I Fear the Most.
Ok so I'm not going to give loads away. I'm bored so it'll be a short story over a few chapters. I haven't forgot about the other stories. I'm just on an extended break.
Boy and Boy. No likey…no ready.
The rain drummed like a chorus against the glass wall behind him. The orange street lights from below oozed through into the darkened room. The lights were off and the only noise was the buzzing hum of the computer, slicing through the silence, cutting in half. The machine dolled out a cold blue hue making the room icy and emotionless. The screen was still. The familiar clacking of keys had died long ago and the fingers lay numb on the desk.
The entire house was empty. The corridors were lifeless and the rooms were empty vacuums, sucking the warmth and breath from everything within their grasp. He was totally alone and had been for some time now. His brother had left for college and all the happiness and warmth had gone with him. He seldom called now. He had friends. A girlfriend. Maybe she was a fiancé now? Who knew? It didn't matter anymore.
Others had passed through the doors since. 'Guests', 'entertainers' and even 'professionals' but they had been and gone like a flame in the wind. They had no meaning, no purpose. They had been nothing more than mere fancies or attempts since he had left, and when he did he dragged out any hope of happiness. He destroyed and stood upon the last remains of care and emotion. He had taken everything. Without him, money was but paper. Without him, the home was but a house. Without him, love was but a memory.
It had been horrible when Mokuba had left. He had lost the one person who was constant in his life, the one person who he trusted and cared for. But it had only been weeks before he came across him and he was something entirely different. He was everything that Kaiba had yearned to be. He was fun and careless yet proper. He was beautiful and elegant and, for a while, he was his. But then, as quickly as he had come, he had left. Destroying everything. Ruining all the plans and all the beauty. He stripped Seto of everything he was and intended to become. And he hated him for it.
Analytical blue eyes stared into the nothingness above the screen. The room was black and tidy. Proper. Exactly how he liked it. There were no posters or albums or bottles or books. It was empty. Like a hotel. Nothing there that needn't be. Except for the photo besides him. Cast in a wooden frame, the face held eternally smiling, cursed forever to hold that pose and stare back at him through the bonds of glossed paper behind a prison of glass. Seto's eyes fell lazily upon it, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly with the remnants of emotion. It flickered away and his mask was back. Two fingers lightly dusted the top of the frame as thunder cracked in the night outside and lightening illuminated his pale face. He started into the frozen eyes of the photograph, his heart racing under his chest as he inhaled. Since he left he had done no work. Since he left he had been nothing but a machine, mere circuits and precisions, functioning mechanically and seamlessly without real thought and certainly emotion. His thumb swept across the glass and down the cheek of the man in the picture before his icy eyes narrowed viciously and he slammed the photo face down.
Frost laced through his blood and suffocated his veins. His throat seized up as the air failed to reach his lungs. He gasped several times and clenched his fingers rising to his feet and staring at the downturned frame. His eyes burned with salt and water that would never leave them. He was done thinking about him. He would not come back. He was gone. He was but a memory, a corpse.
He shut down the computer and marched into the bathroom and slammed the door. His emotions were leaking through, scorching him inside out. He stared at his red eyes in the mirror and turned on the tap. He splashed his face several times before he dared to check himself once more. His reflection was unforgiving and honest. It showed him for the human he was and he despised that. With a yell he threw the towel at the glass, urging it to stop its persistent watching. When it did not yield he turned on the shower and stood under it. His clothes clung to his slender frame and the water washed away his tears. No one would see this. This was his secret, his life inside private walls. No one need know and no one could tell. It was just him. Him and the photographs, closed away and beyond reach of anyone else.
When the last of the tears had bled out, he turned of the water and pulled off the clothes, leaving them sodden on the cold plated floor. He collected the towel from the floor and wrapped himself in it before pulling on his nightwear and sitting on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand through his damp hair and stared out into the night, letting the thunder and lightening put him at ease. He watched the rain batter the glass before he decided to pull the curtains shut and attempt to sleep. Since he had gone he had been plagued by nightmares of what could have been. What should have been. His head firmly on the pillow he closed his eyes and pushed the thoughts to the pit of his stomach. There they could boil all they liked, they wouldn't reach his head. He turned over onto his side and began counting the hours until morning, until he would have to face another day without him.
Thoughts slowly seeped back through. As soon as he could find someone else to blame for his death, they would pay dearly.
Ok, so new, sombre story. Only a few chapters, maybe 5/6.
What you think?
Dedicating this story to Simoncelli, one of my favourite riders who was killed today on the track. Absolutely horrified and GP will never be the same without him.
Seems the death of moto riders puts me in a writing mood after last time with DIOTB…it's so sad. It makes me miss Hannah even more
Anyway, enough sadness from me,
Please
R&R
Much love
AB
x