A/N: Hey! This is my first ever published fanfic, so pleeeease be kind, and LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! Seriously, that little review button down the bottom of your page? CLICK ON IT. I'd be eternally grateful! :D
Enjoy!
She raised her hand angrily and slapped him hard across the face. The harsh smack broke the silence like a waiter dropping a stack of plates during the tense climax of an award ceremony, or a young nephew falling off his chair during a reflective pause at a beloved uncle's funeral gathering. The sound echoed in his ears as his pale cheeks blossomed a painful crimson. In a way, he knew this had been coming, that it had been lurking in the murky waters of the Distant Future for at least a few months now. He had just been wishing that the tide would pull it, and all other jettisoned mistakes, far, far away, and push it onto the shore of Someone Else's Problem.
As she slowly lowered her hand, she noted with pride the colour of his cheeks. They now matched her own, which were flushed with hot rage. She could feel them burning, and wished he was sensitive enough to be aware of her pain. The only solace she took was in the fact that he was feeling his own hurt, and, this time, she had been the one to bring it about.
Carefully, he turned his head back to look at her through a thin film of pain-induced tears. The scarlet tinge on her delicate face made her eyes look darker than ever before, but otherwise it didn't really do much for her; it made her russet-brown hair look thin and unkempt, her sharp, pointed nose look hooked and bumpy, and her perfect pearly-whites look yellow and uneven. He couldn't remember seeing her so dishevelled or unsightly, yet he also couldn't remember feeling any more affection for any other bird he'd had the pleasure of meeting.
"Love, look," he started, reaching out for her forgiveness with both hands. "I-"
"Shut it," she interrupted, choking the words out through pursed lips. "There's nothing you can say to me that I'm going to listen to. I'm done here. I'm done with us. We're through, you hear me?"
His heart started to accelerate, jumping into the back of his throat and making the words even more difficult to say. "I- I'm- I'm sorry."
She laughed scornfully, the false sound grazing her throat harshly on its way out. Her chic black high heels gave her the height she needed to look him straight in the eye, and she was grateful for it. "It's too late, okay? You can be as sorry as you want, but it's not going to change anything. You're still a lying, cheating, man-whore with shit for brains and a face like three-month-old road kill." She glared at him, wincing faintly as her shaped, painted fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. She fought with all her might not to use her fists to break his face. "You're now officially dead to me."
He looked down at his polished black leather shoes, with their elegant pointed toe and thin black laces, hastily trying to come up with his next move. Her words created a maelstrom of emotions within him, from heartbreak, to regret, to anger, to amusement and back to heartbreak. She was the only one who could do this to him, like she was the key to his soul, or the crack in his emotional dam, or the bright red plunger for the blockage in his heart. He cringed as he thought of how she would cackle if he told her these sentiments, and buried them deep down. "Look, I promise I'll make it up to you. I really am sorry!" He flung his arms open in frustration. "Jesus, what do I have to do – self-flagellate? Jump off a cliff? Write you an album? Whatever you want me to do, love, I'll do it. Seriously." His soft chestnut eyes gazed endearingly into hers, and he moved to hold her hand. "Just say the word, and I'll kill someone."
She flinched away before his warm hand could reach her. "Just stay away from me. Forever." With a sharp intake of breath, she turned and hurriedly strode away from him.
He waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded. "But I love you," he whispered, letting a tear fall from the corner of his eye.
~ Twelve-hundred anguished heartbeats, three-hundred and four sobs, six-hundred and twenty-nine painful gasps and seventy-two swear words later ~
She threw her coat onto the back of the chair, not caring when it slid off and fell to the ground. She collapsed onto the bed and allowed her grief to take over. Tortured sobs wracked her curled frame as she reached for her pillow and pulled it up to her tear-streaked face. She screamed into the soft, black fabric, willing it to soak up her pain. Her muffled cries bounced off her large vanity table mirror, and as the stifled shrieks filled the room, she wished there were someone around to wonder what was causing them.
Eventually, her throat was sore, and she wearily peeled the pillow away. The only sound in the whole house was the faint echo of her cries, lingering on like a ghost at a crossroads. She rolled onto her back, and stared up at the ceiling. She thought it might soothe her, as it had on numerous other occasions, but it just brought more tears to her eyes. She tried to roll back onto her side, but couldn't find the strength.
She continued looking up, her sparkling eyes slowly tracing the amateurish brushstrokes of the fluffy clouds, sparkling stars, radiant suns and spherical moons. Every now and then she would come across something that was definitely out of place but that still fit in perfectly, like the little ink drawing of a cat in one of the far corners. A great number of paint cans had been used that day to create a mural on not just her ceiling. She almost smiled as she remembered how the boys had started to paint each other as the day wore on. But the most special part was the final layer, the finishing touch added after everything else had dried.
Flowing on top of the rainbow jumble were several twisting lines of music, the fine black lines curving and swirling above her, and flowing down onto the walls. Every first bar from all the choruses the boys had ever written was up there. If the night was magical enough, she could hear the music emanating from the ceiling and the walls. She remembered back to when there had only been a few musical phrases written above her. Now she was in a cocoon of music, and, usually, she loved every second of it. It was one of the sweetest things they'd done for her. It wasn't a masterpiece, but it was still beautiful. And unique. It was their ultimate autograph.
As the pain became unbearable, she wrenched her eyes away, and rolled once again so that the only way she could've continued to gaze at the ceiling would've been with the eyes in the back of her head. As she buried her face deeper and deeper into the fabric, she wished she could rely on her other usual comfort. Ever since she had been a little girl, whenever she was bored, lonely or upset, she would drift into the small room where they had kept their little upright piano. She would sit at it for hours, until she felt better, her fingers got too cold or her mother would interrupt her. She couldn't imagine going through any day in her life without the opportunity to pass the lounge-room door, forget whatever had sent her in that direction in the first place, and lose herself in whatever music was close at hand.
But now he'd gone and ruined that for her as well. It was impossible for her to think of music without thinking of him, let alone play any. So that meant that she would lie here, until the sun sank below the horizon, the last light drained from her room and she could move without risking a glimpse of the ceiling.
It wasn't enough for him that she had given up everything to be with him – her wardrobe, her iPod, her bookcase, her old bedroom, and her piano. Not a day went by without her wishing she had at least one of them. Of course, she had also left behind her cat, her friends, her brothers, and her parents, but she didn't miss them as much as her iPod. Sometimes she felt guilty, but she would tell herself that it was perfectly normal. If she dare realise how completely far away she was from her mummy and daddy, she might go so far as to regret the decision she had made all those months ago.
As she waited for the sun to torture another part of the world, her mind whirled back to when she had first met him and his friends, and left her time for one thirty-two years before she was even born.