Darkness, is what happens when the sun shuts it's eyes and lets night seep in but also it's the thing that can seep into your heart (one little bit at a time, rip me apart and see for yourself) and eventually every part of you until your one of monsters that pop up in those scream your lungs out kind of nightmares.
-
His words float over me like a rain cloud, the way his voice sounds listless, anything other then the Peter that I let take away all of my tears and the big bad nightmares that haunted me every single night.
'Peter! Don't let him kill me, please god no!'
"Shh, Claire it was a dream, just a dream. I'm here and no one and I mean no one will hurt you.'
He said a simple, 'he's not dead.' then the dial tone went dead leaving me dazed and speechless as I let the phone drop from my fingers, left with a feeling of frostbite that covered every inch of me.
"Goodbye, Peter."
-
"You've been following me since Friday, Peter, did you take up stalking as a hobby?"
The years had worn me down, stripped away every last part of me (including the golden curls, they were the first to go, right after my hope) and then I came out as something new, someone filled to the brim with darkness.
"Nope, I only save it for you, Claire-Bear."
The name brings back memories some that pull at me like Sylar's fingers, slicing me up, and then again the other ones try to put me back together again but there never seems to be enough of those.
"Don't call me that. You know only he can and no one else."
-
The last time I saw him (father of mine by love and not blood) it had been the worse day of my life, and just seeing him slipping into his warm arms it got all better just with five words 'I love you, Claire-bear.'
Then one day, the man that had taken so much from me (my power that glistens off his skin proudly and the last bit of humanity, my feeling) came to me, blood and brains the last thing on his mind, with death on his tongue.
-
The hate (that was there boiling up past my eyes) came easier then it used to, slipping into my skin like a old friend.
"Peter, please just leave. I'm not the Claire you know anymore, I stopped being her a long time ago and I don't plan on changing back any time soon. You can't fix this!"
This anger (that came from my lips like molten lava ready to burn him to the ground and watch as he came back from the dead) I learned early on, it was the only thing that helped me escape the title of 'victim'.
"Watch me."
Before he went swirling (I've been watching too many time travel movies) into time to put back all the broken pieces back together again and then again maybe shatter some one the way, his lips pressed into mine saying 'I''m going to fix you.'
"Please God, let him fix me, I'm tried of being broken."
