A/N:
I'm sorry for the long wait but this chapter was really difficult for me to write. Originally, Meg wasn't going to be such a significant character but life happened and her character was inspired by someone close to me and I thought "hey that's a cool story line, plus it's like writing-therapy. Why not?"
Actually starting to write this was really hard.
I would just think of something then delete it, unsure of how to start, then I'd have to brainstorm and think of how which would make me think of the person that inspired Meg's character and then I'd get too caught up in my thoughts and start crying and just relapsing and it was just really horrible. I'm like my portrayal of Castiel in some ways, I live in my head mostly and I guess I sort of blocked the memory of that-person without realizing it and this story made me remember and you can probably guess the rest. I'm not even that happy with how the chapter turned out but I hope you like it at least a little.
Actual conversations and direct quotes were used. (Meg's huge speech was direct quote. Facebook is a bitch.) Pretty much when everything starts getting bad, it's true story bro. Enjoy maybe?
Soundtrack: Over You by Ingrid Michaelson (ft. A Great Big World)
Twelve years ago
It's really difficult to start telling a story of how something came to be, how something spiraled from a life into something so twisted. There are thousands of threads, each leading to the same destination, but all getting there in different ways, and you can pluck one string—Listen to it resonate and ring in a harmony that shouldn't exist. And that's how it is with this story, too. So Castiel picked up his hand and flicked his wrist and plucked a string—
To be hurt is to be loved—past tense. It might be best to start at love.
Hands tangled in hair tangled in hearts. How something so violent changed into something so soft would always be a mystery to Castiel, because now, he was against the wall in his bedroom, history notes strewn on the floor with a girl he swore he hated kissing him. He still hated her. He never liked her, never will—Oh wow, her breath smells really nice.
"Where'd you learn that, Clarence?" he heard Meg murmur, feeling her lips move and form the words not even a centimeter away from his own. His mind felt hazy and he spoke without thinking.
"How the United States joined World War II or the kiss?"
Meg was a head shorter than him, but her hands tugged at his shirt to keep him from straying too far away not unlike a pet owner would tug on a dog's leash. Somehow, this was more endearing. He still hated her. He would never like her, of course.
"The kiss, genius," Meg drawled.
"Oh," Castiel said, dumbfound. "I didn't."
Meg's lips twisted into a smile that made Castiel's heart flip. But he hated it of course.
"Was that your first kiss, Clarence?" she asked, her lips stretching wider with each passing word. "Did I steal it from you? Am I your first kiss?"
"You're about to be the first girl I hit," Castiel said insincerely in a mumbling voice in lack of anything else to say. Anything to keep the blush from rising too far onto his face.
"You'd never hit me," Meg said and Castiel felt himself being tugged down again.
His hand anchored on her shoulder to keep from falling over and he vaguely wondered how they got this far. Since freshman year, they had been sworn enemies, and they'd always be like that, and now, here they were junior year… Doing whatever it was they were doing. Don't get him wrong, he still hated her.
Just, maybe a little less than before.
"Pearl Harbor," Meg said softly.
Or a lot less.
"Huh?"
"Japan was first to attack the big ol' U. S. and it dragged us into the war."
"I knew that," Castiel claimed.
"Which is why it's the only question blank on your paper."
"I just haven't written it down yet. You sort of attacked me."
Meg hummed in a sort of way that portrayed disbelief. She let go of Castiel at last and Castiel felt something sink inside him, maybe it was disappointment, maybe it was relief, maybe it was a strange mixture of the two. His heart thrummed loudly in his chest while he watched Meg pick up her paper from the floor. He wondered if the last seven minutes had all been in his mind and Meg would turn around, call him a geek and laugh at him again.
But she didn't.
"I not-hate you, Clarence," she proclaimed.
"My name is Castiel."
"Like I said, Clarence."
"Castiel."
Meg laughed. He got that part right.
"So do you not-hate me, too?"
Castiel took a moment purely just to boost her ego. He considered lying, though it probably was just all of the oxytocin bouncing around his system from the close proximity and romantic gestures—He overthought things much too often. At least that made up for the time he was supposed to be thinking about her question.
"I suppose so."
Meg gave him a toothy grin that he not-hated. He didn't really remember when it was that she left. He didn't really remember the answers to the rest of the questions.
After that day, their relationship shot up like a firework. They were the cute-cuddly couple that made everyone feel a little sick, that pulled each other into an empty classroom and giggled into the kiss. Somehow, when Castiel imagined dating Meg, he imagined it to be something heated and sex-based. That was definitely not the case. They weren't shy, per se, but they didn't want to ruin a sweet moment by throwing in something too much.
A lot of people told them they were cute together, the whole height difference looking like it was straight out of a movie, though there was no raising-on-the-toes as much as there was yanking-down-so-fast-Castiel-felt-like-he-might-fall-over. Assertive when getting what she wants, Meg was slower and sweeter once she had it. Castiel not-hated it.
They were children.
Falling over their own two feet, trying to learn to walk, skinning their knees, and run. It was something innocent what they caught themselves in—It was serendipity. They were teenagers. Everyone asked them about their sex life, except that there was none. Sometimes Meg would lie and say that Castiel was a total great lay just to make him sputter and blush. Others wondered how their relationship sustained without sex. Castiel and Meg wondered what kind of relationship it was to have one sustaining on sex. It was magical, mystical, everything that came from a fanciful romance novel—not that Castiel read those. He not-hated those, too. That was something they often said, until one day
"Tell me you love me," Castiel said breathlessly while they were tangled under blankets during the winter.
"What? Getting sick of not-hating me? Only if you say it first."
"You say it."
"You!"
"Never!" he laughed. "Fine. Same time."
"One,"
"Two,"
"Three."
"I love you," Castiel said alone. Once he'd said it he glared at her, pushing her down onto the bed in a seeming fit of anger though the embarrassed blush running up his neck made it all look silly. Meg started laughing, her head tossed to the side and hair scattered over the mattress. "You have to say it at least now!"
"All right, all right," she said with a sloppy grin adorning her cheeks. "I love you, Clarence."
Castiel surged down and stole a kiss. "Actually use my name," he complained.
"What? It isn't Clarence? What other secrets have you kept from me?"
"Meg!"
"I love you, Castiel."
Something happy swirled and twisted up Castiel's insides. He smiled and leaned on her shoulder, nose touching her neck. Something felt so warm and beautiful about this moment. He not-hat—loved her. This was three years after they met, three months after they kissed. They got an A on the history assignment, by the way. Castiel did most of it. Meg answered the question about the United States simply because she kept saying Castiel didn't know the answer.
Everything was like living on a carousel. It was like flying, for lack of a better word. It was like breathing in cotton candy. It was like wearing old T-Shirts that just got out of the dryer every day. It was like singing in the pouring rain—It was like—It was like—There were too many analogies for this instance to name, not because of the abundance of people that were capable of feeling what they felt, but because they felt so many things all at once. It was like double-dutch jump roping.
Castiel gave his life away wrapped in cheap wrapping paper and he tied the bow himself and mailed it off, he gave his life to Meg. How did he ever know he spent his life running from what he was chasing? Sometimes you just have to stop and be hit with it. All those nights—
All those nights he tucked himself into bed and told himself he was good enough for the world—
He now had someone else to fall asleep with.
They shared so much they might as well of shared a name. Meg told him about her family, she was an only child with two parents who were deeply religious, and Castiel told her about his own. He didn't remember his parents hardly at all, father leaving his mother after finding out she was pregnant and his mother dying in child labor with his younger sister Anna. His older sister, Naomi, took care of them. She was kind.
Somewhere along the line, Meg started coming over to Castiel's house more often. She said that her parents were angry with her and Castiel nodded and pulled her into his arms in some sort of comfort—Like
the whole world would disappear around him since he now held it in his arms. The topic always changed very quickly, but that's always how it started. Meg would show up by his front door and say the same thing: "Mom and dad are mad at me. But that's okay, I guess." Castiel believed her at first.
It was three months later that her parents came to him.
"Meg isn't speaking to us," her father told him, genuinely concerned. "We don't know what we've done."
"She told me you were upset with her," Castiel remembered saying slowly, uncomprehendingly.
"No!" her mother said, seeming to be offended by the accusation. "We love her! She just won't speak to us. Not a word. We've tried calling, texting, knocking on her door, locking the front door so she can't leave but she climbs out a window. She just—Please, can you tell her we love her? We just want to talk to her again. She's our daughter."
Castiel nodded slowly, promising he would talk to her about it.
They left his home with wistful prayers to the Heavens. Castiel could see the desperation, the fists thrown to the air in a demand what they had done. Castiel felt strings tugging him in different directions. From Meg's distraught features to her parents' pleads for her to come home. Meg came over to his home later that night the same as every other night.
"My mom and dad are mad at me."
Castiel sucked in a deep breath, unsure how to go about it.
"But that's all right," she continued in a way to change the subject again. Castiel didn't want her to.
"Why don't you try to talk to them about it?" he suggested.
Meg looked shocked. "I've tried to smooth things over but all they do is yell at me and make me want to cry."
"What?" Castiel scooted closer, holding her closer. "That's… Horrible. You know I love you."
He placed a kiss to her temple.
"Yeah."
They lapsed into silence before Castiel heard her parents' words echo in his head. It was all just misunderstanding and miscommunication. If only they would speak, it would all get better, and something just felt one-sided about what Meg was saying.
"You should go talk to them. Go home. They love you, you know. They're you're parents."
Meg was quiet before he said, "Did they tell you to say that?"
"What?" Castiel felt his chest tighten. "No! I mean, they talked to me, but they really do care for you. You should—Just tell me why they're mad at you? What's going on?"
"You want me to tell you?" Meg asked in a raising voice. "They abuse me! They mistreat me! They claim—They claim to be Godly and holy but they aren't! They think I'm satanic! A demon! One day my mother shook my shoulders and shouted at the skies—TO GOD—To 'get this demon out of my daughter'! I'm not a demon! I'm a prophet! I-I- I can hear The Lord's voice, Castiel!" Meg's voice started to shake. Castiel nearly thought she was done, but she took a huge breath and continued.
"I'm just so shocked by how mean they're being. And by how cruelly they're treating me. They're so unloving to me, and then they accuse me of not loving them... It hurts me so bad that they can't let me follow God. They told me that I'm not hearing God. Can you imagine that, Clarence? Would you ever deny the creator of the world? Or his words? How can ANYONE do that?
"Love isn't one sided. It's not be loved first, and then love someone second. You are always supposed to love first without condition. ESPECIALLY your daughter. It's like they never learned the lesson they taught me... I'm so hurt by the way they've been treating me.
"Ordering me around—They accuse me of being arrogant when I am ANYTHING but that. I have prayed to God asking him if it's true, repenting and begging God to forgive me for this, and you know what he told me? He said I am so modest. I have already learned to be humble and modest, and now I need to learn my true worth.
"I need to delight in his glory, God's glory, and the beauty that he made me in. And I am learning COURAGE. Godly courage, undeniable courage. I am a warrior and a prophet and a poet of the Living God, of Yahweh. I am not afraid of mom and dad, and even though the things they say wound me beyond human repair, I know a SUPERNATURAL AND TRUE HEALER who walks with me every day. Mom and dad can't control me anymore, and I hope they repent for the AWFUL things they have done, and for the SINS they have committed against God. I hope you'll know God just like I do, Clarence," Meg gave out a huff of a laugh.
"I really really am praying for you every day that you'll blossom into a wonderful man of God. I love you so much Castiel, and one of my biggest pains is that mom and dad will find out that we're friends and will try to end our courtship. I love you so much. But mom and dad have wronged me, and they have sinned greatly against God. They are making it worse every day…" her voice trailed off at first and then she sucked in breath through her teeth in presumable anger.
She said, "They are knocking down dishes and furniture and breaking things, and instead of stepping around it and pretending it didn't happen, THEY ARE BREAKING MORE THINGS. EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING THEY CAN GET THEIR HANDS OUT. They are listening to EVIL and are WRONG and SINNING AGAINST THE LORD ALMIGHTY. They are preying on the weak, their own flesh and blood, those who are easiest to love they are CASTING AWAY as if the GEM that the Lord has given them (his daughter) is nothing more than a piece of worthless coal.
"His wrath is so, so real, and they are testing him, the God of everything. They deny him daily. What happens to people who deny the Lord? Yahweh Almighty? What happens to them?" Castiel felt still, the air around them feeling colder. Meg continued softly, "It is almost better not to know what happens to such people… I won't tell you what happens to them, Castiel... I will keep praying for mom and dad, and that they will let God back in their lives, but I really can't do anything. It's all between them and God," Meg held Castiel's hand tighter. "I love you Clarence. So, so much."
The air was still and silent, partly because Castiel was unsure if she was going to continue, partly because he had absolutely no words to say. And so he didn't say anything, simply hold her in his arms. Something crawled between them, a barrier, a veil—
It was then that everything started to break. It was slow and gradual, but it was eventual.
Afterwards, her parents were in contact again. "I swear to you, Castiel," his mother said with unrelenting desperation. "I swear we would never hurt her. We never have—She just suddenly—I don't know! I really don't know! What happened to her?" her mother started to break down in tears and hide her face in her hands.
"I miss her so much," her father said in a voice that dripped with longing. He placed a kiss on his wife's cheek. "We just want her home. She hasn't been home in months. We have no idea where she's staying."
Castiel felt stuck in mud.
Gross, filthy, mud. He was screaming at walls, at bricks, and no one would hear his words.
He found himself siding with Meg's parents. Something was… Wrong. It was only right to try to talk things out; it seemed to be the only solution. Castiel was patient and kind, trying to coax Meg out of wherever she was. They only spoke over the phone now. Over texting. The memory of her voice was starting to fade.
All of her texts were the same.
"I love you."
"Be careful."
"I'm happy where I am."
"You should be happy, too."
"I love you."
"Be good, Clarence."
All of them were the same.
Then, all at once… She just stopped replying.
He sent her messages every day. He was blind and he was ignorant of everything that was happening. It felt surreal. It felt like something that was supposed to be in some TV drama. He would call her just to listen to her voicemail. "Hi, this is Meg. Leave me a message," plain and simple in a voice that sounded a little too broken. Everything felt dripping through his fingers as if he was trying to hold the oceans of the world in his palms.
He reread all of the text messages to pass the time. He held the bed sheets, the ones that clung to her scent, and he fell asleep to the pretense of her. He fell asleep in sheets of tears and heartache. He understood how her parents felt, being completely cut off from someone that they used to use like a drug. If this was how heroin addicts felt, he never ever was going to even think about doing drugs. The last message she sent broke through him like dagger not through the heart or the back, but through the soul that they used to share.
"I'm really happy where I am. You should be happy, too! Be good, Cas!" was the last message she ever sent, and would be the last of her words Castiel would ever hear in his life.
He sent her poetry every night.
Take me to the bakery.
All things sour, turn them sweet.
I don't mind if you skip out
On the chocolate chips and cream.
Hold my hand as we walk down
All these caramel-paved roads,
Bring me lollipops under each streetlight. And so
Long as you may hide,
Under sugar-coated lies
I suppose I can't bring myself
To fight.
I'm sitting all alone, by the
Bakery
We used to go.
"You're late," I mumble to the caramel-paved roads,
A mouthful
Of sour cookie dough.
And still his inbox lay broken, abandoned and empty.
I lay awake at night
To count the stars;
To listen to what I couldn't hear before.
The soft scratching and whispering of the air,
The thumping of hearts that beat
In unison at the end.
The tickle and the chill.
And it's only because beauty is untainted
That many look over it without a thought.
The world is beautiful, and it is cruel
Because the spiders poison and trap and eat the butterflies.
Colors do not ask permission to shine, they
Just do.
And I pull out my tattered wallet and
I ask the price to lose myself
Since a smile is so hard to come by these days.
So with my nails bleeding from scratching
On the doors,
I stop to lay awake at night
To count the stars.
Oh he just wants to scream because she still won't answer—
She is a symphony.
Crescendo, diminuendo, a tempo.
Speak to me in nothing but fortzando. Lure me
In with empty gestures and lies.
I bask in all that she is,
In spirit
Up bow, down, up, down bow,
Lift and release the sound.
Play dolce, play legato, adagio,
Bring me up, she holds
My heart in her palms.
Diminished chords ring crudely,
Augmented ring harshly.
She plays me staccato.
She drops me down and she rests for bars
And bars and bars and forty bars. She
Misses the downbeat, she misses the upbeat,
Here I conduct in three, yet she plays in four—
She's dragging
Dragging this tempo.
She's playing in some empty rehearsal room,
Some dark rehearsal room,
Expecting them to see her.
With rosin strewn,
With bow hairs fallen,
With bridges chipped and dead metronomes,
Broken music stands and ruined sheet music lay unplayed,
And now,
Not even she picks up her violin:
Adagio molto maestoso.
Castiel poured his heart out into nothingness. He had given over his life to someone who threw it away and now he felt numb. He felt like a used rag that just washed every dinner plate and was dropped on the floor in a pitiful attempt to hang it up. No one bothered to pick it up. Castiel clutched his phone like it was Meg, like it held her soul. It was another month of silence before Castiel texted her a final message, feeling pathetic for having to do this over an electronic device.
"Meg?" he typed slowly. "I don't care if you don't… not-hate me anymore. I don't care if you do hate me. I would just like to know. Please," his fingers stuttered over the fingerboard. Each letter took an eternity to press.
"If you don't love me, don't bother replying to this message either," he typed, "it will be more than words can ever say."
Two months later, Meg still hadn't replied.
Lost in the wind, two broken souls, and the story ends right there. They never spoke again, they never saw each other again. What had started so beautifully ended so cruelly that made Castiel try to break down whatever he had built up with Meg. He deleted every picture of her. Every message, and convinced himself he didn't care. He fell asleep feeling empty. It was a dull feeling. He simply lost the capacity to love, to feel, to hurt. With swords and needles pricking and tearing up his insides, he blocked everything away.
He not-hated her. He didn't know her. He was blind to whatever may be of her.
He didn't understand.
Castiel closed his eyes and fell under the claws of nightmares, having lost his dream to the clutches of what he never was able to find. So one spiral starts and ends; a whirlpool spins around and destroys islands and continents.
As mentioned, a story ends right there, but another starts at a more horrifying magnitude.
A/N: (again)
Just some dictionary. One of the poems had a lot of musical terms so here's what they all mean:
Crescendo: Get louder
Diminuendo: Fade away
A tempo: Go back to the original tempo
Fortzando: Suddenly loud
Dolce: Sweet and pretty
Legato: Smooth
Adagio: Slow
Diminished/Augmented: different types of chords
Staccato: a sharp, short note
bar: music is broken up by bars/measures
Conducting in three/four: Music is written in time signatures. When something is written in three is is a dance, often happy or sweet and kinda jumpy and fun. Most songs are written in four.
Rosin: Glorified, expensive tree sap. You need it to play a stringed instrument.
bow hairs: For beginners, you need a bow to play a string orchestra instrument, and the bow has hair on it. Playing excessively or too hard will cause you to break hairs. (This isn't bad, in fact, a lot of musicians are proud when they break a hair or two. Some are annoyed, though.)
Bridges: Stringed instruments have bridges to keep the strings on? Idk still for beginners.
Metronomes: Assuming you still know nothing, a metronome keeps the beat. (tick tick tick)
Adagio molto maestoso: slowly with majesty. (However this is never played as the poem suggests)
I HOPE YOU LIKED IT KAY BYE TIL NEXT CHAPTER WHICH WILL DETAIL NAOMI