A/N:
Everyone can see in this story what they like to see - but I imagine it to be a recurring dream that mirrors the feelings Green has; but which he suppresses. Things you suppress, though, will return eventually, and mostly in dreams. I musn't say too much now, of course - it'd be better to do that at the end - but the ending mirrors his view on those feelings. He can't admit to it, because he's ashamed or confused (or because he thinks he's above it), but in the end it does more harm than he had foreseen. And it keeps vexing him at night, yup.
I'm really happy with this one - I hope you are too, and that you get what I'm trying to say. Comments are always nice!
Thorns
She is stretched out on the sofa like a cat. Her legs long and exposed; her body comfortable in every position she maintains. Muscles supple and skin flawless. Even though the room is stuffed with things - distracting and misleading other fools - all his attention goes out to her.
Mesmerizing. Addictive. Desirable.
Like a drug bringing you to great heights but destroying you nonetheless.
He walks slowly towards her, and knows that he wouldn't have been able to stop even if he wanted to. (Sometimes, brain and body are two different matters.) Now he is closer, he can see her finely polished features; calling his attention and stirring unwanted emotions inside of him.
(Eyes glint. Lips curve. Lashes flutter.)
Her skin is fair and flawless, but her cheeks wear the colour of roses; so subtle and becoming that he almost fails noticing it. (He can't help but wonder if she also tastes and smells like rose petals - and then thinks with a pang that perhaps she is the flower: beautiful and perfect, but oh so dangerous.)
Thorns aplenty.
Still, he advances. He wants to touch her - be with her - experience whatever it is that is awaiting him. And he knows he shouldn't move in her direction; but her eyes are like lamps showing him the way in an otherwise dark vacuum.
(What was that story about little lights calling people to the depths of the bog?)
Fantasy and reality are two different matters he reminds himself. Desperate, almost.
He can see the moist on her petal-shaped lips, the light flush on her cheeks. A small whiff of flowery aroma comes his way; the promise of silky hair and soft skin makes his imagination run wild and his senses tantalize.
Balancing on the threshold, dangling in-between want and alarm; between dreams and reality. She rises and stretches an arm in his direction. His eyes urge him to take it, so that pictures will become reality; so that want will find a way out.
Perfection always end, his brain tells him. And everything has consequences.
His breathing is deep and shallow, his hands tremble with the suppressed yearning to reach out. He lifts his gaze to her eyes - they are soft and gleam with something he realises too late is plea. Seconds seem to linger for eternity and the pressure of time is suffocating him -
(Weight of the world on his shoulders.)
Thoughts swirl through his head - fears and longing and objections and… - all mixed into an overflowing crucible, threatening to burst apart. It's too much; and he's scared. The dawning prospect of unknown things to come makes him feel smaller than the petals that currently lie around the object of recurring dreams - and he knows he should not fear; he knows.
But he does. And he steps back.
One single movement of his feet, and the girl before him dissolves into a blur of colours and shapes - Gone forever. (He knows, and mourns).
And as if to silence him, a stream of vermillion paint pours itself out over the world. All colours and sounds drown - and the air becomes heavy with the smell of roses; flower petals falling down from the skies; slowly covering and burying him till all he can do is scream.
And as the last of his vision disappears, overflowing with gushing red and knife-sharp petals with thorns (petals don't have thorns, he tries to point out, desperately - but his words get lost in the swirl of movement and colour), a stray thought crosses his mind like an anchor in full storm -
Next time, I will give in; next time, I will go to her. And kiss her, and hold her, and…
(But he knows that the only thing he'll meet is suffocation and disappointment - because that's how it always goes. A dissolving dream image, only leaving him cursing his cowardice and wanting more.)