Disclaimer: none of these ever happened, and everyone belongs to themselves. Life sucks, I know.

Chapter 14: Time to Let Go

~*~ In the empty doorframes of closed doors, your dream-like silhouette is lingering still ~*~

10 days; 10 days had passed since the last time he saw Ville. 10 days had passed since his promise to himself to get over the loss of a love he'd never had. 10 days since he came home with a broken heart in his chest, a throbbing pain in his throat, a yawning slash in his soul, and thousands of bleeding bullet wounds in his dreams. 10 days seemed such a long time for wasting away with nothing left in his hands but a bottle of Vodka, and the fuzziness of drunkenness seeping far too deep in the layers of his disorientated mind that he gave a damn about. But he knew, even in the hazy state he was in, that a thousand of another 10 days would be still a too short a time to forget about all the memories, all the dreams and wishes he had have to leave behind, if he kept thinking about those shining green eyes melting into his, those full, petal lips falling down on his, those pale, roaming hands falling into a rhythmic pattern with his, that big heart beating to the sound of his, those ragged, fast breaths ghosting over his naked body…

10 days was not a long time. He'd be wasting his whole life running from one nightmare into another, from one despair into another, from one failure into another, and he would still remember; all the agony, all the tears, all the steps he took wrong, and all those tiny little things that had led to his big demise…

The morning light was pouring down on him through the open windows in the kitchen, the baggy T-shirt he was wearing was sticking to his sweating body, the forgotten cup of coffee in his hands was burning his skin, and he had never felt colder in his entire fucked-up life. Missy was sitting right opposite him, head titled down, slender hands playing absent-mindedly with her untouched breakfast, looking utterly miserable, and yet, Bam could not stop thinking about Ville. This whole fiasco he used to call a relationship, this thing he and Ville had together, did it even have a good moment in it? A memory he would want to stick to, to go to sleep with, and to wake up to? A bright, sunny thought that he could use to lighten his mood every time he relapsed into depression? A loving picture he could hang up on the wall and gaze up dreamily at, whenever he was looking for a way out of the harsh reality? If the answer was yes, then he didn't know where those happy, shining memories were hiding. And if it was no, then why was he still craving it, longing for another chance, another moment with Ville? Was it that he wasn't looking deep enough, or he was, as Migé had so kindly pointed it out to him, a masochist?

"Bam?" Missy's soft voice danced around his hazy thoughts and he forced his eyes to stay on the slightly slouched figure of his wife. Wife? But for how much longer? Their appointment was in four days, but he had lost Missy as his wife back when he started to notice Ville mattered to him more than she would ever do.

"Yeah?" when had his voice turned so coarse?

Missy shifted in her chair, seemingly uncomfortable with what she was about to say.

"Is it possible…"she trailed off, eyes persistently on her cup of coffee she had yet to drink.

Bam patiently waited for her to either continue with her question or just simply forget about it. He didn't really want to know what she wanted to ask, but he wasn't going to stop her from asking it either.

"Is it possible to be in love…", she was spooning her coffee that had gone cold by now, refusing to meet Bam's tired eyes, "…with two people at the same time?"

Bam sighed deeply and turned his eyes back to his own coffee. Of all the things she could have asked, as the last thing she ever wanted to ask from her unfaithful husband, why did she choose that one? A question that didn't sound final, like the way their relationship did. She should have asked about infinite matters, about the house, about the divorce, about all the reasons he had done all the things he did. Why did she ask a question that sounded hopeful, when there was no hope for either of them anymore?

But no matter what, Bam answered her.

"I don't know if it means anything to you now, if you believe me or not, but I loved you; I wouldn't have married you if I didn't. I guess I still do, and I'm not saying this to change anything. That's just how I feel and I'm gonna be honest with you for once." He briefly looked up to lock eyes with Missy. She had stopped spooning her coffee, and was now looking at him as if she didn't quite understand him, rather than not believing him.

"And then, there was Ville…" was it tears he saw in Missy's eyes as he mentioned Ville's name, or just a trick of morning light? "You know, it's just…love is…it's not always, you know, obvious. You can be in love with someone for years and not even acknowledge it for a second. I guess, that was the case with Ville. I loved him, long before I came to realize that I loved you, but never stopped to think about the feelings I had for him. I never even entertained the possibility of me being in love with another man; it was…way too weird even for me. But with you, it was different. It was…natural; something I had always been dreaming about since I hit puberty, or perhaps even longer than that. I thought about you and me together. I imagined the two of us as a couple and liked what I saw. That's why I proposed to you."

He paused to collect his thoughts, to think of something more to say, something intelligent, something that could make sense at least to his own ears, but realized there was nothing else left to say. Perhaps, Missy was right. Their marriage had indeed come to an end. What else was there to their relationship that could keep them together, still? Sure they still loved each other, or that was what they kept telling each other anyway, but somehow their love didn't feel right anymore. Nothing felt right anymore.

"Our appointment is on Monday." Missy began in her shaky voice; a voice that kept reminding Bam of how much he had done her wrong. "I've packed all my stuff, and…just so you know, I'm leaving America in a week."

The last part startled Bam more than it should have. It was her life anyway; it was her decision to live wherever she wanted to, but somehow, the prospect of Missy leaving his life like this, so final and with no possibility of ever coming back, scared him. He was hoping that they could remain friends, or at least have some time to cool down enough to start making things a little bit more comfortable between each other. Bam wanted her to stay around long enough to forgive him. Time healed the wounds, right? But if she wanted to leave, and never see Bam, then she would forget at best, or keep hurting at worst, and Bam didn't want either of them to happen. He wanted her to forgive him, but didn't feel he deserved her forgiveness just yet.

"Where…where are you going?" he needed to know. Perhaps, one day, if he felt brave enough to beg her for forgiveness, he could go and find her.

"Somewhere…somewhere far away." She didn't say anything, and Bam didn't ask for more. If she wanted him to know, she would have told him by now. Despair and loneliness were bearing down on him, crushing his heart into soft powder. He turned his head to conceal the misty shadow of tears from Missy's eyes.

"I wish I could…" Bam began, not completely realizing he had spoken out.

Missy cut him off, though, as if already knowing what he was about to say and not wanting to hear him out. "Yeah."

She forced a smile and stood up, one pale, quivering hand brushing a lock of long hair behind her ear. And when she left the kitchen, hair dancing around her face to a sad song, Bam knew it was the last time he could look at Missy's face and think of her as his wife.

~*~ My whole share of being with you is the bitter grief of sunset ~*~

3 months and 15 days; 3 months and 15 days since the last time she had seen Ville; she was 3 months and 15 days pregnant with a child of a man who had taken everything important from her; her husband, her happiness, her dreams, her hopes, her future…

She was pregnant by a man she had accidently fallen in love with. Bam's words rang through her head. Perhaps, it was possible to be in love with two people at the same time. She knew she loved Bam. His infidelity couldn't change anything about the fact that she loved him. Her happiest moments were the ones she had spent with Bam, no matter how short-lived and far between those happy moments had been. And Ville…what was it about him that pulled her so strongly towards him? Was it his beauty? It could be, but then again, what was beauty? The glint in his gorgeous green eyes, or the softness of the way he had looked at her that night? That silk, alabaster skin that felt like heaven beneath her hands, or the gentleness in the way he had touched her? Or could it be the fact that she was carrying his baby in her womb? Was that strong enough a reason to fall in love? She had spent a long time dwelling if it was love she was feeling for the Finnish singer or it was just her mixed-up feelings she could not find a name for. In the end, she decided it didn't matter either way. Whatever it was, she could and would never act upon it. The feeling was going to be forever buried in the depths of her heart and no one was ever going to find out about it. It didn't matter if it had a name. It didn't matter if it was real or just something she had made up out of need. It was going to be forgotten- one of these days- and she tried to convince herself that she didn't care what she felt for the Finn was. It was for the best, after all. What was the point in being in love and knowing for sure that you were, when your love was not going to be returned no matter what? It only hurt her more, and pain was something she was getting sick of.

When she forced herself to stop getting lost in the labyrinth of her wandering thoughts, she found herself surrounded by the all-too-familiar white walls that were closing in, and voices that were swimming all around her, drowning her in their annoying quietness. What was she doing here, again?

For the second time in her life, she had found herself somewhere she didn't really want to be in, yet, she had no other choice but to be there. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, brushed pass the women that looked just as distressed and miserable as she did, the black-leathered, comfortable chairs all around the room, the wide windows that were open and through which was blowing a hot summer breeze, and settled on the various photos of angelic faces hanging on the walls. Her hand, almost instinctively, went to rest on her belly. As she continued looking at the beautiful faces of the babies on the wall, she couldn't help but to wonder how her own baby would have looked like, if she gave him a chance to live. 'Him'? God, she already knew it was a boy, and he was going to look just like his father; dark, curly hair, snow-white skin, shocking green eyes, a small, slightly upturned nose, red, bow-shaped lips…he was going to be perfect; the most beautiful child in the world. But…he was not going to be born. She couldn't have this child, no matter how beautiful he would be, or how much she would love him. This baby was not meant to be here. He was not meant to be hers. If it wasn't for those eyes…Bam would have possibly looked pass the curly hair and the pale skin, but those eyes, those magnetic, green eyes, they were unmistakable, a dead giveaway. How was Missy going to explain to Bam that the baby she was claiming to be theirs had green eyes? And not any green eyes, but the green eyes of a man Bam was secretly in love with.

No, this baby was going to be buried, along with all the memories, all the feelings, and all the longings his mother had for a certain dark beauty that was called Ville Hermanni Valo.

~*~ On the glassy surface of your eyes, I have left the misty imprint of my sigh ~*~

It wasn't that he didn't learn from his mistakes; he was a professional skateboarder and learning from his mistakes had become a vital necessity in both his career and his life. It wasn't that he didn't know what was best for him; he was almost 30, and despite how he behaved in public, he had grown old enough to tell good and bad apart. He was here for a reason, and it wasn't the lack of abuse in his life, as Migé, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed against his broad chest, had so kindly put it. He was here to see Ville, because there was something he needed to ask the Finnish singer. He couldn't get over the man if this puzzle remained unsolved. Just an answer was all that he needed, and then he was on his way to moving on.

But when he finally got in the house (after winning a shouting contest with the bass player), Ville was already standing at the foot of the stairs that led to his bedroom. Seeing Ville after 11 days was Bam's undoing all over again. Perhaps, if he was in his casual clothes, with that bitter smirk on his face, eyes glaring fires at him, as he threw insults or perhaps even things at his head, he would have taken it far better than this. But no, Ville was not in his casual clothes, and he didn't look bitter or angry. He was standing there, in nothing but an oversized, pale blue shirt that barely came to his exposed, white hips, with sleeves that were long enough to cover his hands, and with two top buttons undone to show his jutted collarbones and a patch of ghostly white skin that looked almost transparent under the bluish hue radiating from the fluorescent lamp above his head. He had never looked more fragile in his entire life, not even while he had been in a coma. The expression on his face was heartbreaking in its raw, brutal pain that seemed to be sprayed on the pale surface of his skin. Through the confusion that had made him appear as a child no older than 5, passiveness and exhaustion were almost palpable on his gaunt features. Eyes once as warm and alive as green flames that burnt in a hearth, were only lit by the scorching, lingering touch of agony, and lips once as red and tempting as the forbidden fruit, matched the color of the ill-fitting shirt he had on. His hair was shorter, too. Dark and curly as ever, but barely reaching the nape of his neck and covering his ears; tiny waves of black that were slowly drowning his little, angelic face in. He looked younger, but young in a very wrong sense of the word. He looked like a very sick child whose days were numbered. That thought burned through Bam's mind like strong acid. And when he suddenly coughed into his hands, breaking the intense silence, Bam wondered when Ville had gotten so ill.

"Ville, go back to bed!"

Migé's order to Ville, who suddenly looked even more like a lost, confused child, made alarms go off inside Bam's head. Bed? But it was only 8 in the evening. Why did Ville have to be in bed so early? Perhaps Ville was really as ill as he looked.

Ville's body made a half-turn, probably about to do as Migé had ordered him, so pliant and so…resigned. But Bam had not come all this way back to a place he had once sworn to never set foot in, only to see the one person he wanted so badly to ask a question from slipping from his fingers like quicksilver.

"No, Ville, wait!"

He could only shout, because Migé, in his intimidating pose, was standing in his way to Ville, and he also had a feeling that launching himself at the ill-looking man would not lead to his desired results.

To his surprise, Ville did stop in his tracks, but the look he was giving him unnerved him to no end. Why was Ville looking at him- with those vacant, colorless eyes- like he didn't know him? Or couldn't remember anything about him? Those eyes that had once pierced through all the layers of Bam's glowing pretence, undressing him beyond the articles of clothing, reaching for a heart he had spent all his life pretending he didn't have, were now looking past him, as if they were not actually seeing him.

The realization suddenly hit like a loud bang to his head, and Bam marched towards the silent sufferer, ignoring the threatening glares Migé was throwing his way, ignoring his thumbing heart that was exploding inside, ignoring the closeness of a man he couldn't just get out of his system and the coldness that had him in a tight, lover's embrace. He grabbed Ville's thin shoulders that were only bones with no flesh, and without even comprehending what he was doing, started shaking him almost violently. 'Ville, it's me! C'mon, snap out of it! See me, it's Bam! Fucking SEE me!' was rapidly flashing in Bam's desperate eyes but it was only immense pain that flashed back through those pale, green eyes.

Migé shouted something from behind, but it was only Ville's low, almost emotionless voice that he heard.

"You're hurting me."

As soon as Ville opened his mouth to say those words, Bam had stopped shaking the taller man. On the snow-white skin that covered Ville's shoulders, dark, angry bruises were already forming, rich colors spreading on the blank canvas that was his pale skin, painting the man all the pain and suffering he was holding inside. Bam was both horrified and mystified by the inky color his mere fingers had left on Ville's smooth skin.

"Oh, God…what have I done to you?!?"

"Get the fuck away from him!" He barely registered as Migé's large hands took a hold of his shoulders and pushed him away from Ville. His back made a dull sound as it made an impact with the wall behind him, and as pain shot through his veins and a thin film of tears blurred his vision, he saw Ville in a whole new light. The watery image of a man he just couldn't fall out of love yet floated around him, all the expressions on that pale face becoming more profound, more real. The drug-like confusion that washed over the pain he seemed to have been born with, a kind of innocence that could only be maintained if you have suffered enough in your life, a persistent hope he was so desperately clutching onto, one that kept telling him things would be alright, that he would stop hurting if he just kept on fighting…all the emotions that flickered through those pale green eyes and ran down his cheeks like thousands of teardrops he couldn't remember how to shed suddenly reminded Bam that Ville could never be his; even hundreds of centuries could not erase so much pain off that angelic face, and who was Bam to be able to stay strong enough to make the pain go away?

"It's ok. I'm ok, Mizee." Somehow it hurt more hearing those meaningless words falling from those full lips than it would have if he had just told them the truth; that it wasn't ok. That he wasn't fucking ok. That the bruises hurt. And then just everything else…

But when Migé slipped his arm around Ville's thin waist and started leading him up the stairs, Bam knew his only chance at ever seeing Ville again was slipping away.

"Can we…can we please talk for a moment?" he was begging and he didn't care. There was a time in Bam Margera's life when he believed he could have any fucking thing he wanted, if he just wanted to have it. He had long passed that point of time in his life; if begging was his last resort to speak to Ville, so be it. fuck, he would do anything to have another chance with him; the last chance.

"No, you can't. Ville has to be in bed right now, and you have to leave; you'd better be gone when I get back." Migé growled and gently pushed Ville forward to take a step towards the stairs.

"Please? I beg you, Ville, just a minute and I fucking swear you'll never see me again!" he tried again, this time on his knees and eyes pleading with Ville's exhausted ones. If he refused him now, there would be no hope for him anymore.

"Mizee, give us a moment." Ville's soft request brought the flicker of hope back to Bam's heart. He jumped to his feet, suddenly feeling so light-headed that even Migé's angry glare didn't slow him down in his way to the singer.

"I'll walk you to your bedroom." Migé offered but Ville gently shook his head.

"No, it's fine. I managed climbing them down all on my own, after all." He smiled for Migé, and Bam suddenly realized his smile had the same effect on the bass player as it still did on him. It melted him.

"Alright, but I'll come back for you in a minute."

"Two." Bam suddenly chimed in, and lowered his head as the Finns turned to look at him. "Two minutes please." He added almost shyly.

Migé huffed and released his protective hold on Ville, but other than that, didn't object anymore. Ville started an agonizingly slow pace up the stairs and Bam followed closely behind. When they reached the bedroom, Ville continued walking to his unmade bed, and quietly sat on it. He was looking down as he adjusted his shirt over his hips, trying to cover his nudity as best as he could, and Bam found himself following Ville's fingers as they rather awkwardly traced the hem of the pale blue shirt, sketching invisible lines on the soft-looking material. His eyes then traveled upward, and settled on the bruises that were covering Ville's otherwise white skin in an aesthetic fashion. If possible, he hated himself even more as he realized he had just hurt Ville in a physical sense, something he had sworn he would never do, not even at those times he had been at the receiving end of Ville's violence.

"Err…sorry…" Ville looked up as he began, and Bam suddenly lost his words along with his nerves. "…about…about the bruises."

It was such a pathetic attempt at apologizing, but Bam didn't know how else to do it. The smile that graced Ville's almost blue lips was not the one he had just given Migé on the stairway; this one was full of sadness, silent surrender and pure pain. Bam's stomach churned.

"They never fade, do they?"

Something about the smile, and the coldness of his voice made Bam realize Ville was not simply referring to the bruises on his shoulders, but the ones Bam had left on his heart. Bam had no answer for that; not one that would mean anything, that would make either of them happy. So he avoided it like it had never been mentioned. Ville's smile faltered as Bam abruptly asked,

"What's with the…" he motioned to Ville with his hand, not quite sure how to put his inquiry into words that wouldn't sound too inquisitive, or too uncaring. "You know, you look very pale; paler than usual that is and your lips are practically blue, man and…and you coughed downstairs…are you sick or something?" his voice trailed off at the annoyed look that suddenly crossed Ville's face.

Ville looked down again, pulling the hem of his shirt over his bent knees. "Uh, it's nothing…just my damn asthma, the same old story."

When he refused to explain more, Bam tried again. "But you've never looked this sick before. Are you sure…?"

Ville's sigh cut him off. "It's…it's the medication, ok? I have to take several pills a day, and they're rather strong. I have to rest all day because of them; funny how they make me feel so weak when they should make me feel anything but."

He still wasn't looking at him, and that made Bam feel there was more to Ville's sickness than he let on.

He was about to ask more, when Ville suddenly looked up and made Bam's breath catch in his throat.

"Mizee will be here in a minute. I don't believe you're here to ask about my illness, so if this thing you wanna know about is really important, you'd better get on with it now."

Bam wanted to know more, he wanted to know how sick he was, if he was going to get better soon, just something more than 'my asthma and my medication', but he knew Migé would stay true to his word and would be here sooner than Bam could even start with his endless questions in his head.

"Yeah, you're right. I want to know…" he paused, and decided he much preferred Ville to avert his gaze, than to look at him with those tired, faded green eyes of his that made Bam's heart drop at the intense familiarity of them. "Ville, this is the last and the only thing I'm ever gonna ask you, and after that, no matter what the answer might be, I won't be bothering you with my presence anymore. So please, just be honest, ok? All I need is a true answer, so please don't deny me of that."

Ville merely nodded and Bam, pleased, continued.

"I want to know…was I really the reason why you…tried to take your life?"

Ville took too long to answer him, and when he finally did, Bam wasn't sure if he really wanted Ville to be honest and break him, or to lie to him and save him.

"Yes…"

Bam wanted to reach out and brush away those tears that were silently running down Ville's cheeks. He wanted to reach out and take all the pain he had caused this man away. He wanted to save him, to relieve him of this burden on his shoulders, the burden he shouldn't have been the one to bear in the first place, but he knew no matter how far he stretched his hand, how much he wished that he would, he'd never reach him.

It was over. He didn't know what 'it' was; an affair, a relationship, a game, their love, whatever it had been, it no longer was. It was over, like the last chapter of a tragedy he had written with his own hands, and he had to let go. No matter what it was going to take, he had to let go. He simply had to.