He had forgotten that rain was in the forecast. It didn't hit immediately, but he was glad when it did. He didn't feel the cold pelt his face, stick his hair to his skin, or his sweater to his body. He needed it to hide the tears on his face that refused to go away, needed it to wash off what had already fallen so he could make space for more.

He wanted to run through it forever. He avoided the buses and busy roads, too broken to be able to walk amongst the more fortunate. He had no way to explain himself and he couldn't even bother to maintain some semblance of normalcy. All he could feel was everything in him dying and the future wiping itself away.

"I know something still is in there hiding from me. But don't think you can let it hide forever. I'll catch it and then I won't let go."

He had been a fool. A hopeful, love-struck fool. He had loved her so completely for the longest time and had blinded himself with his feelings. Everything she had done toward him had given him the clues that things weren't as they had been. The pushing away. The initial breakup. The constant guilt. The timidness after their time in bed together. The tears. The same mistakes time and time again. He had seen them all and ignored them...hoping beyond hope that they could make it.

Now, he was here to face this alone. Alone with just the rain.

The run took a while, but he needed it. He didn't want to head home, but he didn't want to be anywhere around people. All he wanted was to crawl inside a warm blanket with a change of dry clothing and sleep the world away for the next week. He didn't want to go to his job tomorrow, didn't want to face his family, didn't want to worry about what his friends would think. He just wanted it to all go away.

He barely noticed when his surroundings became familiar or when his building came into view. He stared up at it, breath puffing out in the cold from the rain and chest heaving from exhaustion. The extensive run had taxed him and was merciless on his energy reserves. The emotional turmoil that was drowning him with the rain had already been brutal enough. He didn't have the will to open the main door and climb up the stairs to his floor.

What was the point in going upstairs? What was the point in getting on dry clothes and warming up? The cold of the night, the solitude of the street, the pelting rain felt much better than any comfort he would receive. He was too far gone to be able to picked back up now.

Only she could pick him back up and he was bleeding too much for her to effectively stop it.

"I...don't..."

To know that she had been with him for the last year alone, factoring nothing else of their time together, and might not have loved him made him feel cheap and used. The rain couldn't come down hard enough to wash his skin clean of every inch of her that it had touched. He wanted to scratch his skin and tear every memory off every part of his body that had connected with her.

It had all been real for him. Every second, whether good or bad. He couldn't get enough of it. The times fluctuated from good to bad and he was aware of that. That was why he kept standing where he was while she did what she needed to do. That's why he believed things would get better in the long run when she finished her responsibilities.

It felt like his very humanity was falling off him as it dripped with the water to the pavement and washed down the sewers. He felt like he was slowly crawling away from himself, hot tears the only thing keeping his face warm. His soul felt empty. Tomorrow didn't exist and it didn't need to.

He stared for what felt like the longest time at his floor, mind empty. He had no reason to move, didn't feel the cold that had gotten past his coat, had soaked his pants, had gotten into his socks. He felt none of it, didn't want to feel any of it. He didn't want to give in to the tourniquet that was emotion.

His eyes eventually gravitated to the closed door, the stairs barely peeking through the dark. He stared at them, hands dangling and dripping at his sides. He only blinked when water got in his eyes, but made no move to clean it out so he could see. What was the point when tomorrow should never come?

He had been so upset and fretted at what he had done this time, worried out of his mind when she never came back for so many days and he had no way of contacting her. He had no answer from anyone and the fear that hit him at her disappearance was like nothing he had ever felt before. He wasn't even that scared when his mother decided to pack him and his sister and move them from Switzerland so many years ago. From a place he had only known, from a father he never saw again.

He felt nothing, but his head was full of her words. The conversation kept him from experiencing feelings that he knew would only torment him. The longing, the love, the lust, the need of her...for her. It was already crushing his chest and he couldn't breathe enough as it was.

"I'm sick of it! I can't take this anymore!"

She was tired of him and their relationship. She had given up and gone to greener pastures. It had gone through his brain so many times, but something clicked in his head after the longest time and his knees gave out. He fell heavily to the cobblestone road below, feeling the water try to soak his pants further.

Dead, green eyes stared at the ground, idly watching the water move away. He was unaware of his own body as the chill took away the last ounces of warmth that he produced. His breath fogged as he tried to breathe around the vice trying to break every rib in his chest. The tears still kept coming, almost living entities of their own.

How did he manage anything now? He had gone through the motions primarily because she had been there behind the scenes. It was a way to pass the time until he could paint her again. She had been his muse for so many years and now he had nothing. There was no pain to paint to get it out; the rain had washed it away without his requesting it to.

How he ever got up, let alone climbed the stairs to his home, he couldn't even remember. One foot went in front of the other, those simple body mechanics not listening to him. His mind had shut down out of shock and he huddled in the dark recesses, unable to reach out to live.

He idly heard the water dripping onto the floor, felt the squish of his shoes. His hand finally moved after countless heartbeats, the knob warmer than his own skin. The heat was a small help to jog him outside himself enough to open the door and enter.

The lock clicked too loud in his ears, the silence of his own home another nail against his heart. He had hoped someone would be in the kitchen to come and fuss over him, to get him a towel and worry about how he looked. Even if he had nothing to say, somewhere deep down, it would have been appreciated.

Green idly found the clock on the wall and found it way after dinner. Of course...he had told them to not wait up and eat without him. His sister was probably out doing something and his mother might be in bed if she had the opportunity. She worked hard for them both; he should do all he could not to wake her. It was late and he didn't want to bother either of them.

Grasping at the sense of family, knowing now it was the only thing he had to get by, he walked as quietly as he could over the floor. He left trails in his wake, but mentally promised to clean things up later when he remembered how to use his hands. They still rested at his sides as if exhausted from opening a simple door knob.

The light in his room blinded him and squeezed out a few more tears when his eyes closed. He stood there in the bright, hearing the rain pelt his window nearby, feeling the heat of his room trying to creep into his skin. He stood there for so long, the ding of the clock in the living room chimed the hour and the half past before he felt like giving his legs a rest.

He awkwardly sat on his legs in sopping wet clothing, bangs still plastered to his face, eyes on the floor. He stared at nothing, having nothing to stare at, but still not wanting to close his eyes. He needed something else to take the pictures of her room away from his mind or he would return there and beg for her forgiveness. Would plead with her again after everything they had laid bare.

As always, his bed was raised up off the floor because they had no carpeting anywhere and it was just wood floor. From his spot, he could easily see the large bag containing all of the paintings and drawings that housed her for the nights he was away. As if drawn by some sense of perverse need, he crawled across the floor on hands and knees and reached under the bed.

The black fabric stared back at him, silent and guarding. It kept her face safe for his viewing anytime he wanted it. He didn't really want it, since it would finish ripping up his sanity, but his hand gravitated to the zipper anyway. He watched his fingers fumble with it and slowly move it, exposing her to the light in his room.

Closed sketchpads and full canvases rested there. Part of her face or body was available from behind the other, taunting his need to see her clearly. To die completely and rest in the cold forever.

He reached for the top sketchpad, slowly flipping it open to some random page. Most of the drawings and paintings he had done bared her form to him to look at later. His eyes raked in the breast he had done and the hand touching it. His hand. Touching her. He knew she liked that spot and his charcoal had created the work so he wouldn't forget.

In seconds, half of the page was ripped out before he could think.

He didn't recall having done the deed and tearing history out of his book. He barely heard the noise, saw the rip cut through her body as if trying to destroy her as well. His eyes stared at the other works, not even seeing them, not feeling the page in his hand nor the spine in his other.

Something in his mind snapped and his hand came out again and again, chunks of paper getting thrown to the side as he emptied his sketchpad of her form, not even realizing what he was tearing to pieces. The pad soon lay half in tact at his feet, a mess of the remaining half littered across the floor and soaking up the puddles around him. His breathing had picked up from the slight exertion.

The emotional upheaval from the sound of tearing paper threw him back to himself and all of the emotions which he had numbed himself to. The anger, the brokenness, the betrayal, the knowledge that she would now be another man's. That she would never want to look his way again. That this was all he had of her now.

His hands suddenly swept out with a cry of despair and rage, sweeping the book and pages to anyplace else. His fists came down on the floor, not feeling the pain, but needing it. Every sound of his skin hitting the floorboards met him, the sounds of his sobs drummed out by the other noise.

The total upheaval didn't give him much left for physical movement and soon he lay crumpled in a ball, his hands throbbing. He focused on it as a means of survival, since his heart started bleeding all over again. The tears, which hadn't even abated, started anew at the sight of her nude form in front of him.

And the memory of showing such art to her that night in his room.

His breathing became erratic. It was hard to take in proper air with his chest getting squeezed again. He couldn't find the resolve to uncurl himself though, having no energy left anywhere to prop himself up to sitting and take a proper breath.

He couldn't take this anymore! How many hours had it been? How many more would it be before he could see and not feel like this? Months? Years?

Hands covered his face at the thought of never getting over her. "God...help me..." He mewled, shaking from the cold. He tried to take in deep breaths, taking in too much and started to hyperventilate.

He had been sad over her before. Every day he spent without seeing her face was a bittersweet agony in its own. He had lived in that world for the last year, had resolved to live there with mere vacations to her place. The loneliness and despair etched in his bedroom walls, the smell of paint he used to recreate her in order to placate himself, lived here...taunting him as he returned to it.

"I've got a few things to say."

Her voice echoed in his head, his emotions grasping at anything resembling her. He could easily picture her beautiful eyes framed by those bangs and her hair. The sweet smile that crinkled her Asian eyes and made her cuter than a puppy.

"Nathaniel! Hurry up slow poke!"

The breath left him in a whoosh. His head jerked up as if she were in his room and his bloodshot eyes could actually see her.

"Ha ha! What are you doing? We're going to be late for class!"

Tears poured. How many did he have? He was unaware he even had that much. Nails dug into his skin as his fists trembled from being clenched so tightly.

"I want to make you feel good...I want to feel you touch me everywhere..."

His jaw clenched and hurt his teeth. The sound of his own cries echoed in his room, but unable to drown out the history of her voice and every memory she had given him...of what they had made together.

"Hi. I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I'm going to sit next to you for class, okay?"

His spine bowed and took him with it. His arms did nothing to help keep him up and he hunched over himself. Hands hit his temple as if to beat her shadow out of his head. His cries refused to stop, hiccups mixing in.

"You're mine and I wasn't going to let him have you!"

His arms lashed out, scattering paintings and pads across the floor. Her face greeted him in whatever pose he had put her in. He stared, trying to get his vision to clear to focus, and landed on one of her smiling up at him.

"I've...been unable to say this...for so many days now... I...I...I l – love...you...Nathaniel..."

"Liar!" He shouted, hitting the floor again. He shot to his feet, bringing his shoe down over her smiling face and easily putting a hole in it. "Filthy liar! How dare you!"

He swung to the other portraits of her and her beauty. Red overcame his vision and he reached down to throw as many of them against the wall as hard as he could. He got the satisfaction of seeing some of the canvases break, heard the wood frames splinter.

All those precious hours wasted. All that paint, sweat, and tears gone. Useless. He didn't have a need for this anymore and it could burn in hell for all he cared.

Every single canvas was flung across the room, creating the disaster that was his mind and heart. He panted at the activity, eyes swinging around the room as if to verify they had all been mangled and were no longer perfect.

The door opening never registered in his hearing. Neither did the gasp.

"What are you doing, Nathaniel?!"

He turned to his name upon reflex more than anything. He stood there, meeting the horrified gaze staring back at him as the tears still dripped down his face. He stared for the longest time, not saying anything to justify or explain himself to her. He mentally cringed at what she would do after he poured his heart out to her, as he had always done.

"Leave me alone..." He mumbled, eyes going to the floor. Half pages of her face greeted him, but his family in front of him took him out of himself enough to not be quite as affected as he had been seconds ago.

Hands suddenly grasped his skin, warm and dry. His vision swung up to concern and anger, though not all directed at him. He stumbled when she pulled his face closer, taking in every tear track and every bloodshot line around his irises. "I'll kill her." She darkly vowed.

He sighed, face glum as he gently covered her hands with his. "Leave it alone. It's over. We're done."

Her face fell to disbelief, remaining frozen like that as time stopped. He sniffled as her presence stole his tears and he was thankful for that. He stepped back, wiping his face on his coat sleeve, just now realizing it was still on.

She did as well. "You're soaking wet!" Hands fumbled with his coat and helped him out of it. She looked to the puddles all over the floor and amount of wet paper. "Did you come home like this? How long have you been like this?"

"Don't know. Don't really care." He mumbled, looking away.

Hands went to her hips, expression stern. "You take off these wet things and let me get you something dry! Everything, even your boxers!"

He didn't get a word in as she marched past for his dresser, kicking aside broken wood frames and pages. He watched her rummage through his drawer for a new pair of boxers and pajamas. She held them out, back mostly to him, waiting for him to take them.

"Here." She shook them once as if he had refused instead of just not been as fast.

He shook himself and followed her commands, happy to do something that wasn't directly involving Marinette. He peeled off every piece of clothing and tossed it over the rubble, taking everything and dropping them to his bed. He pushed the pieces away so he didn't splinter his feet while getting dressed.

"Are you decent?"

"I have my boxers on." He mumbled, going for the pajama bottoms.

She turned and watched him slip into everything else. He didn't have anything to say, only slightly mortified that he was standing amidst the mess in the middle of his emotional breakdown. When he finished buttoning things up, sister and brother stared across the way at each other.

Her arms finally crossed as the look of anger mounted on her face, taking up residence in a new host after having used him up completely. "I'm still going to kill her. I'm going to take pictures and show the mess to her that she helped create. I'm going to make her take responsibility for all of this!"

He watched her start pacing, hands flailing as she kept switching between German and French. He listened, idly watching her, feeling exhaustion take hold of him now that his tirade was done.

God, he was so tired...

He plopped down on the mattress with a heavy sigh. He had used up everything and needed too many days in order to recharge. To heal his eyes and his hands, which still hurt too much after hitting the floor. His fingers came up and rubbed his eyes, feeling them sting and burn like fire.

The mattress dipped without warning, without a word, and then arms were suddenly around him. His eyes popped open at the awkward angle he was at, his ear next to a slightly fast heartbeat.

His sister sighed, a hand going through his wet hair. "I'll get you a towel in a bit. Finish your cry and then I'll help get you cleaned up the rest of the way."

The arms of his sister were all too known for too many bad memories. Too many instances of being near Marinette in the most delicious of ways and then her leaving him. His gracious sister gave and gave and lent an ear as often as he needed it, but he didn't want her to stay up for his sake this time.

He just wanted to sleep for a while...

"We knew each other in middle school? Oh yea! I remember you! You did amazing art! Do you still do that? Can I see some of it? I do art too! I also design clothes. How was high school for you wherever you went?"

He was going to have to pick up the pieces somehow. There wasn't even anything to pick up and he was going to be left struggling and grasping at air while she walked on solid ground far past him. He was going to have to create something from that nothing and build his life with it.

'Marinette...'

The familiar squeeze in his chest was weaker than the rest. His jaw clenched as his eyes burned anew, somehow creating more tears after using up the rest of the water in his body. His hands came up and gripped his sister's arms, pushing himself into her hold.

The sobs were quiet, subdued, weary. He was so tired and felt like he had nothing left to get out, but hidden in the depths was the last remnants of the happy memories and his love for her. Hiding in the shadows, trembling out of fear at his own anger and not wanting to be hurt.

His arms somehow wrapped around her, his cries increasing. He soaked her shirt and clutched at her, mumbling a name he would never need to speak again. He called out to anyone that would listen and demanded why, pleaded why, insisted he get answers. The words fell from him, incoherent and nonstop.

Through it all, the hug never lessened, someone else thankfully holding his body up. Someone else to stroke his hair and let his tears wash them clean. The torrent eventually died down through the strength he leaned on and slowly stopped his tears. His sister said nothing the entire time and he was grateful to her, loved her even more, apologized one more time for getting out more bad emotions on her.

When they finally pulled away, his eyes refused to stay open. They were swollen and hurt and needed rest as much as the rest of his body did. He kept his gaze off hers, staring at the mess he had made with no will to pick it up so he didn't hurt his feet in the morning.

"Feel a bit better?"

The gentle words got his attention. He met her gaze long enough to nod before it fell to the fingers entwining with his.

She gave a motherly smile and patted his hand, bringing it to her mouth in a light kiss. "That's good. I'm glad you feel a little better. It's time you get some sleep."

He nodded, mind too worn out to do more than obey what it was hearing. The bed shifted as she stood and pulled the covers back, kicking away more wood from the bed so she could help get him into bed. She smoothed the blankets out over him, fingers moving the bangs from his eyes with a small smile.

"Get some rest." She quietly coaxed. "I'll be here in the morning to help you pick up and get some food in you."

He nodded, snatching her hand when she moved to stand. "Thank you...for everything. I'm sorry I keep making you see me this way."

She pasted on a smile and sat on next to him on the bed. She leaned down, embracing him as gently as if he were a child. "Don't apologize for anything. None of this is your fault. And you have no need to thank me for being your sister." She sat back and smiled, eyes shining. "I know you'd do the same for me in a heartbeat." She patted the blanket over his chest and stood again. "Now sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded and turned on his side, out within moments.

She watched the blankets move slowly in time with his breathing and the mothering act dropped. Venom shot from her eyes, anger lacing her veins. She watched her poor brother sleep as deep as she had ever seen him.

After moments, she looked to the floor and small footholds she had. The place was a mess and he destroyed something he had once found so precious. She wanted to scream in his place and hit the one responsible, to slap her as much as she could until she personally felt better.

He wanted her to leave things alone, but she couldn't. Such similar scenarios had played out for too long and she had seen too many of them. She was more than irritated that such things had gone on so long; feeling helpless to make him see what Marinette had done.

Her precious brother, her precious twin. One of the only family members she had that she loved so dearly. They relied on each other in a country none of them were born in, had struggled to survive in the early years after they left everything and everyone behind. It was just the three of them for the longest time and she didn't think there was a family closer than they were.

She went to his coat and rummaged through his pockets, finding his cell phone. She took it in one hand, the coat in the other and went to hang the coat up...but keeping the cell phone for now.

Wanna torture yourself more? I wrote this chapter to this: youtube com/watch?v=yz8eZZU9Y6M