A/N: I don't wanna say anything….I don't wanna give it away….I'll just say it's from an onlooker's perspective, at one of Matt's concerts. No, I will not say who the onlooker is. JUST READ.
^_^; Yes, I like suspense. Anyways, I don't own Digimon. So blah.
Flames will be used to fire up the barbie and roast Biyo-kebabs. And away we go! ^.^
Wounded
As I watch him there on the stage, I can feel a smile tugging at my lips. He's so graceful, the way he strums his guitar and sidles up to the microphone. Have you ever seen him sing into a microphone? It's amazing; he's like a gentle lover to it. He makes love to his music.
My cheeks flush at the
thought. From my position leaning over
the railing, I watch him take a step towards the mic as the music starts up
softly, a light pinging sound in the background, with the heavy thud of the
drums like thunder in the distance.
His slender, gentle fingers
wind around the microphone and he cradles it, like a child, and looks up at my
perch, high atop the stadium. He can
see me.
He starts singing.
My breath stops and my heart
fails me for a moment.
"The guy who put his hands
on you
Has got nothing to do with
me."
I smile slightly and make a
tiny groaning sound, yet it's muted by the music.
"And the bruises that you
feel will heal,
And I hope you'll come
around.
Cause we're missing you."
I shift uncomfortably in my
black sweater, pulling the cuffs over my hands and clutching at the hem. He's singing about me. He's telling me about my foolish mistakes;
he's looking into my heart and I'm not sure I like it.
I promised him I would come
to his concert. How could I say
no? His lips, his eyes, his touch; all
so very persuasive.
But I've been avoiding the
others all night. I wonder if they're
scanning the crowd for me?
Well, that's why I'm wearing
all black, now isn't it?
"You used to speak so easy,
Now you're afraid to talk to
me."
I stuttered. He asked me what was wrong and I
stuttered. He reached out to me. He touched my hair. He pulled me into a hug and, damn him, he
made me confess. I told him everything:
about the guy that had taken my heart and torn it to pieces, about the other
girl, and how he went about breaking my spirit and leaving me feeling used.
And he told me it was
alright. He never shunned me. I love that about him.
"It's like walking with the
wounded.
Carrying that weight way too
far,
The concrete pulled you down
so far,
Out there with the wounded."
My burdens were my burdens,
I never asked him to interfere. Yet he
insisted. He helped me through it.
Nobody has ever, ever helped
me through anything. They always
automatically assume because of my strong, lively personality, that I'm
indestructible.
Yamato saw through me like I
was glass. He knew I was fragile, and
that's what scared me about being near him. If he knew I was this delicate, he could easily break me. But something deep inside told me he never
would.
"We're missing you.
Well I never claimed to
understand
What happens after dark,"
I groan softly at the memory
of my brief relationship with Joseph. Whatever possessed me to stay with that bastard, anyway? My hands cover my face and I sigh. The force of his slaps still echo in my
brain like the crack of a whip. They
sting my face even now.
How badly did I have to
trick myself into believing that he was really the only one person in this
world that would love me? If only I had
known, I wouldn't be feeling this pain.
Could Yamato's words really
bring back my soul? Could his music
soothe me?
God if that's what he was
aiming for, it was working…
I pull my hands from my face
and look down upon him. He's looking up
at me with azure eyes that glimmer like midnight stars.
"But my fingers catch the
sparks at the thought of
Touching you…"
I can see his fingers twitch
slightly as they release their hold on the mic and take immediate positions on
the guitar. As he speaks those words I
sense my own fingers convulse at the thought of his skin. They pulse and burn and throb, and I have to
look away.
Get over it, you've just had
your heart destroyed by some jerk and you're already accepting Matt's advances?
I turn back to look at him.
"When you're wounded."
The music picks up with
strong bass and overwhelming riffs. It
washes over me and crashes against me like a tide on the beach. Me…? Wounded…?
"Let me break it down till I
force the issue
We miss your face and you
know I wish you
Would come back down to the
Delva Bar
You tell them 'That's just
my battle scar'"
I smile. That's me, alright. The tough one. I take my scars, I play the game and I play it hard. I run and pounce and fight and win, right?
Wrong. I could trace my fingertips down each scar
I've accumulated from sports or digiworld or stuff like that, but the internal
scars…
They wont fade. They linger there on my mind like burns that
sever me from human contact. They hurt,
far more than any cut or bruise.
"I want to kiss you,
And knock 'em down like we
used to
You're the Marigold"
My head snaps up as I peer
down to look at him. I can feel his
gaze, intent upon me. He's
smiling. Delicately enough, he's
smiling.
Joseph had kissed me. Roughly. He had grabbed my face and kissed me forcefully. I was too desperate for affection to fight
back.
Joseph was rough and cold,
Matt was warm and calming. The way he
gathered me in his arms was amazing, like he was pulling my life together and
picking it up. He was gentle. His kiss…
Would be divine….
When we were children I was
strong. I was brave and confident. Together we conquered worlds. I always thought he was just my friend, but
never before had I seen him so tender.
In him I was born anew. I was a whole different person.
"Till you're walking down
shakin that ass again,
Then you walk on, baby, walk
on, you walk on."
I laugh and cover my face
with my hand. How typical of him to
break down the seriousness of anything with a joke? I pull my hand away and lean against the railing. He's smiling and strumming, looking up at
me.
His words touch my soul and
stir my mind.
"You're an angel in the pit
with her hands in the air
And we're missing you.
Now it's fall and your
shoulders get tighter,
Nervous flicks on the
lighter,
Boots, your pissed off
poets,
Your women's groups."
I shift in my black
attire. I've become more brooding
lately, I'm not sure why. Maybe its because
black was how I felt, I don't know.
"And your friends with you,
We should have known this
fool.
Well I guess we missed the
mark."
Why didn't I tell anybody
that Joseph was hurting me? Was it
because I thought nobody would believe me? Or was I just scared to admit that I was getting smacked around by my
boyfriend? I should have told Matt
before it was too late, when he could have done something. When his words would have mattered
more. Not like they didn't matter now,
it's just I need more than words right now.
I needed something.
"Still my fingers catch the
sparks at the thought of
Them touching you.
Now you're wounded."
My fingertips. They throb with the pulse inside of them,
they burn and itch and drive me crazy. It's like the angel's in reach, but I can't feel it there. I have to pull my hands into my sleeves
again, looking down at them.
I am.
"I'm wounded…" I murmur.
"Let me break it down till I
force the issue,
You never come around and
you know we miss you."
The concert ends, and like I
was told to do, I wait by the backstage entrance. It's silent. The air is
cool, but not cold, and I feel myself shiver in my light coat.
The door opens, and there
like the silhouette of a saviour, is Yamato Ishida.
"Waiting long?" he
asks. I shake my head no, and he
nods. We walk towards his apartment.
"Well nobody took your pride
away,
That's something people
say."
In the silence I feel
worthless. I'm too meek to speak, for
fear of being ignored. So I do not
bother.
Matt reaches out and touches
my shoulder, and I turn to smile at him.
No, no words are needed
now. I bask in his comfort like
moonlight. I know he does not think any
less of me, and I am thankful. For the
first time, I feel something like love.
We reach his apartment, and
turn to stare at eachother for a moment. He smiles, I blush. Then, like
fluid motion, his hand flies up to gently stroke my cheek.
I know now what I've needed.
Our faces near. My heart races, our lips touch.
I know now what I've always
needed.
The world ends.
"Back down the bully to the
back of the bus,
Cuz it's time for them to be
scared of us."
His hands are holding my
back, my fingers are in his hair, and our lips are against one-another. He pulls away; I push forward, so does
he. He pulls back and gasps.
"My dad's working late at
the station."
His breath is hot and
trembling against my face.
I don't need a literal
translation. I nod and pull him towards
me once more.
"Till you're yelling how
we're living cuz you got the ball,
Then you rock on baby, rock
on, you rock on."
The door closes and suddenly
I'm up against the wall. It's not rough
though, his embrace is gentle and his mouth, however wandering, is
sincere. He looks up at me with fever in
his blue eyes, now a brilliant midnight.
"Ai shiteru." He gasps, and
silences me with a kiss before I can reply.
"You're a summer-time hottie
with her socks in the air,
Screaming 'I don't care
baby, I don't care'."
I throw my black sweater
carelessly to one side and he pushes me down against the bed. Our mouths meet one another, and as he holds
my squirming body down, itching with impatience, I look up into thin air.
Always what I've wanted.
And it crashes against me
like a wave.
"You say you don't know,
You say you can't grow,
All I know is we're missing
you."
"Don't close your eyes…" he
whispers into my ear. I turn my face
and open my eyes. With one hand he cups
my cheek and keeps my gaze as he pushes against me again, and it's all I can do
to keep from screaming in his ear.
"I love you."
He says it over and over
again, but I can't get enough. He holds
my hand and I lock my fingers with his, pushing it against the pillows above
our heads in his bed. I gasp for air.
"Say it….say it again that you…-"
I can't finish, everything
ends in a blaze of stars and colors and we collapse into a trembling, aching
heap of limps and sweat and gasps for air.
"You're the Marigold."
I curl into his arms and
sigh deeply. Memories of the night are
like black water on my body; dark yet never oppressing. Joseph could never love me. It took somebody like Yamato to show me
exactly what my body and soul had craved through the abuse and the heartache.
"Ai shiteru…Taichi…" he
sighs. My arms wind around his stomach
and I take a deep breathe in of his sweet aroma. Like the seashore, like musk, like life itself.
"Ai shiteru, Yamato…" I
whisper in return and close my eyes. Sleep looms like a shadow above me.
Yet I do not fear the
darkness. I live on, with fatal wounds.
"Show up wounded."
~***~
Closing Comments: HAH!!! It was a Yamachi. Was it hard to imagine Tai as the wounded? I want feedback! I live for feedback! PLEASE!!! Anyway, the song "Wounded" belongs to a lovely little band called Third Eye Blind. It's a terrific song! THIS FIC SUCKS. Thank you and goodnight…*falls off chair*