When you go away I'll be lonely
Cause I've lived each day for you only
Don't forget
Remember our promise
Don't forget
Remember my love
"Go on, back to your wolves, your junkie twerps, your bloody shock treatment and fuck you too!"
Always needed the last word, didn't you, Bri?
He pretends the shouting from the window doesn't bother him, he pretends the words are like water, and roll right off of his leather coat. He pretends it's nothing; he's seen it coming for a while now. He runs a hand through his hair before dragging on his cigarette, and turns the corner sharply.
He keeps walking, and doesn't look back. He keeps walking, and lets his feet move for him, because if he bothered to stop ... he doesn't think he'd be able to go any further.
He isn't thinking about the future, he isn't thinking about the present, but he's wallowing in the past. He's drinking up every memory, good and bad, and wondering why he ever stayed.
And then he remembers. He remembers elegant fingers down his back, fingers in his hair, lips to his neck.. to his shoulder, to his flesh. He remembers laughter, and smiles from a lipstick smeared mouth. He remembers gleaming eyes reflected in amber bottles, and he remembers parties ... parties and sex and.. love.
So much adoration it felt like pain.
He stumbles against the cobblestone, gropes the brick wall for support before stopping, head bowed, hair a blur of gold around a face contorted with rage. Rage and ... hurt. And memory.
"Curt...?" A somewhat childish look, fingers skimming down his shoulder, over the white sheet.
"Hmm?" Tired.
"I love you..." Murmured.
" ... say that again." Whispered.
He doesn't think he'll be able to forget, even as his feet pick up the rapid pace once more. This time, he doesn't stumble, and he lights another cigarette.. forgetting when he'd thrown the old one down. But then, he never thought he'd be leaving either.
Cause I've lived each day for you only
Don't forget
Remember our promise
Don't forget
Remember my love
"Go on, back to your wolves, your junkie twerps, your bloody shock treatment and fuck you too!"
Always needed the last word, didn't you, Bri?
He pretends the shouting from the window doesn't bother him, he pretends the words are like water, and roll right off of his leather coat. He pretends it's nothing; he's seen it coming for a while now. He runs a hand through his hair before dragging on his cigarette, and turns the corner sharply.
He keeps walking, and doesn't look back. He keeps walking, and lets his feet move for him, because if he bothered to stop ... he doesn't think he'd be able to go any further.
He isn't thinking about the future, he isn't thinking about the present, but he's wallowing in the past. He's drinking up every memory, good and bad, and wondering why he ever stayed.
And then he remembers. He remembers elegant fingers down his back, fingers in his hair, lips to his neck.. to his shoulder, to his flesh. He remembers laughter, and smiles from a lipstick smeared mouth. He remembers gleaming eyes reflected in amber bottles, and he remembers parties ... parties and sex and.. love.
So much adoration it felt like pain.
He stumbles against the cobblestone, gropes the brick wall for support before stopping, head bowed, hair a blur of gold around a face contorted with rage. Rage and ... hurt. And memory.
"Curt...?" A somewhat childish look, fingers skimming down his shoulder, over the white sheet.
"Hmm?" Tired.
"I love you..." Murmured.
" ... say that again." Whispered.
He doesn't think he'll be able to forget, even as his feet pick up the rapid pace once more. This time, he doesn't stumble, and he lights another cigarette.. forgetting when he'd thrown the old one down. But then, he never thought he'd be leaving either.