A/N: Writing a witty comment is much harder than it looks, so I'm just going to get on with this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Tekken, but if I did I'd be so rich right now.
This Cold Ache
By
Xodox
Days like those are hard to come by now, you know, the happy ones?
Those days when everything seems so perfect and right, everything feels just so good.
Those days left with her. They left with her first step on to the road outside of my door. I tried to follow her but my legs wouldn't move, everything just stopped and time seemed to slow down. I felt like I was moving through water and slowly turning to ice. That explained the ache inside.
It's a numb and dead ache, like after the initial sensation of pain wears off, leaving a cold and dull throbbing all over.
Then, it's as if you've been walking barefoot forever on frozen snow, watching yourself freeze and die, slowly, from the feet upwards.
There's a nice easy cure for that, amputation…but you can't cut off your soul, when somebody else has stolen it. And she'll always have it; I can't get it back. I gave it to her along with my heart, my love and whatever else she's stripped me of.
But I can live without all of those things. Hell, I've done it for nearly three years now, another year won't kill me. Then again, a lifetime might.
It's funny, almost, this feeling inside. It's so funny because I want to cry and cry but I can't, because my tears have frozen up. Her gentle warmth made me cry, much more than this pain ever could. How could my desert princess, so warm and caring, become an ice maiden, so cold and distant?
She was full of fire, spirit and…something so spectacular and amazing that it was all I could do to not fall hopelessly in love with her. I thought she loved me, even though I was completely nothing compared to her. She said she did. She'd always say it, but it always was so special and incredible, I lived for those moments.
I still do, the only reason I'm not dead right now is because I'm living on the hope that she'll suddenly run through my door and tell me she's always here and that she loves me. Everyday starts with renewed hope, or at least some blind faith in dreams. I know she won't come to me right now because I'm sat in a crummy, badly lit bar with filth encrusted onto every surface, finding my solace in the bottom of my empty glass.
The last orders bell is ringing, I sip the thin dregs of my cheap alcohol and wander back to my apartment.
It's the same everyday. I wake up in my apartment, fresh with ridiculous optimism. After six hours of waiting for her, I wander to the phone to start work as a telemarketer. My job sits very well with my state of mind, it's futile, thankless and everybody hangs up before I have to do anything. It's a dead end job, but it pays my bar tab.
Then, off to the bar, where I can waste my life without anyone watching. Occasionally, a stranger will walk in, usually looking for a phone or the bathroom. They usually give me a look. Always the same look, the 'What's a good looking young man like him doing in here?' Then they see the shadows and pain in my face, the shell that I've become.
And if they ever ask me, I'll tell them a story.
It's about a boy who was madly in love with a girl, who left him without any reason. He was heartbroken but he still loved her, so he waited for her every day and every night.
And if they ask what happened to them, I'll tell them.
He still waits for her and always will, while the girl is somewhere else. The girl is lying under the ground, a tombstone above her head. A car hit her three years ago, just outside his house and she was killed.
And if they send their condolences, I'll accept them.
And if they ask for the lover's names, I'll tell them. The girl was Julia and the boy was Hwoarang.