Title: The Leaving Song
Author: Gabriel
Wrestlers: Raven/AJ Styles
Warnings: language, slash, angst
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Set the night of 3/19/03 after Raven and AJ's Hardcore Ladder Match.
Disclaimers: I do not own any either of these beautiful men. If I did, trust me, I'd have much better things to do then write fanfiction about them. With that said, you know you don't want to sue me for this. I know nothing about these superstars' sexual preferences or their lives. This is written purely for my twisted enjoyment.
Summary: It's an entirely twisted variation of the general concept of the line, All the cracks will lead right through me and all the cracks will crawl right through me, and I fell apart as I walked away, heard them say, "Poisoned hearts will never change". Walked away again.
Author's Notes: I blame this entirely on the fact that I was all spastic over heading off to school and decided that the healthy response to this would be to listen to AFI on repeat for two days straight.
The Leaving Song
He's standing there in the doorway, waiting for some silent signal that it's alright for him to enter, a signal which I'm not prepared to offer him. It's not necessary for me to turn over and face him, to acknowledge his presence in anyway. I know it's him, I've always found it easy to sense him. He's got this aura about him and just by entering a room, he seems to lighten it. Or, in this case, plunge it into icy darkness.
I shiver, half hoping he won't notice and yet masochistically hoping that he does. I keep telling myself that I don't want to see him; I don't want to deal with his presence ever again. Especially not now. Not when I know he has the power to rip me up inside more than he already has. But I can't help it. Feeling something is better than nothing, even if what I'm feeling has the power to destroy me.
I wait for him to walk away, almost convinced that he will, knowing that he has no other reason for being here other than mocking my pain, figuring he'll grow tired of my silence, maybe figure I'm asleep, and give up.
But he doesn't.
It's an effort to keep myself from speaking, to keep from letting out every last bit of hatred I have for this man in a string of half screamed curses, or, even worse, in nothing more than a pained whispered, my voice so ragged that I have to fight to keep it from breaking. To keep myself from breaking.
For all the damage he's inflicted upon me, he hasn't broken me yet, and despite this, I know that one well timed cruel word will push me over the edge, make me crumble completely. He's got me at his mercy right now; weak, vulnerable, and I know it wouldn't take much for him to finish what he started, to break me down, and leave me nothing more than a crumpled shell of nothing more than pained memories.
But I won't let that happen. No one's succeeded in breaking me and, dammit, I'm not going to let him be the first. He has not idea how much he's gotten to me, how his voice is enough to bring me to my knees, how every single blow he's every dealt me has been welcomed as a caress, and how all I want is more punishment if it means being able to feel something from him.
Or maybe he does now. Maybe that's the reason he's here now, not to gloat, but so that he can see the results of his handiwork, so that he can give me the final push over the edge and end this once and for all.
He should know better than to fuck with me. You don't fuck with the fucked and you don't manipulate the master manipulator; if you do you'll never win. If he's going to try and take me down, I'm not going without a fight. If he destroys me, I'm going to fucking take him down with me. This is a battle that's not going to end until bother of us are broken.
With these thoughts in mind, I suddenly find that I'm now welcoming the challenge, and as I finish sorting out what's going through my head, I speak.
"What are you doing here?"
I'm mildly shocked by the sound of my own voice and even more than shocked, I'm frustrated. It's rough, barely above a whisper, and the weakness in it is so strong that it's almost tangible. I bare my teeth at myself, almost growling, angered by this admittance of weakness, knowing that he'll jump right on it and exploit it, using it to tear me to pieces.
Get a fucking hold of yourself. You might be weak in body, but you're strong in mind. Don't let him win this. You can't let him win this.
I slowly repeat these words to myself, rolling them over inside my brain until I'm certain that I believe them. And how could I not? Through everything in my life my brain has never failed me, why it should now, even under the pressure of the one person who knows where the cracks are, knows exactly how hard to push in order to deepen them but not actually break me. I can't believe it would... could fail me. It's always been on my one constant and nothing, not even him, is going to change that. Nothing.
He's nervous, I can hear him shifting his weight from foot to foot, crushing a piece of cloth in a fist; fuck it, the anxiety is radiating from him. And as my mind catalogues all of this, instinctively trying to figure out how I could use it to my advantage, he answers my question and I find myself unable to comprehend his words.
"I...I just wanted to see... how you were."
Anything but that, anything at all. Cut me down verbally, gloat over putting me in this place, just don't say that. Don't make me wonder if you're being sincere, don't make me wonder if you actually care or if this is just you fucking with my head. Just fucking don't. Because I'm not sure I can handle the answer.
"Why do you care? This is your fucking fault."
My voice sounds bitter, jaded, cracked almost to the point of breaking, with a harsh undertone that I'm certain makes him flinch. Immediately I regret my words, wishing I'd phrased it any other way. I don't want to know if he cares, I don't want to care if he cares, I want none of it. He has no idea how much of my heart he's eaten away and I'm not prepared to let him devour more.
I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I don't even hear his soft footsteps approaching the bed, and when his hand suddenly grasps mine, his fingers intertwining with mine, I have no idea how to react. Instinctively I want to tighten my grip until all of the bones in his hand snap, but I can't bring myself to do it. His touch is so gentle, comforting almost, that the idea of responding to it with violence leaves me vaguely sickened.
Something soft, his other hand perhaps, barely brushes against my cheek, the touch so light and fleeting that I'm left wondering if it even happened or if I just imagined it. Then he's speaking again, his voice as gentle as his touch, and I feel all the walls I've built up over the years beginning to crumble.
"I'm sorry. I never meant for things to go this far." His voice is apologetic and he pauses for a long moment in which I can't seem to find the air to breathe, before continuing. "You asked me why I cared? My question to you is do I really need to answer that? I've always cared. Nothing's different now. There's a thin line between love and hatred." There's a pointed, heavily weighted pause. "But I think you already know that, Raven."
My brain shuts down on me at that, his words striking a harder blow than any delivered in the ring earlier. I can't breathe, I can't think, my thoughts jumbled and falling over one another, my head pounding furiously, left completely disoriented in the wake of what he's said.
"Leave."
I don't even realize that I'm speaking until I hear the sharp cry, filled with pain, thickened with tears that will never be shed, slipping through my lips. His hand jerks away from mine as though burned by the touch, and as he pulls away both mentally and physically I find myself overtaken by a desperate loneliness that leaves me feeling as though my heart's been ripped from my chest and now lays, still beating, within his grip.
Each footstep he takes to the door is hollow and heavy, ringing out on the tile, echoing in a way that leaves a sharp vibration hanging in the air, making every inch of my being scream in helpless agony.
He stops at the door and the air hangs heavy between us, filled with desperate longing that we're both attempting to deny. I know what his words are going to be long before they leave his mouth, but it's the way they're spoken that leaves me in shock; the utter regret and almost devastation that rivals my own.
"If I walk out this door, I'm never going to come back."
Part of me wants to beg him not to leave, for him to come back and just fucking touch me again, ease my brain, let me know I'm not alone. But I'm too proud for that, too fucking proud and stubborn to speak every desire I wish to be fulfilled. He's already taken a huge piece of me with him and I'm not going to allow him to see me completely break.
Every breath that I manage to take is agonizing, every second I wait for him to walk away seems to last an eternity, and just when I'm convinced he's frozen in place and unable to leave, I heard his voice one last time and then he's gone.
"I know you'll never be able to say it, Raven, and I don't expect you to. Fact is, it's not necessary for you to speak a word." There's another one of those pauses and I hear him swallow hard. "I love you."
I never hear him walk away. My body's on fire, burning me from the inside, destroying every last fiber of my being. My face is covered in hot tears that refuse to stop no matter how much I will them away, soaking the pillow beneath my head in sorrow and regret. And at that moment I feel such a fiery hatred , the embers of it burning a hole through my heart, and I know that a passionate hatred like this could only be love. And I can feel the dying flames destroying me as only love can.