Title: I Am My Own Mistake
Disclaimer: The song and characters don't belong to me, yadda , yadda, yadda.
James quickly entered his large bedroom, the sound of his parent's voices climbing up the stairs. He swiftly grabbed a nearby chair, shoved it up against the lock to his door, and sunk to the red-carpeted floor in a miserable heap. He began to cry, tears freely falling down his face as he gripped the sheet to his bed, twisting it around his raw hands. His face was covered in a mess of indigo wisps, but his head quickly snapped up when he felt a harsh, cold breeze sting his face. His emerald eyes caught sight of his window, its curtains rippling in the wind. He weakly got up and walked to his window, falling with a thud when his foot got caught in his satin sheets.
I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless lost under the surface
Don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
The sound of his parent's words emitted through the cracks of his door, demanding that their son unlock the door at once. As James rose off the ground, shaking tiredly, he half wondered why they didn't use their key to enter his room. Then he remembered that he had taken it, just before he tried to escape again, for the third time this month. He untangled himself from his sheets, the icy wind now whipping in his hair slightly. He reached his window, and immediately tried to pull the window down, but for some reason, the icy touch of the wind, had absolutely no effect on his hands. They had gone completely numb.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
After some difficulty, James managed to close his window, his parent's voices slurring together with the howls of his pokemon, Growlithe, who had previously been locked in the Morgan's vault, on the orders of James' new fiancée, Jessebelle.
When James had first met Jessebelle, he had been hesitant, he knew now for a very good reason. Before James' and Jessebelle's first assigned play date, his parents had been treating him with the utmost respect, which was the exact opposite of their normal eccentric behavior, often cooing at him and telling him what a fine young lady Jessebelle would be. James knew better than to fall for his parent's tricks, but nonetheless felt obligated to meet his new "friend," as his parents referred to her as. But they had forgotten one very important detail. They mentioned nothing of whip.
And tonight, just as when his parents first mentioned Jessebelle, they were trying to sound like they cared, calling James to come out, this time attempting a different approach – kindness. Their fake affection leaked through the cracks in James' door like poison, and he once again began to cry bitterly.
Can't you see that you're smothering me?
Holding to tightly afraid to lose control
'Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you
And every step that I take is another mistake to you
And every second I waste is more than I can take
James staggered over to the corner of his room, and reached his bureau, slumping down on the polished wood. He buried his face in his arms, and wept, his parents seeming to have abandoned their attempt to get him out. After he cried for a few minutes, he lifted his head up slightly, his black shirt soaked. He winced in pain as his tears bleed through the fabric, stinging a cut on his arm. After the pain subsided, he opened his emerald eyes just enough for him to catch a glint from his mother's nail file, bloodstains still visible.
A few days ago, his mother had gone out to town to do some shopping, and his father was attending one of his many Rapidash races, never bothering to heed his wife's warning concerning betting at the competitions. So that left James alone, spare for the few servants bustling about here and there. When James caught no sight of Hopkins or anyone else, he snuck into his mother's bathroom, quickly finding just what he wanted. He exited without making a sound, and swiftly walked to his own bedroom. After making sure the lock was secure, he took out the nail file, and began tearing it into his flesh, the sight of his own blood making him wince. After making about ten repeated scars on his arm, the feeling of pain became absent, once again losing feeling of the sharp prick that cut through his skin.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
He tore his eyes away from the file, instead leaving them to stare at a fading picture of his grandparents. He wiped the tears from his face, and picked up the framed photograph, his grandparent's beaming faces reflecting off his own battered one. The picture had been taken last summer, only months before his grandmamma passed away, his grandpapa soon to follow.
His grandparents always seemed to care more for James than his own parents. James would often spend many days at their estate, finding much comfort from his own life with the presence of his grandparents. At the estate, James picked up many hobbies including cooking and his love of roses, having spent a lot of time in his grandpa's rose garden.
Although it was never spoken, James was always aware of a certain tension between his father and grandfather. Whenever James went to his grandparent's house, Mr. Morgan always seemed reluctant to let him go, an air of bitterness carrying with him every time his father was around.
And as James stared at the picture, his grandfather's arm wrapped around him tenderly, he knew that his own father must have been a disappointment too.
And I know
I may end up failing too
But I know
You were just like me with someone disappointed in you
James placed the frame back down on his bureau, and picked up the other picture that occupied it – one of he and his parents. The portrait had been done a couple years ago of himself and his parents, back when they still pretended to care. A tear rolled down his face, landing on the photo's smiling one. He had been happy back then. But not anymore. Now, he knew better.
He gripped the sides of the wooden frame tightly, his anger rising the more he stared at his parent's cheery faces. And with that, he screamed and threw the picture, causing it to hurdle out the window, the glass breaking and flying in all directions.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
He sunk to the floor again and wailed miserably, the sharp glass shimmering in the moonlight as it fell to the carpet. He felt cold inside. So, so cold. He felt like the snow that now covered the picture outside, the wind brushing the ice onto his parent's features. He felt… numb.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Tired of being what you want me to be
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Tired of being what you want me to be
Alas, another fic is finished. I hope you all liked it, so please review! Also note that I really do believe James doesn't completely hate his parents. But I do know that they really don't care for him that much. Also, if you want more angst stuff, make sure to read and review one of my other fics, Deadly Serious.