Hey, I have to make a note about my grammar check… THERE IS NONE!! _;;
well technically there is but it has a tendency to fuck things up more then
anything so most of the time it doesn't work. I have a piece of shit
computer, and I type .. roughly… 120 wpm. No lie _; my computer cant
really keep up *nod* So there are typos and grammar, that and I usually
don't think to much on writing when writing cuz I'm fucked up like that. So
the grammar and spelling isn't perfect and I don't really care o_o; so..
yeah. Be happy I'm writing anything *nod*
Now onto the boring detail before the story….
Warnings: Uhmm.. there's a lot of angst, still some shounen ai, uhmm.. there might be self-mutilation, uhmm overall.. if you read up to this point you'll be fine. -_- _;; unless I pull out my spiffy plot change of hell and scare you all with some sort of randomly exploding world.. which doesn't come yet ^_^; either way its not gonna be that bad
Pairings: 1X2!!!!! XD Hell no its still 4x2/2x4 people…
Disclaimers: do you THINK I own it?
Notes: This chapter is a reward to Hilda!!!!! For snapping my writers block and giving me spiffy new ideas! Thank you SO much Hilda! You are the best ^_^ for now. *cackle* and yes, I am caffinated and such so yeah o_o;
This is a song fic. To Why by Stabbing Westward. They lyrics might not be accurate cuz I typed it from memory. Oh, and yeah, I took some of it out cuz it doesn't fit and I had the idea before I thought of the song. So nyeh. I don't own the song either, But I did steal the parts I cut out and they belong to ME!! Wahaha… _;; I'll go write now. Here we go:
Chapter 20: Why?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am not here,
I think I've never
Been here at all,
Or ever will
I feel like a place
Where no one goes anymore… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know what it is I'm doing.
I could feel his back moving with each erratic breath he took. His back was warm, his shirt wasn't incredibly soft, or I doubt it was made to be soft, but it felt fairly soft with wear. It was black, it was odd to see him in black for some reason. I guess everyone wears black at some point.
If I move my hand right I can feel bumps in the material… I don't … think that's the shirt.
I'm not here.
I'm not really surprised that he's wearing black, especially with his back…. Yeah. It's not too surprising he's wearing black, its winter, and more people wear black in the winter, because it's warm. He's actually quite warm. Maybe that's because he's still sick.
I'm not afraid of germs, I don't get sick easily, and when I do it doesn't hit me too hard.
Alcohol has a weak effect on me too, I guess, I don't know for sure if I've ever been really drunk or not.
I can feel his shirt, the soft-worn material, but my hands don't feel right. Feels more like… I have gloves on, really thin gloves. Maybe… like a thin layer of plastic over my hands.
I wonder if that's normal. I doubt it is, I don't know. I've felt like this before though.
Well not exactly like this… this is new, I've never actually been kissed before. Surprise.
I'm NOT here.
His hair is soft too. Its been getting longer lately, I notice. Maybe he's trying to grow it out. His hair looks better longer, more angelic maybe.
He's not an angel.
I am not here.
Maybe he just can't get to someone to cut his hair, I don't know. Why am I obsessing over his hair?
I am not here.
I can't describe it. I feel… floaty? But grounded. My ears are ringing… maybe. I can't really make out what I hear. I hear him breathing.
My arm hurts. But not really, not badly, not really… it's not me. I'm not here, it's more of a dull pain, kind of muted
That's the word, muted. I feel muted. Everything's a little duller, a little quieter, a little less real. I'm not here. I know I'm not, this feels more like a dream.. no, a dream is more personal then this, it's a … movie. I'm watching this, with my eyes closed. It's not real, it's not me, it's make believe, like the stories I write, it's not real, it's not happening, it cant happen, it's not real, I am not here, I will never be here, I am not real.
I write a lot. I have to, I have to have something to do in my free time. I have a lot of characters, some girls, some boys, some that you just cant tell. I have this one story going, where there are these two girls, and they're really close friends. Not in any sort of perverted way. But they're friends, really good friends. They can say they love each other because they do.
One of them cuts. I have to have that in a story right? Its what makes my story, it's depressing. And the other girl starts to do it because her friend does. All sorts of shit happens. I'm not done writing it, hell, I've written maybe a page. Not even. Its just two characters who are as fucked up as I am who I just… plan to write into a story one day.
Quatre recoils quickly from me, coughing badly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Why can't you see
That everything's broken?
And why can't you see that my life is grey?
I can't believe in anything sacred
When I don't believe that I am real… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Holy shit.
I stand up abruptly, looking down at Quatre, then at my hands, then at Quatre.
Holy shit.
No, I don't believe this. I don't believe this. I'm not gay, Quatre doesn't… Quatre isn't here. This isn't happening.
Holy shit its real.
No…
Quatre stops coughing long enough to look up at me. His face was tear streaked and for the longest second my stomach flipped at a nauseating level. He locked eyes with me, looking slightly confused, or maybe lacking words. Time is being to slow.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but either I didn't hear him or he couldn't think of anything to say, because nothing came out.
"No.." I held my hands in front of my face, looking at them, then past them at Quatre. "No… no this cant… " No, I can't be like this in front of Quatre, can't do this. Cant.
He stood up, balancing himself on the wall and took a step towards me.
There is no way that he's really here, really real, right now. No chance. He can't be here. None of this can actually be here. I cant be here, I cant exist there isn't proof, there's no proof of existence.
I don't believe in god, Fuck it but I cant. I can't believe in any of the lies they feed you with that shit. I can't believe this universe was made. At all. None of this is actually real, actually here, he isn't, and I'm not. The cuts aren't real.
I'm aware of it, I'm aware none of this is real. I know it isn't. I don't know what is. But somewhere there's someone off, who has all the answers, and knows exactly what really is real, and he's laughing his ass off at us.
I don't know if that's god or not. I don't know.
"D-Duo… Are… " Quatre walks closer to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.
I guess I'll feel sorry about pushing him off me later.
I slam the door behind me. And run into the bathroom, closing the door, locking it behind me.
I don't look in the mirror, I can't. I don't want to see anything. I don't hear Quatre coming, nor have I heard the door to his room open.
My hands are shaking, Actually, I guess my entire body is, but only slightly, my hands are the worse. Damn Fucking thoughts!!! The fuck is wrong with me?!?
THE FUCK!?
Goddammit I cant feel my hands, I can, but I cant. They don't feel right, my breath doesn't feel right, my thoughts don't sound right. This isn't right.
Quatre cant… He can't. He just can't. He can't be real, he can't be gay, he can't have any sort of feelings for me, and he can't cut.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It seems so bizarre
But none of this matters
Thoughts disappear
And hopes have died
But now I am safe
Nothing can hurt me ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I walk over to the shower and take a breath. I should take a shower, it usually calms someone down. I think. It usually calms me down. Or something. Maybe not. Yes. It does, I remember it calming me before.
I turn the water on, making it warm enough. The water will burn my cuts. I know that. I don't care really though, the pain only lasts a second.
I take my clothes off slowly, dropping them carelessly on the floor. I watch as the material folds itself on contact. I wonder if its supposed to do that, if it could do that in a video game, or would a cardboard cut out looking shirt just appear on the floor? Isn't that like real life? Is there even a difference? Is the shirt supposed to fall and ruffle and fold, or is it supposed to just land. What is real? The video game shirt or my shirt? Is that even a question? Why should it matter. It's just a shirt.
I step into the shower, my arm stinging slightly, some dried blood rolling off my arm with the water, falling to the shower floor, faint red colors swirls mix with the water, till its barely noticeable, till it washes down the drain.
Is the blood real? Is it mine? Where does the water go, where does the blood go, it went down the drain, but where does that go? Why does the blood just form small swirls, it doesn't fade completely into the water, it doesn't. It holds some sort of form and then gets washed away. Is there any form of deep, philosophical thought in there? Is the blood symbolic of anything? Is anything symbolic of anything?
Is there any fucking meaning to anything we ever do?
Or.
Is there any fucking reasoning to anything I do?
I slump to the floor of the shower. My arm isn't burning anymore. It's just this dull, muted feeling. I lean to the water controls, and turn the cold water slightly off. I wait a few seconds and the water starts to get warmer. It burns my arm a little more. Then the water gets even warmer, burning my arm more, burning my face and my stomach as well. I keep my hand on the cold water handle, turning it slowly, very slowly so that its almost completely off, the water gets hotter. I cant look sane. The water pours onto my back in violent, burning drops of steamy water. It burns my arm to an almost blinding pain, my face and stomach are much more sensitive to the heat then my back. If they could they would scream out and try to force me to turn the cold water back on. Its off, completely off, I can tell, the water is way to hot for it to be there.
I can barely breathe. But it isn't from the heat.
I stare at my hand on the handle. It's my right hand, and the right arm doesn't have too many scars on it, nothing too fresh either. I can just barely see very faint blue veins underneath the pale skin. In fact the skin seems to be changing color slightly, a little pinker then normal, I'm guessing it's the effect of the heat.
It's too hot. The skin can't take it anymore. I know this. Dammit I know this.
I stare at the hand. It looks paler then normal, yet still pink. It's so hard to put a word for it. It appears to move slowly, but somehow I know it isn't, it's turning on the cold water, all the way up.
Somewhere I know that the cold water with this shower overpowers the hot. A few seconds. Just a few seconds and somehow I know the shower will be incredibly cold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I need someone to break the silence,
Screaming in my head
And in my soul ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My entire body clenches as my lungs heave for air. Holy fucking shit the water is cold. –Really- cold. I'm breathing deeper, faster. Its an immediate reaction, clenched muscles, rapid breathing. It's a natural effect, its my body, its my arms, my hands, those are my legs, this is me. This is me.
It's too cold.
I can't control my breathing, I can try but I can't. It hurts, the air hurts. My arm throbs. I can't deal with this.
I drag my fingers up my legs, then down. I can't feel this.
I turn the cold water down, but not completely off. Wait a few seconds and it's bearable.
I'm so fucking stupid.
My breathing regulates.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am alone
Locked in my memories
There's nowhere left for me to hide
But I am not real
I've made all I am with lies ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I drag my nails up and down my legs again. I can't feel my legs.
I start rocking back and forth, slowly at first, dragging my nails across the skin on my legs with each rock. I start rocking faster.
I can't feel my legs. My breathing turns into a panicked, hyperventilization once more. Still rocking, I still feel nothing, I still know nothing.
Somewhere some small corner of my mind tells me it was the drastic hot to drastic cold, somewhere that part of my mind dies as I turn the water as hot as it can go again.
I can't feel anything.
She can't feel anything.. this is just another scene in a story I write, one of my characters, I have so many, so many characters, so many in so much pain. I'm lost in them. Sophia. She's a character that would do this. She's feeling this, this is no more real then my stories. That's it. All I have left is that small escape. Trapped in my escape I wander aimlessly. I'm locked there, it's all I have left. It's all I've ever had.
Nothing.
Is.
Real.
I created myself, just as I created my stories.
I am personified lies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
R&R people.
Now onto the boring detail before the story….
Warnings: Uhmm.. there's a lot of angst, still some shounen ai, uhmm.. there might be self-mutilation, uhmm overall.. if you read up to this point you'll be fine. -_- _;; unless I pull out my spiffy plot change of hell and scare you all with some sort of randomly exploding world.. which doesn't come yet ^_^; either way its not gonna be that bad
Pairings: 1X2!!!!! XD Hell no its still 4x2/2x4 people…
Disclaimers: do you THINK I own it?
Notes: This chapter is a reward to Hilda!!!!! For snapping my writers block and giving me spiffy new ideas! Thank you SO much Hilda! You are the best ^_^ for now. *cackle* and yes, I am caffinated and such so yeah o_o;
This is a song fic. To Why by Stabbing Westward. They lyrics might not be accurate cuz I typed it from memory. Oh, and yeah, I took some of it out cuz it doesn't fit and I had the idea before I thought of the song. So nyeh. I don't own the song either, But I did steal the parts I cut out and they belong to ME!! Wahaha… _;; I'll go write now. Here we go:
Chapter 20: Why?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am not here,
I think I've never
Been here at all,
Or ever will
I feel like a place
Where no one goes anymore… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know what it is I'm doing.
I could feel his back moving with each erratic breath he took. His back was warm, his shirt wasn't incredibly soft, or I doubt it was made to be soft, but it felt fairly soft with wear. It was black, it was odd to see him in black for some reason. I guess everyone wears black at some point.
If I move my hand right I can feel bumps in the material… I don't … think that's the shirt.
I'm not here.
I'm not really surprised that he's wearing black, especially with his back…. Yeah. It's not too surprising he's wearing black, its winter, and more people wear black in the winter, because it's warm. He's actually quite warm. Maybe that's because he's still sick.
I'm not afraid of germs, I don't get sick easily, and when I do it doesn't hit me too hard.
Alcohol has a weak effect on me too, I guess, I don't know for sure if I've ever been really drunk or not.
I can feel his shirt, the soft-worn material, but my hands don't feel right. Feels more like… I have gloves on, really thin gloves. Maybe… like a thin layer of plastic over my hands.
I wonder if that's normal. I doubt it is, I don't know. I've felt like this before though.
Well not exactly like this… this is new, I've never actually been kissed before. Surprise.
I'm NOT here.
His hair is soft too. Its been getting longer lately, I notice. Maybe he's trying to grow it out. His hair looks better longer, more angelic maybe.
He's not an angel.
I am not here.
Maybe he just can't get to someone to cut his hair, I don't know. Why am I obsessing over his hair?
I am not here.
I can't describe it. I feel… floaty? But grounded. My ears are ringing… maybe. I can't really make out what I hear. I hear him breathing.
My arm hurts. But not really, not badly, not really… it's not me. I'm not here, it's more of a dull pain, kind of muted
That's the word, muted. I feel muted. Everything's a little duller, a little quieter, a little less real. I'm not here. I know I'm not, this feels more like a dream.. no, a dream is more personal then this, it's a … movie. I'm watching this, with my eyes closed. It's not real, it's not me, it's make believe, like the stories I write, it's not real, it's not happening, it cant happen, it's not real, I am not here, I will never be here, I am not real.
I write a lot. I have to, I have to have something to do in my free time. I have a lot of characters, some girls, some boys, some that you just cant tell. I have this one story going, where there are these two girls, and they're really close friends. Not in any sort of perverted way. But they're friends, really good friends. They can say they love each other because they do.
One of them cuts. I have to have that in a story right? Its what makes my story, it's depressing. And the other girl starts to do it because her friend does. All sorts of shit happens. I'm not done writing it, hell, I've written maybe a page. Not even. Its just two characters who are as fucked up as I am who I just… plan to write into a story one day.
Quatre recoils quickly from me, coughing badly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Why can't you see
That everything's broken?
And why can't you see that my life is grey?
I can't believe in anything sacred
When I don't believe that I am real… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Holy shit.
I stand up abruptly, looking down at Quatre, then at my hands, then at Quatre.
Holy shit.
No, I don't believe this. I don't believe this. I'm not gay, Quatre doesn't… Quatre isn't here. This isn't happening.
Holy shit its real.
No…
Quatre stops coughing long enough to look up at me. His face was tear streaked and for the longest second my stomach flipped at a nauseating level. He locked eyes with me, looking slightly confused, or maybe lacking words. Time is being to slow.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but either I didn't hear him or he couldn't think of anything to say, because nothing came out.
"No.." I held my hands in front of my face, looking at them, then past them at Quatre. "No… no this cant… " No, I can't be like this in front of Quatre, can't do this. Cant.
He stood up, balancing himself on the wall and took a step towards me.
There is no way that he's really here, really real, right now. No chance. He can't be here. None of this can actually be here. I cant be here, I cant exist there isn't proof, there's no proof of existence.
I don't believe in god, Fuck it but I cant. I can't believe in any of the lies they feed you with that shit. I can't believe this universe was made. At all. None of this is actually real, actually here, he isn't, and I'm not. The cuts aren't real.
I'm aware of it, I'm aware none of this is real. I know it isn't. I don't know what is. But somewhere there's someone off, who has all the answers, and knows exactly what really is real, and he's laughing his ass off at us.
I don't know if that's god or not. I don't know.
"D-Duo… Are… " Quatre walks closer to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.
I guess I'll feel sorry about pushing him off me later.
I slam the door behind me. And run into the bathroom, closing the door, locking it behind me.
I don't look in the mirror, I can't. I don't want to see anything. I don't hear Quatre coming, nor have I heard the door to his room open.
My hands are shaking, Actually, I guess my entire body is, but only slightly, my hands are the worse. Damn Fucking thoughts!!! The fuck is wrong with me?!?
THE FUCK!?
Goddammit I cant feel my hands, I can, but I cant. They don't feel right, my breath doesn't feel right, my thoughts don't sound right. This isn't right.
Quatre cant… He can't. He just can't. He can't be real, he can't be gay, he can't have any sort of feelings for me, and he can't cut.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It seems so bizarre
But none of this matters
Thoughts disappear
And hopes have died
But now I am safe
Nothing can hurt me ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I walk over to the shower and take a breath. I should take a shower, it usually calms someone down. I think. It usually calms me down. Or something. Maybe not. Yes. It does, I remember it calming me before.
I turn the water on, making it warm enough. The water will burn my cuts. I know that. I don't care really though, the pain only lasts a second.
I take my clothes off slowly, dropping them carelessly on the floor. I watch as the material folds itself on contact. I wonder if its supposed to do that, if it could do that in a video game, or would a cardboard cut out looking shirt just appear on the floor? Isn't that like real life? Is there even a difference? Is the shirt supposed to fall and ruffle and fold, or is it supposed to just land. What is real? The video game shirt or my shirt? Is that even a question? Why should it matter. It's just a shirt.
I step into the shower, my arm stinging slightly, some dried blood rolling off my arm with the water, falling to the shower floor, faint red colors swirls mix with the water, till its barely noticeable, till it washes down the drain.
Is the blood real? Is it mine? Where does the water go, where does the blood go, it went down the drain, but where does that go? Why does the blood just form small swirls, it doesn't fade completely into the water, it doesn't. It holds some sort of form and then gets washed away. Is there any form of deep, philosophical thought in there? Is the blood symbolic of anything? Is anything symbolic of anything?
Is there any fucking meaning to anything we ever do?
Or.
Is there any fucking reasoning to anything I do?
I slump to the floor of the shower. My arm isn't burning anymore. It's just this dull, muted feeling. I lean to the water controls, and turn the cold water slightly off. I wait a few seconds and the water starts to get warmer. It burns my arm a little more. Then the water gets even warmer, burning my arm more, burning my face and my stomach as well. I keep my hand on the cold water handle, turning it slowly, very slowly so that its almost completely off, the water gets hotter. I cant look sane. The water pours onto my back in violent, burning drops of steamy water. It burns my arm to an almost blinding pain, my face and stomach are much more sensitive to the heat then my back. If they could they would scream out and try to force me to turn the cold water back on. Its off, completely off, I can tell, the water is way to hot for it to be there.
I can barely breathe. But it isn't from the heat.
I stare at my hand on the handle. It's my right hand, and the right arm doesn't have too many scars on it, nothing too fresh either. I can just barely see very faint blue veins underneath the pale skin. In fact the skin seems to be changing color slightly, a little pinker then normal, I'm guessing it's the effect of the heat.
It's too hot. The skin can't take it anymore. I know this. Dammit I know this.
I stare at the hand. It looks paler then normal, yet still pink. It's so hard to put a word for it. It appears to move slowly, but somehow I know it isn't, it's turning on the cold water, all the way up.
Somewhere I know that the cold water with this shower overpowers the hot. A few seconds. Just a few seconds and somehow I know the shower will be incredibly cold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I need someone to break the silence,
Screaming in my head
And in my soul ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My entire body clenches as my lungs heave for air. Holy fucking shit the water is cold. –Really- cold. I'm breathing deeper, faster. Its an immediate reaction, clenched muscles, rapid breathing. It's a natural effect, its my body, its my arms, my hands, those are my legs, this is me. This is me.
It's too cold.
I can't control my breathing, I can try but I can't. It hurts, the air hurts. My arm throbs. I can't deal with this.
I drag my fingers up my legs, then down. I can't feel this.
I turn the cold water down, but not completely off. Wait a few seconds and it's bearable.
I'm so fucking stupid.
My breathing regulates.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am alone
Locked in my memories
There's nowhere left for me to hide
But I am not real
I've made all I am with lies ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I drag my nails up and down my legs again. I can't feel my legs.
I start rocking back and forth, slowly at first, dragging my nails across the skin on my legs with each rock. I start rocking faster.
I can't feel my legs. My breathing turns into a panicked, hyperventilization once more. Still rocking, I still feel nothing, I still know nothing.
Somewhere some small corner of my mind tells me it was the drastic hot to drastic cold, somewhere that part of my mind dies as I turn the water as hot as it can go again.
I can't feel anything.
She can't feel anything.. this is just another scene in a story I write, one of my characters, I have so many, so many characters, so many in so much pain. I'm lost in them. Sophia. She's a character that would do this. She's feeling this, this is no more real then my stories. That's it. All I have left is that small escape. Trapped in my escape I wander aimlessly. I'm locked there, it's all I have left. It's all I've ever had.
Nothing.
Is.
Real.
I created myself, just as I created my stories.
I am personified lies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
R&R people.