by intodust
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is the property of 20th Century Fox and Cameron/Eglee Productions; that is, it's not mine.
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In the dark, his eyes are the color of cold ashes.
Once she thought that it would be beautiful to end the waiting, the slow, too-delicate dance. Once she thought that it would be right, journey's end. That in him she would find redemption, or perhaps that she already had and the aftermath would be beautiful. She laughed and he smiled and the night was red like blood, like murder. He called her an angel and she kissed him before he could finish speaking.
She thinks, sometimes, that this is like murder, and the implications don't scare her as much as they should.
A long time ago, a girl met a boy and they grew up fast. A long time ago, she thought that falling in love was forever and that surrendering would shatter. He listens when she tells him this and he says that he understands. She doesn't think that he does, and she doesn't tell him about the parts she leaves out. She nods, instead, and she listens to the rain and heartbeats.
Her life is sepia and these moments are gold. When her eyes are closed, she can't tell the difference.
Sometimes when he says her name, she forgets that she had another, that she had a number, but only sometimes. On bad days, she turns away, dares him to call her back. Dares him to try and knows that if he does, she will not come. It doesn't matter, because he doesn't try. As if he knows, as if he fears. On those days, she dreams of running and stops with her hand on the door.
The sky spreads like wings behind him. He was wrong, she thinks. She is not the angel.
When she walks at night, when she moves in the shadows, she understands that she is alone. She slides through shadows as though they are water, leaving no lines and no past. She is alone and she remembers why she never needed to plan for an escape, to find the fastest way out. She glides among shadows because she weaves them as if borne from their mists. She belongs in the darkness.
He doesn't believe her when she tells him, or maybe she never tries.
One day, she comes home late and falls to her knees on broken glass. One day, she doesn't come home and though he looks, he never finds her. Either of these are true.
In the end, she remembers why she used to run.
In the end, he remembers why he kept secrets.
In the end, there are only memories and a story, and they are not to be trusted.
- - -
The End.