Skittle Flavored Tears
Disclaimer: Don't own him…wish I did. Oh the possibilities.
Rating: Umm...PG? Yes. That sounds right.
Warnings: This is unbetaed...so all mistakes are my own
Lyrical inspiration: "You Will Never Be Lonely" by Andy Griggs
"Freak"
"Ugly"
"Weird"
Words that plagued his dreams, the mocking voices that were nothing more than whispers when his back was turned...turned to maddening screams at night. Faces that showed no emotion as they tore every ounce of pride he had left into burning rubble at his feet.
"What am I doing here anyway. I don't fit in, everyone can see that. I'm getting sloppy...other people deserve the spotlight more than I d--" Awaking with a start, to find a pair of concerned blue eyes on his outstretched form. Damn it. He'd been caught sleeping during practice again. And from the look on her face, he'd been talking in his sleep too. Reaching a black-tipped hand up to wipe the sleep from his eyes, only to find those unshaven cheeks of his wet. Emerald hued orbs shot back up to meet the newest diva's...since she had obviously been watching for a while, and should know the "meaning of this"
Was that amusement playing on her lips? Yes...in an odd sort of way it was. She took a seat on the black leather couch he was mostly occupying, reaching a hand up to take his, playing with the paint thereof. "You were crying again Skittles. What's wrong? And I'm -not- buying that story about the dream of your dog dying. So you better tell me the truth." She was surprised by her own firmness, but she really cared about this burdened, mislead soul infront of her, and by gods she was going to help him.
Another glance, except this one was a bit more wide-eyed. Then finally his countenance crumbled, and a sigh escaped through slightly parted red-tinted lips. His slender, yet muscular form crumbled into a boneless heap in the corner of the small sofa. His voice was small...pitiful...like a child's. Keeping those kohl-lined eyes down to those once-beautiful, now work-marred hands of his. "I just don't know what I'm doing here anymore. I don't feel what I used to when my music would start. Backstage, people keep telling me I'm washed up, I'm no us--Mmm.." Obviously, his flow of nonsense was stopped, and his train of meaningless thoughts were derailed when he felt a pair of strawberry-flavored glossy lips meet his.
If eyes were the windows to the soul...than this wonderfully talented mouth of his must be the door. Sheer need for air is what caused her to pull back, trying to subdue the smile that was tugging at the corner of her lips at the question marks floating in his eyes.
"I had to shut you up somehow. Now what do you say we go back to the hotel, and talk over a box of pizza and some whipped cream?"
And for once, Jeff Hardy was speechless.