Layers of Fear
She's being hunted.
By evil, by death, by destiny.
And while the thought of being prey to these dark things is terrifying, she is only afraid of the last. She only fears destiny. Because it is hers and it's determined and set and inescapable and will happen.
She fears what cannot change.
Like time.
Because twenty four hours can never be enough. And because sometimes it is too much. And sometimes she wishes that things were more flexible more fluid more changeable and she wishes she could alter her fate.
But she can't.
So she fears it because it hurts knowing that she can't have beyond what is her life. And she wishes she weren't so definable.
And she fears spring because it's beautiful and vibrant and colorful and soft and temporary. Because she knows it will fade into dark and violent shades, because she knows those spring things will die.
And when they come back, when they're alive and bright and real she has to watch them die again.
And she thinks things shouldn't die over and over and over again. She thinks they should die once.
Because it hurts less that way.
So she fears spring because it's beautiful and she loves it and it dies and dies and dies.
And she fears him. She hates him and loves him and fears him.
She fears the way he looks at her dark and hard and long because he makes her feel alive and real and someone other than her. And when she feels the beat of his heart beneath her hand she thinks maybe she can hold onto him.
And she fears that.
Because she is being hunted by evil and death and a destiny that has no room for him. And she fears hope because she knows it never lasts.
She fears the space between their bodies. She fears the echoes of his fingertips on her skin because she wants more that just an echo of him.
She wants more. She wants his smile and his eyelashes on her cheek and the hand on her thigh and the sighs and moans and swish of purple fabric in the wind.
She fears the space between their bodies because it is too real.
And she hates him and loves him and fears him and wants him too damn much.
He fears the eyes of old people because they are experienced and wise and they are on the verge of death. And they can see the end in him. And he fears their knowledge and their pity because sometimes he forgets that he has no beginnings.
Just ends.
And he fears nothing.
It's what he fears most. The nothing.
In his hands he holds a black hole of never-ending nothing, a dark abyss where things disappear, where people cease existing. They don't die, they just fade away until voices and memories and eyes and faces are forgotten forever.
He fears his death not because life will cease to exist but because he will cease to exist. He will be absorbed into his black nothing and he will become nothing.
And he fears dying forever. Because death should only be momentary. Because death should only be a transition from life to memory. And when he dies he will become part of nothing.
And he will go from life to death to nothing. And there will be no memories no stories no things. There will just be nothing.
And he fears that.
Because he thinks maybe he is something.
He thinks maybe she's made him into something. Because she holds him so tight, so tight like she doesn't want to let go. And she traces his face, her fingers skim over the edges and the lines and the scars like she's memorizing them, like she's retracing them.
Re-making him.
And he fears how he's tempted to hold onto her, tempted to claim her.
Because he knows they can never have each other. Because she fears a destiny that tells her who she belongs to and he fears a destiny that dooms him to nothing.
And he fears holding onto her because he thinks maybe she is the only thing he has ever wanted.