LadyOfThieves – Well, I saw you yesterday, so there's not so much to say…The hands have healed, right? I think shooting yourself is an excellent idea just before GCSEs…any chance I could borrow a gun? Just kidding…well, not really ;)

Lilsara723 – Depressing in a good way? That totally sums up the feel of the whole movie, I think. Glad to know I got it down (hugs). I found this movie in one of those little magazines shops do to advertise what's about to come out, you know? And I just saw the words 'Keanu Reeves' and I was interested, but it said it was an 18, and I knew none of the people I knew who could buy it for me would buy me a movie about male prostitutes, so I almost went to the point of forging my own ID, but they'd got it wrong, it was a fifteen. So I didn't have to break the law :)

scarstar – Yay, thank you! I got the idea for the pathetic rain from a piece of writing my aunt did about idiot wind, and it was really good, so I sort nicked her technique (innocent look) What? Who said that? Thanks for reviewing!

Thank you all for your reviews! They totally made me feel loved. I'm really glad that people are reading this story, because it would be so easy for this category to die. So, considering that I started it, it's very good for my ego to know that people are still reading ;)

Note on the sequel to Understanding – I'm aiming to start writing it in the Easter holidays, so I should be posting it around late April/May time. Sound okay? (Yes, I know I'm shamelessly pimping my own stuff…so what?)

Chapter V: Death

Oh, for the time when I shall sleep without identity.

– Emily Bronte

The world spins around me, yet I can't fall. The screams and shouts and voices all become one, one gloriously loud and oblivious sound, blocking out all others. It's all there is left, I know. The end of an era.

We dance on his grave. It's all improper and unconventional, but that it's our lives. We're fucked up and screwed over and no-one finds the time to care. Life becomes irrelevant, as long as everything keeps moving,

The end of an era.

He catches my eye. He fucking stares at me. Do you recognise me? I don't recognise me. You were always immaculate. Without flaws. Now though, you seem darker. I can see shadows across your face, shadows I couldn't see before. I can't see the Scott I used to know.

Why are you here?

Do you know why I'm here?

You killed him. We all know it. Scottie Favor broke Bob Pigeon's black, cynical heart. And you broke mine too. Only, I didn't die. I'm a skeleton filling skin. A body without substance.

You still stare at me. Are you wondering about me? Do you think of me?

Did you ever love me, even a bit?

Answer me, you fuck. I want to hear you say it. I want to hear your words, your voice.

I want to hear you say it so that I can forget you.

I feel crazy and dangerous and fucked up and ghostly. Nothing can hurt me, because right now I don't think I exist. The only people in the world who might have cared about me are gone, dead or have just abandoned me, leaving me alone. But I can't feel anything. I'm floating, soaring, on a wave of drugs and grief and the whole surreal world that has built itself up around me.

And now I see you. You're the only still thing in a world that won't stop moving. The whole world stops for you, and I'm losing it. I want you to say it. Say it, you fuck. I want to know what you feel when you think about me. Because then I can poison all my memories of you and you can rise while I fall into the shit.

I'm dancing on Bob's grave, and I wouldn't care if I was dancing on yours. I feel so high, higher than any drug could ever make me, and I don't ever want to come down. Because when I come down, I'll remember why I love you. Loved you. Still love you. No matter what, I don't want to remember that, because then I'll remember why you left, and then I'll want to punch you into fucking pieces, and then I'll want to put you back together again. I'll want to rip out your heart like you ripped out mine, and then I'll want to put it back.

I don't want to remember all of that. I don't want to have to deal with that.

You rise. I fall into the shit. If it's that way, I can deal with that. If I remember why I love you, it becomes balanced, and that's just fucked up. I don't know what to do with that.

It's easier if I hate you, and it's easier if you're dead to me. So leave. Fucking piss off, and let me get back to my world. My world. Not yours anymore. Mine. No-one would believe now that you used to sleep under bridges with me, and used to huddle with me when it was cold. No-one would fucking know. So that's it. A whole life, a life so strong, just faded away into obscurity.

You used to be my life. And now I want to die, to end that life, put an end to all of this.

But I can't. Because it's you.

And we're being pulled down, into death and a never-ending cycle that we spin around in, able to see each other, but unable to touch. There was a time when I would have done anything for you. Now you're dead to me.

Or maybe I'm just kidding myself.

We whirl around in this manic dance, but you're not joining in. You fucking left us all. You're a fucking murderer. We all knew that you were ruthless Favor, but we never thought we'd be on the receiving end. You turned the knife.

I think these words, but they feel light. Trivial. Like something passing by you that you don't notice. I don't ever want to lose this feeling. Because I don't think about you when I'm like this. Because I don't love you when I'm feeling like this. Because I can kid myself into believing that you're dead to me.

I know you're not. But maybe the illusion is better than reality. Maybe our deaths are the only way to forget everything, bring it around into harmony.

I spiral out of control, and your face disappears. For all I know now, you're dead. But I can't turn around to see you, because my face it tilted upwards to the sky.

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