I always hate myself. Everyday. But what sucks the most is that you hurt when I hurt. It makes me hate myself more.
I could never hate you Jack. But the more I hate myself makes me question the love I have for you.
"Do you love me Elsa?"
"Yes! Yes I do!"
Your laughter was the first thing about you that captured my heart. You saw me at my best, and helped me at my worst. You were every woman's dream, every man's friend. I considered myself the luckiest girl in the world.
You loved me even though I was a criminal's daughter. When everyone disapproved of you choosing me as your girlfriend, you loved me anyway.
You taught me many things. How to cook my food properly. How to make origami for some art projects back in high school. How to make money on my own. You even gave me a house, and a brand new wardrobe. You fed me and protected me like the perfect boyfriend that you are.
You gave me many more things than that. You gave me a new start. You gave me your name. You made me a part of your family.
"Do you love me, Elsa?"
"Yes! Yes I do!"
And as the years went by, you never ceased to love me less. Even when I screwed up your portfolio for a work project because I was too busy looking for my earrings, you still loved me (after a decent lecture of course). Even when a few of your office mates flirted with me, and I entertained them because I adored their attentions, you still loved me (after reminding me that I am yours). Even when you caught me kissing that apprentice boy you call Jamie, you only wore that stony expression in silence... and in the morning you still say: "You know I love you, right Elsa?"
And I say, " I do."
When you do not give me what I want, you show your frightening anger. But even in your wrath, I can feel your love still strong for me. Even though the child in my womb is not yours and I know though I never told you that you knew, you still love me just as strongly as the first time you met me.
They called you stupid for loving me. I hate them that they say you are stupid.
They are right for saying you should stop loving me. But I know in my heart that you are not stupid.
Loving me was your choice. That is why I hate myself because you love me.
"Do you love me, Elsa?" you ask.
You asked me that question when you figured out I was sleeping with Hiccup.
You asked me that when I dated Rapunzel's boyfriend behind your back.
You asked me that when Hans offered me a date promising to buy me these red pumps I've been wanting so much that I forgot it was our anniversary.
And when I told you that I was fed up with you on a beautiful afternoon during the first day of the rainbow festival, you asked me that question with a brave mournful smile that it didn't fail to break my heart.
"Do you love me Elsa?"
I thought it was the right thing to do. You're too good. You're too pure. You're too loving.
You are everything I don't deserve.
I hurt you openly. I feel guilt. I feel regret. But I keep on hurting you.
So when I left our house without so much as a goodbye, you let me. You did not stop me. When I ran away with a rich man in the dark of night, I could feel your melancholic eyes behind my back, peeking through the curtain of your bedroom. If I looked back, I was sure there would be tears in your eyes.
But why does it seem that you still held on to my heart in that sickeningly sweet but stubborn fashion?
And now I cry my eyes to sleep... thinking of those many times... those many times I hurt you, those many times I could have made amends, those many times you've never ceased to give me second chances, third chances, fourth chances.
I hate myself because of you. And you know what's worse?
I hate myself more because it hurts you when I hate myself.
The man I ran away with has left me. The jewels my lovers gifted me were either stolen or exchanged for money at a pawnshop. My friends have deserted me. My career has failed. My actions have made me desolate.
My last resort at self support was to put on a red light.
I deserve this punishment... to stand in a crowd of lustful eyes, of men in business suits with cancer sticks nestled on their lips. Of smoke and steam and poles and deafening music. Of racy red stilleto heels and black and blue lingerie. Of scarlet blood lips and diamonds on my neck.
This is the world I deserve to live in. A world where I wear the scarlet letter, to testify of how I pierced your heart over and over again. I deserve this. I am not proud of who I am, of what I've become... but I deserve this... I deserve this... I deserve this...
A man with sideburns slyly reaches up as I squat in fake lascivousness, exposing the parts of me that should have been kept for you. I am required to do this. It's the only way for me to live now. He wears a lecherous smile as he slips a thick wad of dollars on the strap of my stockings, and I give him a wink.
I fight the bile that tries to escape my throat.
When the night comes, my body yields to carnal pleasure. But after the dark deed is done, I am left with a sickening feeling. I feel disgusted with myself as I cry myself to sleep. There is no comfort in the seediest places of this city.
I merely hold on to the memory of you beside me, wearing the most gentlest of smiles when you meet my eyes fresh from sleep. I meditate on the afternoons we spent strolling by the park as the green and yellow leaves from the maple trees flutter about in our path. I dream of the evenings we rendevous on our favorite green hill, lying on the soft dew-kissed grass as the stars smile down upon us.
I miss the twinkle in your eyes as you turn to face me on your side, asking me... "Do you love me Elsa?"
"Yes..." I wail against my pillows. "Yes I do!"
What was the point now? I know you won't hear me.
I cry like a babe whenever I remember your love for me. You must hate me terribly now.
"Snow Queen," I hear a man knock from outside my door. "Someone's here to collect you."
"Tell him I'm not in the mood!" I shriek angrily. Let me be alone. Let me curse myself more for hurting the one I love.
"He's not here for a quick poke, you bitch!" the man snaps. "The man came to bail you out. Bought ya for the price of five hundred thousand dollars."
What?
I hear the man snicker, "We would 'ave given a fucked up wench for just a few hundred dollars. This poor chap's payin' for so much than what ya worth."
I hear a slap.
"Shut up and let me in."
That voice... I know that voice.
"Jack?" I croak against my pillows.
The door opens, and I hear the thud of relaxed but heavy footsteps on the animal print carpet. One breath through the nose and I instantly recognize your Joel Cruz perfume like it was oxygen. I hide my face behind the pillows as I push myself up by the balls of my feet and recline against the headboard.
Stay away from me. I am dirty... so dirty...
"Elsa," you murmur my name, the same way you did when we were young. The same way you made me fall head over heels in love with you.
Why can't you stay away?
"Come back to me Elsa." you plead.
Why?
"Why?" I ask. My voice is hoarse. My voice cries.
When I steal a glance at your face, so stern, so angelic, so wise, so old, so young, you smile a melancholic but hopeful smile.
"Do you still love me Elsa?"
The question hurts me. The question kills me. The question shatters my heart into a thousand pieces.
"Yes," I cry. My voice breaks. My face is buried within my palms. "Yes. Yes. Yes..."
You sit closer and you envelope me in your warmth. I bury my face in your chest. Your embrace is like home. Your embrace is home.
"Why?!" I ask you. "Why do you pursue me?! Even after everything I ever did?! Why?! Why?! Why?!"
You let me go when I willingly left. You found me at the worst of the doom I placed on myself and you rescued me.
"Why?!"
You place a soft kiss on my temple. I feel fresh tears stain your chiseled cheeks. You arrange my hair neatly and continue to cradle me ever so lovingly...
"Because I love you." you whisper.
And I cry, and cry, and cry some more.
Your love is too much. It makes me confess of all I've done wrong against you. All the things you know already, all the things I never told you. All the horrible things. All the dreadful things. They flow out of my lips like a river. They flow as fluidly and raggedly as my tears and my breaths.
You hush me and rock me back and forth, and for once in a long, long, long time... I feel safe.
What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness? What should I do Jack?
"Come back to me," you tell me. "And be my wife. And love me the way you love me now."
"Yes!" I cry harder. "Yes! I will... I will... I'm so sorry! So sorry... so sorry."
When I loved you, you loved me. When I hurt you, you reprimanded me, but loved me. When I left you, you let me, but loved me.
When I shamelessly accept your forgiveness, you love me anyway.
Things will change. You might get stricter. I will be more faithful.
But your love for me won't. And neither mine for you.
Because our love goes beyond the beyond.
... ... ...
A/N: I was supposed to be writing MischievousRose's prompt given through FB. But uhm... well, something happened. xD I was well... feeling the 'vibe' and the only way I could express it was through metaphors. So...TADA... this little fic was the fruit of it. This, like the previous two chapters of BTB, is also inspired by a true story. I used the word 'inspired' because well... I think you get what I mean xD
Well... I hope you guys like it in spite of the underlying bittersweetness I felt as I wrote this. :3
p.s. MischievousRose's prompt comes next