Trigger Warning: (drugs, mild self-mutilation*)
*Very mild, but being overly cautious
Genre: Angst. Oh, the Angst.
Pairing: Paul, Bella
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Prompt: The song "Hurt," as sung by Johnny Cash. Highly recommend looking it up on YouTube, or checking out the lyrics before reading—you'll get some of the subtle references, and it really sets the tone.
A long, slow hiss escaped his lips at the old, familiar sting—a needle tearing into flesh, rending a deep hole through the surface of his skin. The pain was only momentary, but he latched on to it like a drowning man to a life raft. It was the only thing that felt real anymore. And it was much more bearable than thinking any more about her.
Head in his hands, Paul sighed. What have I become?
As the drug flooded his system, he lay down on the couch, head crashing onto the threadbare cushion as he prayed for something to finally kill the hurt. Watching the clock sluggishly tick away the seconds, he let out a cynical scoff. There would be no relief. Nothing was potent enough to obliviate the gut-wrenching guilt and overwhelming need that ate away at his soul.
Cringing, he recalled her face as it crumpled in sorrow at his harsh words. Her furrowed brow and quivering lip, the tear that slid down her cheek as she begged him not to hurt himself, the sob that escaped her throat as he pushed her away—
He remembered everything.
She was his sweetest friend, the one who'd held the other half of his heart from the instant he laid eyes on her. In his most desperate and lonely moments, he allowed himself to fantasize she was his. What he saw in her eyes—such unconditional acceptance—was enough to make him believe he could somehow be good enough for her. That he wasn't an angry, drug-addled loser who had a rotten childhood in an abusive home.
But the truth always had a way of eviscerating hope. She was Jake's imprint. Off-limits. And it was just as well—Jake was from a strong bloodline, the grandson of Ephraim Black. He had a father who loved him and was proud. Jake's destiny was chief of the Quileute tribe, alpha of the pack.
All Paul had to offer was an empire of dirt.
And even if, somehow, he could break the bond of an imprint, even if he could manage to convince her she belonged with him … the truth was, he knew he would eventually let her down. Make her hurt. He was a broken man, beyond repair. At this point, there was no doubt in anyone's mind about that—not even hers.
His phone buzzed, the vibration distracting him from the numbing haze of his thoughts. She'd sent him a message.
If you won't let me in, then I can't be your friend anymore.
He let the phone slip from his fingers onto the concrete floor, where it shattered into a million jagged pieces. He picked one up, tracing the pointed edge across his scarred and mottled skin. Once again, he focused on that sweet, slow burn, on the physical pain that would offer him a momentary escape from the emotional prison to which he was bound.
At long last, she was finally giving up, letting him go.
Everyone I know goes away, in the end.
He'd long ago given up on himself.
A/N: Owie. Now go watch a video of puppies to make it all better!
There is some amazing writing happening in this drabble challenge over on Tricky Raven. Highly encourage you to come over and check it out!