Black and Red, Red and Black
Red. Black. Red. Black. The same pattern repeating over again, as the crimson liquid of life seeped out onto the carpet. Red. Black. Red. Black. Back and forth as the world's colours whirled around his head. Red and Black. That's what his life had been reduced to, if his friends were to see him, they would be in shock. He took another swig from a dark bottle, as more of the dark red liquid spilled out.
His dark blue veins almost seemed to tantalize him to finish what he started, but he could never bring himself to do so. The mere thought sent him straight into a sort of paralysis that seemed to never end until he forced himself to think of something else, but the thought lingered in the back of his mind. Isn't that why he bled in the first place? The world's colours spun harsher now, as the side effects began to take hold. In the last few moments of consciousness he had left, he thought back as to what caused this. It seemed silly to him now, such a pointless thing to start an addiction over… the dark haired beauty intrigued him, and she forced him to be interested.
She ensnared him, only she didn't feel the same. He never experienced rejection in his life, being the person that everyone looks to remain on the Brightside of life, now he was thinking much darker thoughts then he should be. Soon, the change began to affect his looks, and his attitude toward his friends and his loved ones, especially his loved ones. The thought made his lips curl into a smirk, there were some advantages to this lifestyle, he learned to say no, he learned to punch, hit, and he toned his sarcasm to an impressive standard, now he could snap back with venom and fire in his words. All because of a single rejection, all because of four simple words.
It's interesting how a simple thing such as that could tear a person apart and reduce him to seeing the repeating pattern of red and black, and black and red. All it took was the sentence 'You're not my type,' such a tiny insignificant phrase, it's amazing what trouble soon followed. The chaos that unfolded from that simple sentence could have been easily avoided, if he had prior rejections, or if he ever heard the word no. It was simply not a word in his vocabulary. He leaned his head back, as the red and black got louder and louder, now he could hear it scream in his head. Panic soon followed, he didn't want this! He could hear his subconscious mind scream at him, desperately clawing out, only to find nothing reaching to save him.
All because of a stupid girl, a stupid girl that shouldn't of even mattered. She did. Even as he cursed Salima's existence, he still felt the familiar pang of hormones that seemed to afflict him whenever he was in her presence. He took another swig, before the familiar feeling of vertigo took over, at least this was consistent, and at least this brought a sense of normalcy to his world. The crimson liquid reminded him that despite how amazing his outward persona was, he was still human. He could bleed. He shook his head. This is what he was reduced to, sitting in a cold dank apartment, only the crimson life liquid as his companion.
Him. Max Mizuhara. Alone. It was something he could get used to. Red. Black. Red. Black. These last conscious thoughts embraced him in their dark grips. They crushed and tore, and ripped him apart. And he loved it.
Ooh, angst, I originally was going to plan this for Tyson and Hilary, but I wanted to try something new. And this is the result. Now, it's up to you to tell me what you think of it! Random acts of worship and claims that I will die in a rotted, infested scum-hole are also allowed.
With the false love that I feel, I love you all.
Queen Tangerine