note: hugs and cookies and kisses go to those that are reading this silly story. lovelovelove. i don't know how updating will go for the rest of the year because i have a difficult schedule this quarter. :( so, i'm just going to go with the flow. aaaanddd thanks, pickles. :3
disclaimer: i don't own twilight.
He's straddling my stomach.
And for a second, my mind shuts off. For a second, I am.
I just am.
I can't hear anything aside from the deafening heartbeat thundering in my ears. Everything I see is coated in a jello-like substance, distorted and slow-moving. I'm trying to focus on any one thing but I can't, I can't, and my eyes are dead and lingering.
Demanding eyelids, they don't like being forced, and I just want to close my eyes and in this second, I am nothing.
I just am.
But the second is up and my heartbeat is gone; a whoosh, and I can see.
A glow surrounds him. His head is blocking the light and anger and glaring eyes live on his face.
A halo of orange and yellow and warm around him and this anger, it's almost angelic.
He's getting heavier and heavier and I feel weak and I don't like this. My fists come into contact with soft and wet fat and then there is a hand at my throat.
Thick fingers wrapping around my throat and they're long and rough and his thumb is pushing into my skin. Digging and digging and digging and it hurts and I can't breathe.
I can't see, everything is blurry, and I'm trying to tell you that I can't breathe, asshole.
I can't see, my eyes are fucked up, I think they've exploded, and you have to let go.
But he's grunting and he keeps pushing.
Gargling and choking and my hands come up to push his hand away but I can't. Blunt fingernails burrowing into slippery skin, trying to communicate what I'm screaming in my head through my hands and it doesn't work. I'm kicking my legs and panic bubbles in my throat and his hand is at my throat, I can't breathe.
I can't breathe and this panic spreads to my eyes and hands and legs and I'm desperate and I don't want to fucking die.
Blood roaring in my ears and watery eyes and my hands go to slap at hard and flat. My desperate fingers think for me.
And.
The hand at my throat, it disappears.
And.
The weight on my body, it disappears, too.
That first breath I take, it's deep and loud and I can feel the pull for air all the way down in my toes. I'm free and light and floating on a concrete-and-gravel cloud. Coughing and not thinking, I do. I just do.
My thankful eyes are closing; ears assaulted by primal screams not meant for me. I'm wheezing and sweating and alone and curling up and greedy for air. My reward.
I lost.
The cold air bites at the open wounds on my face and I have to keep myself from wincing.
"Stings, doesn't it?"
Hearing her voice, it's akin to chewing my way through a roll of aluminum foil. My entire body buzzes.
She laughs.
Fists in my jacket pockets, my shoulders are hunched, and I'm slightly dizzy. I've been ignoring her for the past few blocks and I'm not about to change that.
Tune her out. I should be used to this.
Tonight's meeting was back at the bar. It's only when the guys who call the shots get paranoid about having the cops on their asses that we're ever anywhere else. There, that basement, that's where it all started for me. When we're there, I am uninhibited and I am me and I am not me. A part of me lives and a part of me dies. I have won and I have lost.
It's one of those nights.
I (am) lost.
I haven't lost a fight in a while and the feelings that come with losing, you don't get used to them. On that basement floor, my thoughts were ugly and disquieting and loud in my head, tearing each other to shreds. Trying to force something on me and that something, I don't want it. My face and neck and hands sweating and I couldn't stand to be there. I left.
And she was outside waiting for me. Despite my surprise, I didn't even blink. I saw her, I walked right past her, and she laughed obnoxiously and followed after me.
It's past midnight and I'm walking through the empty streets of downtown Port Angeles. A dog barks frantically far off in the distance under the cloudy night sky. The thrums of the lampposts are low-pitched and soothing. No one is with me, I am alone, but no matter which way I say it or how ever many times I repeat it, I know it isn't the truth. I can hear her skipping behind me and her humming. It's awful, and inside, I am violent. My mood and her, they don't mix well.
"Long time no see, Edward," she says. "How's Mom? Wait. You wouldn't know."
She laughs again and the buzzing inside me intensifies.
I keep walking.
"I saw you lose back there." Another laugh. "You were lying there like some puss—"
"Fuck. Off." I snarl and my fingers burrow into my palms and my steps are furious.
"You can talk!" Her gasp is dramatic and condescending.
I stop walking and turn to face her.
We're standing near the entrance to an alleyway. She's much closer to it than I am, short and girl and messy hair and muted blue-eyes and arms over her chest. A nasty smirk lights up her mostly-shadowed face.
"How'd you find me?"
It's been a month, a month in which I've managed to avoid her. I'm overcome with unease, it's in my gut, as is the norm when we're together and it's pushing me to talk to her.
She rolls her eyes, pompous as ever. Her eyes widen with fake astonishment.
"A little birdy told me."
I am nauseous and my throat hurts and I can't stop. "Why did you?"
She's shrugging, smiling, swaying from side to side. Her face tells me she's keeping a secret.
"Dunno." Her smile widens. "I missed you."
The sidewalk is interesting. I'm counting the number of cracks in the pavement. I'm containing myself, I'm bottling myself up. The urge to lash out, it's there, but I'm reigning it in.
I'm saying, "Well, don't."
I'm saying, "Leave me the fuck alone."
She laughs, all she ever does is laugh. She bows down at the waist so that she's obscuring what my attention is actually on, she's in my line of vision.
"When will you realize it's time to go home? That you need to quit doing this thing you're doing?"
I'm saying, "I am home."
I'm saying, "Fuck off."
I turn to continue my journey down desolate streets. I know her. If she wasn't irritated with me before, she's irritated with me now. Her anger, it's not something I want to stick around for. Me and her, angry together, no good can come of it.
For a second, it's silent. For a second, I feel as normal as I think I should be. For a second, it's just me, streets, and humming lights.
And then.
"Get OVER yourself!" she yells. She's exploding. Her voice grazes unreachable decibels and tiny feet stomp the ground, heavy for such a small person. Meaningless letters, words, sounds, they're garbled, and she screams with her mouth closed.
I look back, expecting to see her face red and scrunched up and vicious, but all I see is her retreating figure. She's walking back in the direction from which we came, her posture stiff, and the dark engulfs her.
Stop her. My thoughts are small and wispy whisperings in my ear. But I don't. I don't stop her. Something tells me I don't want to do that.
And I'm sweating.
My stomach is churning, roiling, devouring itself. It wants to expel everything it contains within itself and everything else in my body. Eyes are crossing and I keep walking but my legs aren't working. Fumbling, I am fumbling, and I have to—I need to lean against some—
The scraping sound my bag makes against a wall and I am leaning against it.
"Hey!" I hear.
But my eyes close and—