Little Tiny Pieces
Author's Note: I do not own Big Time Rush or any of the characters.
Author's Note: Hey guys, what's up? It seems like I NEVER find the time to write anymore, I don't know what's wrong with me! But when this particular story came to me, I just had to write it out. Don't worry though; I'm still working on Kings of The Night and Sky Touch Earth, as well as a few other projects for the future. As always my dear friends, I highly value your thoughts and comments, so please hit that review button when you're done!
It's not his fault. I have to keep reminding myself of that as I trudge despondently up the stairs into my apartment, feeling gravity haunt me with each successive step I take. I have to move heaven and earth to even draw breath at this point, my body has lost the will to do it on its own. My very existence has degraded to a void that I just can't support anymore. I can't remember the last time I smiled or laughed, or simply saw the world in its rings of color instead of the grey that is now my prison. I'm fighting a war inside my own head, but God only knows which side I'm on. The thing is I shouldn't be struggling like this. He should. When he told me all of that crap, he passed that baton of suffering onto me, as if to say "hey buddy, your turn now". He's the one in love with me, so why the fuck am I caring about this entire mess?
Not even a sigh of air escapes my lips as I flunk my body carelessly onto the bed, feeling the heat of my eyelids cover across my irises. I can see his face so clearly like this, his eyes piercing right through me. They already knew how I'd react before he even uttered a word. That's why they look like two green oceans of sadness, silently washing over me… making me like this. "There's something you should know Logan." If I concentrate hard enough, I hear his voice sound off in my head like some song lulling me off to the depths of my war. He caught me off guard that day, and I haven't been able to regain my balance since. "I'm in love with you." My head writhes painfully against my pillow as my hands tear themselves at my skin, stupidly believing that whatever demon inside of me would be destroyed if I simply bled enough. I feel my nails claw desperately at my milky expanse on either arm, but my efforts are in vain – not a single drop of crimson escapes my body, but a soft cry for help does. How is it that my world fucked itself up so royally just because my best friend sees me as something more?
I'd always known Kendall was gay ever since our graduation ceremony at high school. I don't know what possessed him to tell me that, but he said he couldn't fully place his hell behind him until at least one person knew the truth. Who better than the person that had always been by his side? I was thunderstruck: Kendall had always been the one who had girls practically hurl themselves at him whilst the rest of us had get past the pitiful consequence of looking like second rate rip-offs next to him. He was the hockey team's captain for God's sake; he had led us through a flawless season! But whatever my own opinions were, I could see my friend had trouble written all over his face. Those same eyes that had turned so solemn on me were so vulnerable five years ago, afraid to even think of trusting someone. What choice did I have but to accept him? He would have done the same for me, a bitter irony I choke on now.
College came, and with it, our lives started to define themselves more clearly. Kendall and I moved in together in an apartment close to campus. He chose psychology as his major, while I allowed myself to be captured by the solid lines of architecture. It was stupid of me to think so, but I thought we had the world at our feet. Call it college hubris I guess, but every day I drew breath just for the sheer pleasure of it. I woke up and went to bed with a smile on my face, wondering if my dear friend felt the same exalting high that I did. In hindsight, I should have been smart enough to see that his grins were tinged by this longing that fed on itself every time he looked at me. I always did think that us living together should have opened us up more to the other, but I couldn't have been more wrong – with each passing day, the friend I thought I knew pulled himself away into icy aloofness. Days went by where we wouldn't see each other – he'd leave before the sun could even crack over the horizon and only return long after the moon had set itself against the height of its nocturnal reign. Initially, I was naïve enough to think that it was his work that kept him away, but even the most dedicated of scholars would run themselves into the ground if they tried even half of his pace. I left notes, I texted him, all without a single reply. Feeling slightly spurned, I threw myself into the dating the scene, relishing in the untainted exuberance course through my veins, an inferno that couldn't be tamed. I didn't exactly bed the Victoria's Secret models of campus, but I did alright. Eventually, all the meaningless flings led me to one Camille Roberts. A beautiful storm beyond compare, she was life and light embodied. I fell, hard. I think she was a bit less enthusiastic than I was – she didn't exactly follow me around with puppy-dog eyes like I did with her, but she was taken all the same. For the first time in my life, I was happy. I just didn't have him to see it.
A couple of days before the last set of exams I would ever have to take, I came home after lunch to find a solemn blond man sitting on the couch, waiting for me. I was surprised – for four years, the man I called my best friend had given me the runaround, only to finally turn tail now. Even though we lived in the same apartment, he looked different somehow, aged… hopeless. I walked over to him and shook him by the shoulders, begging him to tell me what was wrong. I looked dead straight into those emerald mirrors to see my own imploring reflected back at me. Whoever this man was, he wasn't Kendall. "I can't do this anymore" he whispered. His eyes had taken one final glance at me before shielding themselves from my own. Once more, a ceaseless flow of words burst forth from me, all centered on the same ideal: "tell me." His body gave a miserable shudder; his eyes had closed so painfully, I feared he may break if I gripped him any tighter. "Please… don't be mad. I love you."
-xoxoxoxoxo-
The rain outside patters softly against my window, a faint of my name by Nature herself. My emptiness swirls around this hollow shell I call a body, toying with my thoughts. Its in times like these I hear his voice so clear, so tauntingly quiet in the chaos inside me. I want to live again, I want to feel that same high I used before I stepped into this mess, but I don't know how. After Kendall confessed himself to me, it took a single night for him to leave my life. I've been in this place for twenty four months to date, stuck here, blindly feeling my way through the numbness. He left without taking a single thing. His breath was the very last thing that I remembered; a wordless apology for leaving me in this deadened state. I was too frozen in my own disbelief to stop him from going. Looking back on it, perhaps a part of him did want me to stop him, to know that I needed him, even if it was only as a friend. I should have stopped him. Maybe that way, things wouldn't have been so bad. Kendall slipped through my fingers two years ago, and I haven't been privileged enough to see him since. My life has changed since I graduated: I've joined one of New York's most prestigious architecture firms, I lost my mother to cancer, but most of all, I've lost the ability to feel… anything. I broke up with Camille like she meant nothing. Whether I love her or not, it's all the same in the end… he's not here. He's not here to clean up this fucking tempest he's left me in. He's not here to see how I hate myself every day… he's not here to put me out of my misery, the fucking bastard.
"Logan?" My eyes flutter suddenly at the soft call of my name. I know that voice so well, but I can't tell if it's outside my head or not. He cuts a lonely figure in the passage way, walking across to stand before me. He's changed again: his face is more angular this time, more clinical than emotional. I'm amused at the frameless glasses he's wearing, but my brief stab of laughter is cut short by that sea green pierce of angst he shoots me with. My emotions ready themselves for battle. I want him to know every single bit of torture he's put me through by his damn admission, but somehow the words escape me. I want him to stay here and go back to our high school days, back to when everything could be connected with straight simple lines. I want us back, but in what sense?
"Why?" I hear myself ask softly, hearing the distant drums of rain halt their heavenly suicide. I shake my head disbelievingly, reaching out to him to make sure I'm not hallucinating. My fingers feel the depressing yield of his skin: he's here; he's come back to me. "I never did give back my key" he murmurs, tilting his head sympathetically. My eyes narrow coldly. "I haven't seen you for two fucking years, and all you want to do is give me a stupid key back?"
"No." He turns his head to the side and bites his lip anxiously. "I… I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't pull me out of the funk you've got me in Goldilocks" I mutter heatedly, feeling fire run through my blood. My hands curl into bitter fists as I talk. I want to hit something. I want to lose control tonight. "Are you… do you still love me?"
"Yes."
"Then why leave?"
"Because I can't stand the fact that you don't see me the same way" he whispers. "I know you're hurting because of me."
"Then do something!" I cry weakly, flunking against the couch. My hand tightens around his wrist, pulling him down against me. He is my friend; I don't want him to leave me again. "What are you doing?" he breathes, his eyes still not looking at me. My head lolls sickeningly against his shoulder, pulling him into a loose embrace of my body. I give in to my mad fascination, my fucking twisted ego. "Whatever it takes to get you to stay this time." His being goes rigid in my hold. He's taller than I am, but I grip to what I can of him to put him in place. His fear intoxicates me, decadently in synch with the lively drum in his chest. I don't know what the hell I'm doing right now, but I can't stop myself. "Is this what you want?" I whisper brokenly, feeling his breath fall across my shoulder. My lips are mere millimeters away from tasting his skin, but he's not holding still for me to sink into it. He's fighting me, halfheartedly, but struggling nonetheless. "I don't… not like this" he says, finally falling still. My forehead taps gently against his shoulder; we're two halves cut from the same fractured stone. "You're my friend" he says, his voice raining down to my very essence. "I don't want you to do this because you're forced to."
"I'm not-"
"If you want me to stay, I'll stay Logan. But not as something we'll regret later on." His hand rubs my spiky forest of hair, swinging us into some sort of broken comfort. I close my eyes, but this time I can't hear that voice anymore. I can't even begin to tell if this is real or not, but I don't care anymore. He's home now, that's all that matters.
-xoxoxoxoxo-
"You always were an evening person" he says smugly, handing me a mug of coffee as I lazily focus my gaze onto him. "Waking up before nine on a weekend should be against the law" I mutter, gratefully feeling the black brew's warmth spread through my fingers. He takes his seat opposite me, never once losing the emerald sparkle in his eyes. It's only been a couple of weeks since he moved back in, but somehow we've seamlessly functioned ourselves back to the way things were. Of course, things aren't completely normal yet – there are still times like these, these little silences where neither of us knows what to say, but we're thinking the exact same thing. We know better than to dredge up the past now. We're too fragile at this point to even acknowledge what went on for the past two years. Maybe one day, I'll ask him about it, and we really will work it out, but for now ignorance is bliss I guess.
"So what do you want to do today?" I ask, smirking at him behind the thin wisps of steam from my mug. He lowers his eyes coyly, turning his smile into something a bit more substantial. "I have a date tonight" he says quietly, placing his own mug gently on the table. My own grin slips into a numbed expression. "Oh… well, that's great."
"Yeah." There's another deafening pause in our conversation as words seethe under our tongues. I watch him fidget uncomfortably in his seat before he opens his mouth again. "Look, if you're not comfortable with it, I'll cancel."
"Why wouldn't I be comfortable Kendall? I'm happy for you" I say, throwing him a mischievous wink. "Just remember the 'no sex on the couch' rule and I'll be fine." It's not a complete lie. I really am happy for him. He's moving on, just without me. It's only fair though, I can't imagine his side of all our drama. I didn't even get to tell him that I treasure him so much as a friend that there wasn't any more room for something more. Still hurts like a bitch though, but at least he's here with me now. We can always pick up the pieces later – for now, I just need him here with me.
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