Stand My Ground (acoustic): Within Temptation

Chapter 29: Wings

It was time. The numbers were fastening into a tight lock; hanging sharply over his head like razor blades. They made him itch, just by looking at them. His stomach turned, his fingers twitched and his mouth felt dry. The numbers turned and teasingly twisted for him in their own forbidden dance.

Beyond ran his fingers through his recently cut hair and licked his lips as he watched him walked by. He could see his shoulders tighten and his eyes fixing onto the floorboards beneath his feet; refusing to look up to meet the presence beside him.

He was soon gone; ducking around the corner as the deepening red aura surrounding him had subsided, and all that was left were the dark colours of the wooden floors and panelled walls.

Beyond tapped his fingers against the wall beside him and decided on exactly thirty minutes until he made his move. His heart made a quick leap before he pushed himself from the wall, and followed the direction Alternative had taken.

His hands began to sweat, and his eyes kept leering upwards to watch the show the numbers and letters performed for him. He was almost tempted to reach up and touch them, but he knew he'd be pushing his hand into thin air if he tried. It was essentially an empty gesture to try and grasp time; to try and hold it in your hand for no one else to see or feel!

Time had a habit of slipping between your fingers, and unfortunately, there was no way to get it back.

It wasn't long until A realised he was being followed and he turned around; his eyebrows were knotted together, his mouth stretched into a thin grimace and his eyes were wide and wet. Beyond glanced at the ugly bruises and scars marring his neck from the failed suicide attempt, before indifferently flicking his eyes back up.

A heavy silence blanketed the space around them and Beyond wondered if anyone knew, as he began to eye his numbers again. Did they know what was to come; how long they had – as if it were a natural instinct; a gut feeling, even. He then wondered what was to happen after death.

Beyond allowed a flicker of emotion cut into his features; just enough for A to notice it, before it was completely wiped away into his usual stoic expression. It was sad, really. To see someone's very existence gradually disperse into nothingness.
It became a miserable chore for him, to know the exact day, time and second someone was meant to die in. It was something he was never able to get used to.

Yet in a way, it was beautiful, the way A's numbers dropped as each minute went by, ever so gracefully…

As if breaking an eerily still pool of water into ripples, A turned and left; the sound of bare, thudding, feet trailing behind him at each step he took.

Beyond didn't blink as his eyes followed him out. He knew that somehow, death was a beautiful thing, and it was a perfect experience to see it, yet it never filled that festering hole inside of him.

.-.

There was a breeze. It shifted the branches of the trees that leaned achingly forward so that their leaves brushed heavily against the hard concrete below his feet in thick sweeps, according to the rhythm of the winds.

His feet were bare and soaked in the cold. His legs were clad in thin black tracksuit pants, and his torso was adorned with a threadbare white tee shirt riddled with holes and tears. His hair was a tangled mess, his eyes were bloodshot and lined with evidence of sleeplessness, his skin was pasty and unwashed; he was coated in the same layer of sweat he had several days beforehand. Alternative didn't care.

The breeze was nice. His hair was caressed as softly as a mother's touch, his skin was gently kissed by the wind, and as he shut his eyes and lifted his aching arms, he felt a form of bliss he knew he hadn't experienced in a long time. Opening his eyes brought him back into reality:

Clouds hung over his head, the blue sky and golden sunlight was gone, and everything was dull and grey.

Alternative sat with his legs crossed and he stared out into the distance. Thin trees dotted the landscape with long, slender, branches that reached out and vined around one another in a natural tangle.

His throat was raw and aching. Swallowing and breathing hurt. His voice had changed. It was raspier; tinnier. It wasn't the same, and so he made a decision not to speak as often as he should.

Within a few seconds, he heard the scrape of someone else approaching, and somewhere deep inside of him, he half expected it to be Beyond. He expected him to be standing there, silently watching; observing him. And then he'd speak in that cat-like manner of his – curving and warm on the outside, yet with a firm, sharp coldness underlying each and every one of his words; lining them like poison bullets ready to be shot through his barricade as if they were made of paper. In some respects, he almost wanted Beyond to be there.

Beyond – though harsh and bitter – had taught him a lot about himself. He was weak, he was pathetic and very, very gay. But there were other points. He'd been taught to never trust anybody. To never love anybody. To never be blind of the truth.
With this, Alterative had only been left with one bitter question: What kind of a life was that?

Alternative felt pathetic; sitting there with stray eyes boring at his skin as he stared hard at the ground below his bare feet. He made no move to lift his head and see who it was. He'd rather not know; rather not feel a shed of disappointment or anguish.
He would have preferred to be left alone, to his woes.

"That scar on your throat is healing nicely."

Alternative's chest tightened and his lips drew together. His fingers entwined themselves together and he continued his refusal to look up. The voice didn't belong to Beyond. It was Zero's. It was soft… warm… safe.

When Alternative still hadn't replied, Zero sighed out loud. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" He asked, and after several long seconds, Alternative finally nodded and Zero fell beside him and stared out at the empty football field, with him

"What are you doing on the roof?" The silence finally ceased with the calm question.

"I like it here." It was a simple and brisk answer, and it seemed to be enough to satisfy Zero for the moment as he hummed in agreement.

They sat together for several minutes with silence as their only company. Alternative hadn't shifted or fidgeted in his position once, yet Zero couldn't find his comfort zone and continued shuffling about to find it. He glanced at A, who had apparently found the concrete to be the most interesting thing in the world. The corner of Zero's mouth tugged downwards and he shifted closer to him; wrapping his right arm around A's shoulders and drawing him to his chest. Alternative let out a sigh and melted against Zero without question, and they continued to sit in that position without movement.

"Have you ever wondered what your purpose is? Why you're even here, seeing, breathing, living?" Alternative's words were like a cold breath of air. Unwelcome in the developing warmth.

Zero's ears pricked up and he stole a look at his friend. His voice was so alien and distant, so unlike himself that Zero's throat knotted up in the process of his response. "What do you mean?" He managed, but was brought to no answer.

The two sat together for close to ten minutes before Zero shifted his arm. It fell to Alternative's waist, as he sat upright and leaned forward; resting his elbows on his bent knees. Zero brought his hands back to himself and clasped them together on his lap as Alternative looked back at him with his deep brown eyes. There was a hint of stubble on his chin and across his jaw, he noticed. His mouth was curved downwards, his lips were thin and dry, and drawn into a tight frown that seemed so natural, that it looked almost permanent.

Zero couldn't help but to then stare at the deep pink surgical scar along his throat, and the thick black and green bruises cutting across horizontally. A was no longer hiding them. His shirt's collar was low cut and revealed his collarbone with old healed bites and marks that dotted his exposed skin.

Alternative ran his fingers through the front of his hair as he and Zero looked at one another. A weak smile played across A's lips and Zero formed a smile across his own, just for Alternative's sake. Zero had noticed that Alternative's smile hadn't reached his eyes.

Alternative shifted positions again as the two kept their eye contact. His eyes were hollow, and his smile was forced. "You don't need to be here." He said quietly, and Zero felt a stab of pain that began to situate itself inside of him. He didn't want to leave – he was scared of leaving A by himself - he knew that A needed someone… but what could he do, when he never listened? Never reached out, never tried to be saved?

Zero frowned and then he felt a cold, clammy, hand encircle his own. Alternative squeezed his hand and Zero briefly squeezed back before he let out a breath and stood. A remained planted on the ground, but his grip on his hand tightened; almost as if he didn't actually want his friend to leave, despite his previous words.

"Are you sure you don't want me here?" Zero asked him. His stomach, chest, and throat were tight, and his mouth felt dry. He regarded Alternative with warm, caring, eyes and Alternative swallowed a lump in his swollen throat before tearing his gaze away.

His mouth formed the shape of a word that never came out, before he bit his lip and glared out into the distance. It didn't matter whether Zero was there or not. Alternative was alone, either way. His world was dark; there was no light at the end of his tunnel. His best friend, Kay, was a psychopath, and the only other person he'd somehow stupidly let past his defences had torn him up from the inside out. Xanthus never gave him a chance, and Zero was dangerously getting past his wall and was almost touching his core… and there was nothing he could do about it.

His life was a joke. He was a joke. The scars on his arms and legs were forever laughing at him, and he couldn't help but to make more; digging deeper and deeper each time, but never deep enough, no matter how many times he'd tried to end it. Some would call it luck – he called it cruel.

He wanted to be gone; forgotten; dead. But he hadn't yet been given the satisfaction of seeing at least one thing go right, in his miserable life.

Zero loosened his grip in Alternative's hand and turned to leave, but A's nails dug into his palm; stopping him. Zero turned back around, and Alternative's eyes had a strange, heavy, glint to them.

"Wait – " He rasped. "before you leave." He climbed to his feet and swayed a little, as a wave of dizziness overcame him.

He'd lost a lot of weight. His muscular frame was depleting into long, bony, fingers and thin arms. His face no longer had its boyish charm, but instead was heavily lined with anxieties premature to one of his age. He looked older; he looked unhealthy.

Alternative's grip on his hand reminded Zero of a G-Clamp; cold and tight, restricting of movement. Alternative edged closer to him as the fingers of his free hand threaded into his shirt, and he brought his face closer. Zero stiffened at the sudden close contact, but immediately relaxed as Alternative buried his head into his shoulder and tightly wrapped his arms around his waist. He was absorbing his warmth, his comfort.

Zero placed his hands onto Alternative's back and rested his head on his shoulder, to return the embrace. A hadn't washed in several days. He smelled of sweat, yet a faint remnant of soap still somehow clung to his skin.

The two remained tightly locked to one another, before Alternative slightly pulled away from Zero's shoulder to look him in the eye. The eye contact hadn't lasted as A's heart flipped, and he found himself crushing his lips against Zero's. He hadn't felt warm until he felt Zero's lips move against his with quick jittering nerves, until he was shoved off.
It didn't hurt. Alternative's sudden warmth numbed him of feeling, and he smiled back at his friend, who in turn, was blushing with realisation of what had just happened.

"I'm sorry." He apologised. "I'm not – "

" – I know." A had continued to smile, and hadn't even noticed that his eyes began to prick with tears. "But thank you." His heart was hammering and his chest was aching. His hands were sweating over, and his skin was prickled with goosebumps, and somehow, Alternative – Andrew Spark – stopped feeling, as everything - every pitiful feeling he ever had – was numbed over with whitenoise. His troubles actually became unimportant; not critical; nothing.
The warmth inside of him slowly faded, and all he felt was the stinging cold. It was all he had left. It was all he cared to feel. All his worries and fears were finally gone for one bliss moment, and maybe – just maybe – he could convince himself that something good had finally happened in his life, even if it lasted just a brief second.

Zero was gone and out of sight, as far as he knew. Not that he could muster up the energy to look, let alone care anymore.

The breeze had risen again and Alternative lifted his arms as a way to embrace it, as he shut his eyes. His hair was pushed off his forehead, his shirt clung onto his chest for dear life and he felt the brush of leaves push past his opened right hand before he closed it; catching a palm-full of them and crunching them with his tightened fist. He opened his hand and let the crushed pieces sift between his fingers.

For a moment, he was happy. For a second he was no longer Alternative, but Andy. He was Andy Spark. He was a fresh-faced youth on his ninth year of existence. He was on the Canadian under-ages for softball; the champion of the team. He was a master at Hockey on the last game for the season. His father was an accountant, his mother a school teacher, his brother was still alive and fighting in Iraq. He had a dog; a Border Collie named Rocket. He had a cat; a Ragdoll named Hector. A goldfish in his bedroom named Purple. He had a lot of friends at school. He was invited to everyone's parties. All the girls had a crush on him… yet all the bigger boys picked on him. His dad was never home, his mother was always busy, he barely knew his twenty four year old brother anymore. After being shipped off to Iraq, he'd changed. He was different… he was no longer the same old Benny, who used to always have a quick smile and a matching sense of humour.

He was in his bedroom. The door was white, the walls were blue, posters of his favourite sporting heroes were tacked up. He was spinning a small football between his hands; brown skin, white laces, black print on the front but he couldn't recall what it said. His mother opened the door, her eyes were wet, her face red, a sheet of yellow paper in one hand and the landline phone in the other.

"Andy?" She asked. Her voice was broken, but the tone was tight. "It's your brother. Benjamin." She was trembling.

Andy knew there was something wrong, but there was nothing but confusion filling him. "What about Benny?" He stupidly asked.

"He's gone." And that was all it took. Those two words that utterly destroyed his family.

Benjamin Spark was shot in the head. Right between the eyes. His skull was completely cleaned out. There was not a single speck of brain matter left.

It wasn't too long before little Andy caught his mother stuffing pills down her throat every morning. It wasn't long until his father abandoned them and took Rocket with him. It wasn't long before Andy lost himself in grief and stole through an old suitcase shipped home, full of his late brother's belongings, crying and screaming "Why did you have to die?" It wasn't long until he discovered a shiny pocket knife with their family's surname engraved on the enamel. It wasn't long until he was blinded by tears and shaking at the hands, until he drew out the knife and made the first cut directly across his wrist. He bled all over the carpet and his brother's belongings, howling to himself as he bit the knife into his flesh again and made cut after cut after cut until he curled into a ball and cried himself to sleep.

His mother had discovered him the next morning, and that was the last hug he'd ever received from her. She held him for hours as they sobbed. She didn't have the energy to be angry about the blood, didn't have the energy to think twice about his cuts. She simply doused them in vinegar and tightly wrapped a bandage around the abused wrist for him before locking herself in the bathroom and swallowing pill after pill of god knows what, until all she could do was forget about work and sleep away the whole day, while Andy continued to suffer at school.

The news had gotten out about his brother. Benjamin Spark was somewhat of a hero to he and his friends at school, and at first, everyone was feeling sorry for poor little Andy. Everyone tried their best to cheer him up, but when they realised it simply didn't work, they left him. One by one, he lost all of his trusted friends. The girls lost interest in him. The bigger boys teased him about his dead brother and newly divorced parents, and he could no longer find solace in his team sports.

Andy was gone. Andy was reduced to nothing but an empty shell.

His mother was the first to go. She was addicted to sleeping pills. Surprisingly, she didn't overdose, but she vomited in her sleep and choked to death. Andy discovered her, as he was the only one living with her. All he could smell was vomit and piss, and that smell would cling to him for the rest of his life. The room he'd found her in was occupied by the noise of the ticking of her bedside clock, and the birds outside, singing their sickening, eerily cheerful song of the morning that he would never forget.

His father was given custody of Andy next, which meant moving to America, where he didn't fit in at all. The kids at school were all bigger than him. They were rougher. Louder. Angrier. Meaner.

Andy suffered for years with little friends and a lot of bullying. He forced himself back into sports to gain a foothold somewhere, but his heart wasn't in it. He was beaten, and demeaned, and called "faggot" almost everywhere he went.

His father became a heavy gambler, and was in a debt as deep as Marianna's Trench. People were after him, and eventually, they found him.
Andy came home from a hard day of school to find himself alone. He stayed up all night, too afraid to turn on the television or make something to eat in case his father suddenly came bounding through the door. It never happened. His father was never discovered again after a long, hauling search that lasted two years.

His cheeks were damp and sticky. His hair clung tight onto his scalp and his dirty, stained shirt had become a second skin to him. He was Alternative again. Shivering in the cold winds, crying, alone again. His past was gone, and soon, his present would be, too.

Alternative stepped closer to the cusp of the building. Gravel spilt off the edge, the ground was far gone. His perspective felt warped and mangled as he stared down below. It was a long way down, but he wasn't bothered being so close to death.

He shot his head up and stared at the grey, overcast clouds. Goosebumps struck his skin from the cold and his breath was a visible plume of white smoke. He knew they were watching him. Mum… Dad… and Benny. They were up there, waiting for him, waiting for him to finally join them. Waiting for him to end his misery and finally fucking be happy. Finally have the perfect ending he could only dream about.

He wasn't afraid, and the wind whipping him back away from the edge of Wammy's wasn't stopping him.

His heart was hammering, he could hear it behind his ear drums. A fast, steady beat. It was with him. It was a part of him. Counting down the seconds until his final leap of faith. His hands were shaking. He spread his arms and let the wind try to suspend him, try to push him away, try to change his mind.

But there was nothing left for him.

The wind shoved his matted hair off his face as he finally lost his footing. The wind burnt his eyes until he shut them. He let his memories fade. Let his feelings die down. Let himself try and imagine having more than just a shred of happiness, tried to imagine a whole world that was just perfect and completely, one hundred percent flawless. It couldn't be an impossibility now, because he was finally getting what he'd always wanted, and he knew it once he felt the force of the ground collide with him. He was shut out from all senses of pain. He was gone. He was finally free.

.-.

" I suppose every minute of your life is a choice… and somehow, my dear Andrew, I believe you've made the right one." Beyond Birthday muttered, digging his hands deep into his pockets as he leaned forward and peered down the edge of Wammy's, from the rooftop.

.-.

This chapter was the hardest I've ever had to write. Alternative was my favourite character to write as, and I almost couldn't bring myself to lose him. He's been a part of me for probably four years now as I started writing this fanfiction when I was around fifteen, and two weeks ago, I just turned eighteen… and despite how long this took to produce, how painful it was to write, how emotional it was for me, I'm glad I've written it because A is finally free.

I'd been planning for a year now to have Beyond do it; to throw him or push him off the building, but I just couldn't let the one thing that's ever gone right for A, to be spoiled by B.

This fanfiction is almost over. Next chapter will be short and sweet, and also the last.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a review. Tell me your thoughts! Thank you for reading