Three a.m. ficlet
A three a.m. ficlet
Title: Perfect Angel
Rating: PG-13
Author: druscilla_way
Pairing: Duh...
Disclaimer: I don't own the song. It's the property of Trisha Yearwood and Garth Brooks (sue me, I listen to country).
Perfect Angel
In another's eyes
I'm afraid that I can't see
This picture perfect portrait
That they paint of me
And when I kiss you, I fall in love again, staring into your deep green eyes. Please don't look away from me. Please don't cry. Those tears of glass that slip down your face break to shards and cut my heart into little pieces. Your pain is the only thing that can reduce me to nothingness, a black hole.
You're not scared of anything . . . except for me. What is it that I do to make you turn away in fear? Don't you know I love you? Don't you know that I would give my life for you in an instant, sell my soul in a heartbeat?
Can't you see it?
* * *
Your eyes are so intense, pools of blue that turn a brighter hue when you look at me. Please don't look at me like that, like I'm some sort of angel that you waited your entire life for. Please don't wipe away the tears that slip down my cheeks with your fingertips that are somehow soft despite the callouses. You're the only one who can break me.
I'm so afraid of you, so afraid of the day you'll wake up and realize I wasn't worth the time, wasn't worth the four a.m. kisses, the Thursday dances in the rain, the midnight rendezvous in the pool. I'm so terrified of the day those eyes look at me and retain their color, see right through me. Don't you know that I'm not good enough for you? Yet, I stay. Because I'm selfish enough to want you despite.
I'm sorry.
* * *
He writes songs about gods and demons and a false angel loved through lies and flaws to great to forgive. And I sit there with a piece of paper full of scribbles and teardrops. His soul on paper. Just looking at this confession I found in his dresser is a rape of sorts. I'm raping his soul.
But I had to know and now I do. He sees right through me. He's seen everything I've tried so hard to cover up, all the past mistakes and lies I told to spare him. He knows.
I'm so sorry.
* * *
"Ville, I can explain!"
"Explain what? Explain the fact that you completely broke my trust in you? Explain the fact that . . . that . . . why did you do it, Bammie? Why would you do that?" Tears fall down my face. What is he going to say to me now that he knows? What will he do? I'm so scared. I'm fucking terrified.
"You were so depressed." His blue eyes shone with tears. "I just wanted to know what was going on. I wanted . . . I just wanted to help, Ville. Baby . . ."
"And now?" My bottom lip begins to tremble and I turn and look out the window at the dead leaves blowing in the September wind.
"I . . . I'm so sorry, Ville. I never meant . . . I only lied because I didn't want you to know what I'd done before. Before I met you. They were just mistakes. They were all mistakes."
I looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"The . . . the angel? The pretend angel? Th-That's me, right?"
Does he . . . could he possibly think that he's anything like me? How could he mistake himself for me? I'm so far from him. I'm just this person full of nothing, just a lie. I'm nothing but a lie. And he's everything. He's perfect. How could he think . . . how is it possible . . .
"Bammie . . . I'm the angel. You know that. Quit pretending."
He took a step toward me, laying the piece of paper on the bed. "Ville . . . what do you mean you're the angel? Of course you're not. You're my angel." He reached out and grabbed my hand. "You're my perfect angel."
"No, I'm not." My voice cracked and the tears spilled out of my eyes. I tried to pull away from him, but he just pulled me to him and held me. I felt his lips brush against my skin and I felt so dirty for contaminating him.
* * *
How could he think he was anything but perfect? But maybe . . . maybe he's only perfect to me. Maybe that's what love is. Finding the perfect person, the one without a flaw, because even their flaws are perfect to you. Like the way he can't do the dishes without breaking at least one. And the way he has an infinite supply of toothpaste for God knows what reason.
Maybe that's all love is. Our idea of perfection no matter how distorted or fucked up.
"Ville," I whisper, "I love you so much. You know that, right?"
He nodded into my shoulder. "I love you, too." he whispered, although the words were muffled.
"You're perfect to me, Ville. You're everything to me. I don't know what I'd do without you."
He pulled away slightly and pressed his lips to mine. It was perfect.
Or, at least my idea of perfect, anyway.
---Finished---
I just sat down and decided I wanted to write a story and this bullshit thing popped out. Comments?
Title: Perfect Angel
Rating: PG-13
Author: druscilla_way
Pairing: Duh...
Disclaimer: I don't own the song. It's the property of Trisha Yearwood and Garth Brooks (sue me, I listen to country).
Perfect Angel
In another's eyes
I'm afraid that I can't see
This picture perfect portrait
That they paint of me
And when I kiss you, I fall in love again, staring into your deep green eyes. Please don't look away from me. Please don't cry. Those tears of glass that slip down your face break to shards and cut my heart into little pieces. Your pain is the only thing that can reduce me to nothingness, a black hole.
You're not scared of anything . . . except for me. What is it that I do to make you turn away in fear? Don't you know I love you? Don't you know that I would give my life for you in an instant, sell my soul in a heartbeat?
Can't you see it?
* * *
Your eyes are so intense, pools of blue that turn a brighter hue when you look at me. Please don't look at me like that, like I'm some sort of angel that you waited your entire life for. Please don't wipe away the tears that slip down my cheeks with your fingertips that are somehow soft despite the callouses. You're the only one who can break me.
I'm so afraid of you, so afraid of the day you'll wake up and realize I wasn't worth the time, wasn't worth the four a.m. kisses, the Thursday dances in the rain, the midnight rendezvous in the pool. I'm so terrified of the day those eyes look at me and retain their color, see right through me. Don't you know that I'm not good enough for you? Yet, I stay. Because I'm selfish enough to want you despite.
I'm sorry.
* * *
He writes songs about gods and demons and a false angel loved through lies and flaws to great to forgive. And I sit there with a piece of paper full of scribbles and teardrops. His soul on paper. Just looking at this confession I found in his dresser is a rape of sorts. I'm raping his soul.
But I had to know and now I do. He sees right through me. He's seen everything I've tried so hard to cover up, all the past mistakes and lies I told to spare him. He knows.
I'm so sorry.
* * *
"Ville, I can explain!"
"Explain what? Explain the fact that you completely broke my trust in you? Explain the fact that . . . that . . . why did you do it, Bammie? Why would you do that?" Tears fall down my face. What is he going to say to me now that he knows? What will he do? I'm so scared. I'm fucking terrified.
"You were so depressed." His blue eyes shone with tears. "I just wanted to know what was going on. I wanted . . . I just wanted to help, Ville. Baby . . ."
"And now?" My bottom lip begins to tremble and I turn and look out the window at the dead leaves blowing in the September wind.
"I . . . I'm so sorry, Ville. I never meant . . . I only lied because I didn't want you to know what I'd done before. Before I met you. They were just mistakes. They were all mistakes."
I looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"The . . . the angel? The pretend angel? Th-That's me, right?"
Does he . . . could he possibly think that he's anything like me? How could he mistake himself for me? I'm so far from him. I'm just this person full of nothing, just a lie. I'm nothing but a lie. And he's everything. He's perfect. How could he think . . . how is it possible . . .
"Bammie . . . I'm the angel. You know that. Quit pretending."
He took a step toward me, laying the piece of paper on the bed. "Ville . . . what do you mean you're the angel? Of course you're not. You're my angel." He reached out and grabbed my hand. "You're my perfect angel."
"No, I'm not." My voice cracked and the tears spilled out of my eyes. I tried to pull away from him, but he just pulled me to him and held me. I felt his lips brush against my skin and I felt so dirty for contaminating him.
* * *
How could he think he was anything but perfect? But maybe . . . maybe he's only perfect to me. Maybe that's what love is. Finding the perfect person, the one without a flaw, because even their flaws are perfect to you. Like the way he can't do the dishes without breaking at least one. And the way he has an infinite supply of toothpaste for God knows what reason.
Maybe that's all love is. Our idea of perfection no matter how distorted or fucked up.
"Ville," I whisper, "I love you so much. You know that, right?"
He nodded into my shoulder. "I love you, too." he whispered, although the words were muffled.
"You're perfect to me, Ville. You're everything to me. I don't know what I'd do without you."
He pulled away slightly and pressed his lips to mine. It was perfect.
Or, at least my idea of perfect, anyway.
---Finished---
I just sat down and decided I wanted to write a story and this bullshit thing popped out. Comments?