Still Alive
Title: Still Alive
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, never happened.
Summary: It all started with her.
POV: Ville.
AN: Had a fight with a darling friend of mine, and of course, when I'm upset, there's a fic in it somewhere. I hate fighting with him.
So you’ve decided that we’re better off this way. I couldn’t disagree with you more, but then again, whatever I had to say in this was never really that important. It’s always been whatever you wanted. It’s always been me chasing breathlessly after you. It’s always been me feeling slightly faded into the background of all your other friends.
You did everything you could to make me feel like that wasn’t true. You’d reach over and hold my hand, you’d insist that I sit next to you in restaurants. You reached over and boldly sipped from my beer, took bites from my plate using my fork.
I loved these things that you did. I loved it because it made me feel like maybe you really did love me.
I think that I was wrong.
It all started with her. The day you brought me around to meet her, I was ready with a smile and a handshake, ready to start the mental countdown of when the two of you would break up and you and I could go back to the way that we always were.
But then she started talking. She started flipping her hair, batting her eyelashes, and I could tell by the look on your face that you had been taken in by her. The taste of that knowledge was bitter and sad on my tongue. The taste of that clings still to my molars, so there are moments when I am alone and suddenly I taste it.
And all over again my heart breaks. I knew in that moment that I had lost you, lost the way that we had been. I could never pull you back in from that. The madness had seeped into you in the form of love.
I could not have hated her more.
I will give you credit. At first you tried to be fair. At first you agreed with me when I was right, would tell her to her face that she was wrong. And she would flounce off to her room, all whirlwind and dirty looks and drama. Secretly, the joy of that victory flickered and glowed in my belly.
Those were the moments when I thought I might get you back.
Of course, after a bit, you’d slink after her and beg forgiveness, and she hissed that she wanted me gone. That I made you different. That I was the physical body which held every reason this relationship might not work.
It all came down to me, she said, and the way my eyes glowed when I looked at you.
And you agreed.
You agreed.
The pain of that still lingers in me to this day. The moment you agreed, the pain dripped down my spine, spreading out in sharp pinpricks across my body. Laying alone in my bed at night, I can still feel this pain. There are times when I search out that feeling, relish it, cherish it.
After all, that’s all I’ve got left of you.
I can’t believe you’ve thrown me away for her. There are ten million others just like her, but I’m arrogant enough to believe that there is just one of me. I know there is only one of you. I ought to be happy that I had you for as long as I did, but that’s like telling a heroin addict they ought to be grateful for the first taste they had. They shouldn’t want more.
I am, of course, addicted to you.
I need more.
I can’t be rehabilitated. I can’t flush you out of my system, can’t replace the need for you with mantras and affirmations and yoga and special diets. I need you. I know that I’ll die from this.
It won’t be a quick death, though. I’ll linger and hang on, and no one will even be able to tell that there’s anything wrong with me. It is rather interesting to think about, that I am living my worst nightmare every day when I open my eyes to the burning sunlight.
I could be called a survivor. I prefer sufferer, though.
I miss you.
I love you.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, never happened.
Summary: It all started with her.
POV: Ville.
AN: Had a fight with a darling friend of mine, and of course, when I'm upset, there's a fic in it somewhere. I hate fighting with him.
So you’ve decided that we’re better off this way. I couldn’t disagree with you more, but then again, whatever I had to say in this was never really that important. It’s always been whatever you wanted. It’s always been me chasing breathlessly after you. It’s always been me feeling slightly faded into the background of all your other friends.
You did everything you could to make me feel like that wasn’t true. You’d reach over and hold my hand, you’d insist that I sit next to you in restaurants. You reached over and boldly sipped from my beer, took bites from my plate using my fork.
I loved these things that you did. I loved it because it made me feel like maybe you really did love me.
I think that I was wrong.
It all started with her. The day you brought me around to meet her, I was ready with a smile and a handshake, ready to start the mental countdown of when the two of you would break up and you and I could go back to the way that we always were.
But then she started talking. She started flipping her hair, batting her eyelashes, and I could tell by the look on your face that you had been taken in by her. The taste of that knowledge was bitter and sad on my tongue. The taste of that clings still to my molars, so there are moments when I am alone and suddenly I taste it.
And all over again my heart breaks. I knew in that moment that I had lost you, lost the way that we had been. I could never pull you back in from that. The madness had seeped into you in the form of love.
I could not have hated her more.
I will give you credit. At first you tried to be fair. At first you agreed with me when I was right, would tell her to her face that she was wrong. And she would flounce off to her room, all whirlwind and dirty looks and drama. Secretly, the joy of that victory flickered and glowed in my belly.
Those were the moments when I thought I might get you back.
Of course, after a bit, you’d slink after her and beg forgiveness, and she hissed that she wanted me gone. That I made you different. That I was the physical body which held every reason this relationship might not work.
It all came down to me, she said, and the way my eyes glowed when I looked at you.
And you agreed.
You agreed.
The pain of that still lingers in me to this day. The moment you agreed, the pain dripped down my spine, spreading out in sharp pinpricks across my body. Laying alone in my bed at night, I can still feel this pain. There are times when I search out that feeling, relish it, cherish it.
After all, that’s all I’ve got left of you.
I can’t believe you’ve thrown me away for her. There are ten million others just like her, but I’m arrogant enough to believe that there is just one of me. I know there is only one of you. I ought to be happy that I had you for as long as I did, but that’s like telling a heroin addict they ought to be grateful for the first taste they had. They shouldn’t want more.
I am, of course, addicted to you.
I need more.
I can’t be rehabilitated. I can’t flush you out of my system, can’t replace the need for you with mantras and affirmations and yoga and special diets. I need you. I know that I’ll die from this.
It won’t be a quick death, though. I’ll linger and hang on, and no one will even be able to tell that there’s anything wrong with me. It is rather interesting to think about, that I am living my worst nightmare every day when I open my eyes to the burning sunlight.
I could be called a survivor. I prefer sufferer, though.
I miss you.
I love you.