Stolen Innocence
Title: Stolen Innocence
Author:
jojothecr
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Characters: Brian & Justin
Summary: "You nearly wished to die in the embrace of the white silk, but it's his blood the scarf is saturated with now and what steals its innocent beauty..."
Brian in the hospital, after the Prom...
Disclaimer: Not mine
Beta:
positive_pat
Feedback: Keeps me happy...
Stolen Innocence
You can imagine the night changing into dawn behind the claustrophobic walls slowly. Even imagine how the city slowly comes to life again, with sounds of cars and traffic lights, with scream and voices, but you pay no attention to it. You sit still, possibly breathing, though there’s only one thing on your mind - Justin or Sunshine, because that’s what he is, for Debbie, for you, for everybody who knows him. Sunshine, a piece of light and happiness in a life, which once so long ago, stole all your hopes in love.
You want to scream of desperation, kill the bastard who did it, run away. You want to do everything at once, but you can’t even move and the time, don't be the small hands running in a circle on the clock in the lobby and ticking quietly, you’d believe it stopped too and died. Just like the spell of this night. You try to focus on the regular sound, so you don’t have to listen to your own thoughts and soon your heart starts to follow their lead, but it doesn’t silence the voice in your head anyway: “I have you to protect me.”
Your eyes burn, as you try to keep them open, because when you close them, if only for a split second, you see him. You see his eyes, lit up with the happiest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. You see him laughing. You hear his voice, singing the sweet, corny song, which you’re sure will always ring painfully in your ears.
If he dies, you will never forgive yourself. If he dies, everyone will blame you and in equity.
You gave him this night and showing everyone who he really is, you pressed the button on the time bomb named Chris Hobbs. You nearly wished to die in the embrace of the white silk, but it’s his blood the scarf is saturated with now and what steals its innocent beauty. You played with Death and the karma now strikes back, collecting a tax on a boy who only wanted to dance at his Prom. You gave him this night, his dance, which was never supposed to be his last, and he will now pay for it with his life.
First you opened your heart, showed somebody that you care and it nearly killed him. All you wanted was to make him happy, to give him this night. He was supposed to be happy, to know how much he means to you. Supposed to laugh and enjoy the after party. You were supposed to wait until he came home and then hold him in your arms until he’d fall asleep or make love to him if he wasn’t too tired. He was supposed to remember this night, the best night of his life, forever. It was never supposed to end like this. He wasn’t supposed to die. You weren’t supposed to sit in a black tuxedo, which looks like a crown in the whiteness, and wait to see if the angels will come and take him away.
You feel dead; unable to move, unable to speak. Only the tears on your cheeks, which wash away his blood and your guilt, and the undying pain in your chest, make you believe you’re still alive. If love is what clenches your heart so tightly you can barely breathe, then you don’t want to know it.
Your eyes are so glassy you barely see the doctor, who stands in front of you and your ears are so numb of the silence that you’re not sure that what he says is true.
“He’s stabilized now,” he says, ignoring the dead expression in your eyes. “But his brain might be seriously damaged.”
The doctor has been gone for a long time, but you keep starring ahead, at the place where he was standing. You don’t feel Michael’s fingers stroking your hair; you don’t see the tears in his eyes. You feel nothing.
“Damaged. Damaged. Damaged...” echoes on your mind like a crank record and you shut your eyes, pressing your hands to your ears, trying to escape from the desperate, hoarse yell, resonating through the empty hallway. You wish for it to stop; the weak “Nooo,” is too loud, too high. It sounds like a polished glass, falling on the concrete floor and breaking into thousands of tiny pieces. The sound hurts, the pieces hurt.
“Brian.” Someone calls your name, shaking your shoulders, but it feels so unreal, so far away. A voice coming from darkness, to which you try to escape. “Brian.”
“Brian!” Michael’s voice breaks through the fog you’ve fallen into and you look around confusedly. It’s the same white cold place, empty hall and too bright light. Everything is still the same. And nothing really is.
“Please stop,” Michael says. His voice is unsteady, barely a whisper.
Something cool and smooth touches your face. A familiar smell interrupted with a strong taste of blood touches your nose; so strong it makes your stomach curl. Your eyes catch a glimpse of white silk and you grasp Michael’s hand, pulling it away to look at it.
“You bit yourself,” Michael says, pointing at your lips and the bloodied scarf in his hand.
You practically tear it off his hand, studying the smooth curves of the dirtied cloth. There are two traces of blood. One is dark, already dry and there’s a lot of it. The second is still wet, the red is brighter and there are only a few drops, barely touching the other run. It looks like it was dancing around the older ones, copying their shape. Like lf trying to protect it, when you weren’t able to protect him. You wrap your fingers around the scarf, warming it, hiding the guilt tattooed upon it, hiding the broken innocence in your palm.
You want the anguish beating in your chest instead of your heart now to disappear. You wish the pain, which is now shaking with his body, even when he can't feel it... you pray it wake him up. You pray for him to feel the pain like a proof of the life which still lingers in his veins. You pray for him to forget this night, forever.
You pray even when you don't believe in God, now even less than before.
The End
Author:
jojothecr
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Characters: Brian & Justin
Summary: "You nearly wished to die in the embrace of the white silk, but it's his blood the scarf is saturated with now and what steals its innocent beauty..."
Brian in the hospital, after the Prom...
Disclaimer: Not mine
Beta:
positive_pat
Feedback: Keeps me happy...
Stolen Innocence
You can imagine the night changing into dawn behind the claustrophobic walls slowly. Even imagine how the city slowly comes to life again, with sounds of cars and traffic lights, with scream and voices, but you pay no attention to it. You sit still, possibly breathing, though there’s only one thing on your mind - Justin or Sunshine, because that’s what he is, for Debbie, for you, for everybody who knows him. Sunshine, a piece of light and happiness in a life, which once so long ago, stole all your hopes in love.
You want to scream of desperation, kill the bastard who did it, run away. You want to do everything at once, but you can’t even move and the time, don't be the small hands running in a circle on the clock in the lobby and ticking quietly, you’d believe it stopped too and died. Just like the spell of this night. You try to focus on the regular sound, so you don’t have to listen to your own thoughts and soon your heart starts to follow their lead, but it doesn’t silence the voice in your head anyway: “I have you to protect me.”
Your eyes burn, as you try to keep them open, because when you close them, if only for a split second, you see him. You see his eyes, lit up with the happiest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. You see him laughing. You hear his voice, singing the sweet, corny song, which you’re sure will always ring painfully in your ears.
If he dies, you will never forgive yourself. If he dies, everyone will blame you and in equity.
You gave him this night and showing everyone who he really is, you pressed the button on the time bomb named Chris Hobbs. You nearly wished to die in the embrace of the white silk, but it’s his blood the scarf is saturated with now and what steals its innocent beauty. You played with Death and the karma now strikes back, collecting a tax on a boy who only wanted to dance at his Prom. You gave him this night, his dance, which was never supposed to be his last, and he will now pay for it with his life.
First you opened your heart, showed somebody that you care and it nearly killed him. All you wanted was to make him happy, to give him this night. He was supposed to be happy, to know how much he means to you. Supposed to laugh and enjoy the after party. You were supposed to wait until he came home and then hold him in your arms until he’d fall asleep or make love to him if he wasn’t too tired. He was supposed to remember this night, the best night of his life, forever. It was never supposed to end like this. He wasn’t supposed to die. You weren’t supposed to sit in a black tuxedo, which looks like a crown in the whiteness, and wait to see if the angels will come and take him away.
You feel dead; unable to move, unable to speak. Only the tears on your cheeks, which wash away his blood and your guilt, and the undying pain in your chest, make you believe you’re still alive. If love is what clenches your heart so tightly you can barely breathe, then you don’t want to know it.
Your eyes are so glassy you barely see the doctor, who stands in front of you and your ears are so numb of the silence that you’re not sure that what he says is true.
“He’s stabilized now,” he says, ignoring the dead expression in your eyes. “But his brain might be seriously damaged.”
The doctor has been gone for a long time, but you keep starring ahead, at the place where he was standing. You don’t feel Michael’s fingers stroking your hair; you don’t see the tears in his eyes. You feel nothing.
“Damaged. Damaged. Damaged...” echoes on your mind like a crank record and you shut your eyes, pressing your hands to your ears, trying to escape from the desperate, hoarse yell, resonating through the empty hallway. You wish for it to stop; the weak “Nooo,” is too loud, too high. It sounds like a polished glass, falling on the concrete floor and breaking into thousands of tiny pieces. The sound hurts, the pieces hurt.
“Brian.” Someone calls your name, shaking your shoulders, but it feels so unreal, so far away. A voice coming from darkness, to which you try to escape. “Brian.”
“Brian!” Michael’s voice breaks through the fog you’ve fallen into and you look around confusedly. It’s the same white cold place, empty hall and too bright light. Everything is still the same. And nothing really is.
“Please stop,” Michael says. His voice is unsteady, barely a whisper.
Something cool and smooth touches your face. A familiar smell interrupted with a strong taste of blood touches your nose; so strong it makes your stomach curl. Your eyes catch a glimpse of white silk and you grasp Michael’s hand, pulling it away to look at it.
“You bit yourself,” Michael says, pointing at your lips and the bloodied scarf in his hand.
You practically tear it off his hand, studying the smooth curves of the dirtied cloth. There are two traces of blood. One is dark, already dry and there’s a lot of it. The second is still wet, the red is brighter and there are only a few drops, barely touching the other run. It looks like it was dancing around the older ones, copying their shape. Like lf trying to protect it, when you weren’t able to protect him. You wrap your fingers around the scarf, warming it, hiding the guilt tattooed upon it, hiding the broken innocence in your palm.
You want the anguish beating in your chest instead of your heart now to disappear. You wish the pain, which is now shaking with his body, even when he can't feel it... you pray it wake him up. You pray for him to feel the pain like a proof of the life which still lingers in his veins. You pray for him to forget this night, forever.
You pray even when you don't believe in God, now even less than before.
The End