Are you wasting away in your skin?
Title: Mistake
Fandom: None
Rating: PG
A/N: They were happy--God, he'd never been happier in his entire life--but while she remained content with what they were, he began to drown.
"Why are you doing this to me?" She asked.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. But maybe it was the emotion in her question, maybe it was the way her voice was trembling and thick with tears. Something in the way she asked made him look up.
A lone tear streaked down her face, and she looked down. His stomach dropped out from under him--he'd made her cry. She wasn't the crying type. She never had been. A memory, so vivid he could almost see it playing out before him, danced into his mind on the tips of his shame.
It was the two of them, sitting together under a tree, basking in the failing light and each other's warmth. They'd been talking, and she'd managed to crack herself open so wide that the only thing holding her together was his arms. He remembered her telling him that crying was the highest point of her emotion, and hardly ever happened--if she cried, she was so full of sadness and pain that she just couldn't hold it in anymore.
And now, here she was, crying, because of him. The question, mangled from the agony she was radiating, echoed in his mind, over and over again:
Why are you doing this to me?
She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, as if remembering that she thought crying was a weakness. A moment later, she looked up and locked gazes with him, and he saw, in her eyes, so much pain that it nearly floored him.
Why are you doing this to me?
Again, her gaze slid away;
(why are you)
Again, tears spilled from her eyes;
(doing this)
Again, he felt himself dying from her pain.
(to me?)
"I can't--" she sobbed. "I can't--" And it seemed the rest of the sentence was too much for her, and she clamped her trembling mouth shut.
He couldn't breathe. Almost instinctively, he reached for her, but when his hand touched hers, she jerked away from him. He froze, wondering if she would ever be able to look at him again, if she would ever be able to bring herself to touch him again. If she would ever be able to forgive him.
He'd met her during the beginning of the school year. She, the freshman, and he, the senior. She'd been so forward at first, so aggressive--she'd liked him, and he'd known it. Soon, it had faded a little, but not completely away. And later, when he'd been dumped by his girlfriend, she'd still been there.
It had started as a no-strings-attached sort of thing. They would never talk, just meet up and kiss fervently, never going all the way but getting closer and closer each time.
Then, along the way, he'd accidentally fallen in love with her. At first, she'd been confused, even angry, when he'd wanted to talk instead of make out. But later, she'd let go, and had let herself fall in love with him, a tightrope-walker performing without a net.
But something had gone wrong. They were happy--God, he'd never been happier in his entire life--but while she remained content with what they were, he began to drown. At times, he would look at her, sleeping beside him (both of them fully clothed--they'd never gotten to that last step of their relationship), and feel as if his windpipe were being crushed, as if he were being suffocated. He didn't understand why he felt this way, but when he stared at her smiling face, he would crumble away inside.
A few minutes ago, he'd told her he'd wanted to 'see other people'. As a result, this happened, and he knew, deep in his heart he knew, that he had made an irreparable mistake.
She inhaled, a deep, shuddering breath, and stared right into his face again. She seemed to compose herself for a minute, then nodded. But in her eyes, he still saw the pain, the crushed love and utter hopelessness, as she hungrily searched his face for some sort of answer to what he had just done.
But he gave none, leaving her to look away. In the silence, in the still unhappiness of the moment, he could hear her heart break. She hunched her shoulders, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the ground, pivoted, and walked away slowly.
Wait, he wanted to call. Wait. He wanted to run after her and spin her back around, to take her face in his hands, to kiss the air out of her lungs. I made a mistake. I don't want to 'see other people'. I want to see you.
But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to move, couldn't bring himself to bring her back to him. And so, he watched the girl he loved walk away, and let the chilly November air seep in through the cracks in his clothing until his very bones felt frostbitten. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and mirrored her actions from an hour before. He walked away from the spot, leaving nothing behind but heartbreak, littered across the ground like a million papers that had too many memories to pick up.
Fandom: None
Rating: PG
A/N: They were happy--God, he'd never been happier in his entire life--but while she remained content with what they were, he began to drown.
"Why are you doing this to me?" She asked.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. But maybe it was the emotion in her question, maybe it was the way her voice was trembling and thick with tears. Something in the way she asked made him look up.
A lone tear streaked down her face, and she looked down. His stomach dropped out from under him--he'd made her cry. She wasn't the crying type. She never had been. A memory, so vivid he could almost see it playing out before him, danced into his mind on the tips of his shame.
It was the two of them, sitting together under a tree, basking in the failing light and each other's warmth. They'd been talking, and she'd managed to crack herself open so wide that the only thing holding her together was his arms. He remembered her telling him that crying was the highest point of her emotion, and hardly ever happened--if she cried, she was so full of sadness and pain that she just couldn't hold it in anymore.
And now, here she was, crying, because of him. The question, mangled from the agony she was radiating, echoed in his mind, over and over again:
Why are you doing this to me?
She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, as if remembering that she thought crying was a weakness. A moment later, she looked up and locked gazes with him, and he saw, in her eyes, so much pain that it nearly floored him.
Why are you doing this to me?
Again, her gaze slid away;
(why are you)
Again, tears spilled from her eyes;
(doing this)
Again, he felt himself dying from her pain.
(to me?)
"I can't--" she sobbed. "I can't--" And it seemed the rest of the sentence was too much for her, and she clamped her trembling mouth shut.
He couldn't breathe. Almost instinctively, he reached for her, but when his hand touched hers, she jerked away from him. He froze, wondering if she would ever be able to look at him again, if she would ever be able to bring herself to touch him again. If she would ever be able to forgive him.
He'd met her during the beginning of the school year. She, the freshman, and he, the senior. She'd been so forward at first, so aggressive--she'd liked him, and he'd known it. Soon, it had faded a little, but not completely away. And later, when he'd been dumped by his girlfriend, she'd still been there.
It had started as a no-strings-attached sort of thing. They would never talk, just meet up and kiss fervently, never going all the way but getting closer and closer each time.
Then, along the way, he'd accidentally fallen in love with her. At first, she'd been confused, even angry, when he'd wanted to talk instead of make out. But later, she'd let go, and had let herself fall in love with him, a tightrope-walker performing without a net.
But something had gone wrong. They were happy--God, he'd never been happier in his entire life--but while she remained content with what they were, he began to drown. At times, he would look at her, sleeping beside him (both of them fully clothed--they'd never gotten to that last step of their relationship), and feel as if his windpipe were being crushed, as if he were being suffocated. He didn't understand why he felt this way, but when he stared at her smiling face, he would crumble away inside.
A few minutes ago, he'd told her he'd wanted to 'see other people'. As a result, this happened, and he knew, deep in his heart he knew, that he had made an irreparable mistake.
She inhaled, a deep, shuddering breath, and stared right into his face again. She seemed to compose herself for a minute, then nodded. But in her eyes, he still saw the pain, the crushed love and utter hopelessness, as she hungrily searched his face for some sort of answer to what he had just done.
But he gave none, leaving her to look away. In the silence, in the still unhappiness of the moment, he could hear her heart break. She hunched her shoulders, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the ground, pivoted, and walked away slowly.
Wait, he wanted to call. Wait. He wanted to run after her and spin her back around, to take her face in his hands, to kiss the air out of her lungs. I made a mistake. I don't want to 'see other people'. I want to see you.
But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to move, couldn't bring himself to bring her back to him. And so, he watched the girl he loved walk away, and let the chilly November air seep in through the cracks in his clothing until his very bones felt frostbitten. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and mirrored her actions from an hour before. He walked away from the spot, leaving nothing behind but heartbreak, littered across the ground like a million papers that had too many memories to pick up.