A Pity 2/?
Title: A Shame (A Pity 2/x)
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Nothing much.
Pairing: Daerrow... naturally.
Summary: Aerrow gets a closer look at himself.
Bags under dulled hazel green eyes stare back at me-and this time, it’s not a picture. Not that I’ve looked at that for months, not since I signed up for this gig. I swore I wouldn’t: I’d go out of control.
Except maybe, this time, I think it’s necessary.
If you win, you live. And just so you know… I never lose.
He defeated me that night, and the night after that, and the night after that for quite some time now. It’s happened so often, that I’ve come to a conclusion: A part of me is dying.
Except, I'm thinking that the part of me that’s dying is my resolve.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate him. Every night, I say it without fail-to his face, to your face, and to every face within reach.
But I still keep my door unlocked and my body unguarded. My blades aren’t under my pillow anymore; they’re inside their drawers. It’s not that I feel that I don’t need them... It’s that, deep, deep inside my brain, you don’t want them anymore and you won't admit it, says the little voice in my head. You don’t want them, and at this point, you never will. You’ll just give in, give up, and let yourself be.
I took it that first night, and I’d take it again, and I’d take it with more conviction. He threatens me, I notice, when he blows hot warmth into my ear. He says he’ll do things to me, to my friends, to those I'm too far away to protect, all at the push of a button and an activation of a crystal. I don’t even care, I spit at myself. I get lost in that ever low and testing voice-the one that haunts the dreams of my childhood, and the one that spurs them on.
And for once, in so many months, I turn over the picture in my drawer-the one that lies just underneath my blades, and I reason to myself.
He turned down his best friend, and he created a monster-one who forged an empire that threatens the very being of Atmos. I’ll do what he couldn’t-that’s what I said before. Funny how it came back to bite me in the ass.
And so many other different places.
I berate myself and turn the picture over once again. It’s of no further use at the moment. He may have created a monster in his best friend, but I'm no better. I created a monster in myself. No, he created a monster out of me, because he didn’t take it. He could have saved so many Terras from destruction.
If only he’d taken that one, single offer.
If he’d said yes to the Dark Ace.
I’m not running away.
I'm not. Of course I'm not.
In fact, I'm only throwing myself closer.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Nothing much.
Pairing: Daerrow... naturally.
Summary: Aerrow gets a closer look at himself.
Bags under dulled hazel green eyes stare back at me-and this time, it’s not a picture. Not that I’ve looked at that for months, not since I signed up for this gig. I swore I wouldn’t: I’d go out of control.
Except maybe, this time, I think it’s necessary.
If you win, you live. And just so you know… I never lose.
He defeated me that night, and the night after that, and the night after that for quite some time now. It’s happened so often, that I’ve come to a conclusion: A part of me is dying.
Except, I'm thinking that the part of me that’s dying is my resolve.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate him. Every night, I say it without fail-to his face, to your face, and to every face within reach.
But I still keep my door unlocked and my body unguarded. My blades aren’t under my pillow anymore; they’re inside their drawers. It’s not that I feel that I don’t need them... It’s that, deep, deep inside my brain, you don’t want them anymore and you won't admit it, says the little voice in my head. You don’t want them, and at this point, you never will. You’ll just give in, give up, and let yourself be.
I took it that first night, and I’d take it again, and I’d take it with more conviction. He threatens me, I notice, when he blows hot warmth into my ear. He says he’ll do things to me, to my friends, to those I'm too far away to protect, all at the push of a button and an activation of a crystal. I don’t even care, I spit at myself. I get lost in that ever low and testing voice-the one that haunts the dreams of my childhood, and the one that spurs them on.
And for once, in so many months, I turn over the picture in my drawer-the one that lies just underneath my blades, and I reason to myself.
He turned down his best friend, and he created a monster-one who forged an empire that threatens the very being of Atmos. I’ll do what he couldn’t-that’s what I said before. Funny how it came back to bite me in the ass.
And so many other different places.
I berate myself and turn the picture over once again. It’s of no further use at the moment. He may have created a monster in his best friend, but I'm no better. I created a monster in myself. No, he created a monster out of me, because he didn’t take it. He could have saved so many Terras from destruction.
If only he’d taken that one, single offer.
If he’d said yes to the Dark Ace.
I’m not running away.
I'm not. Of course I'm not.
In fact, I'm only throwing myself closer.