Break Your Heart. [...Fic...thing? Written to clear my head so I can start my REAL fic(:]
"We have to stop."
You don’t think I’m being serious, I can see it in your eyes as you stare up at me. I want to slap you, make you cry but we both know I can’t. Not anymore. Hitting your lover is a lot worse than hitting your brother…even if they’re the same person. I want to laugh at that but I know the moment I do, you’ll snap at me and I’m sick of arguing with you all the fucking time.
It seems all we do these days is argue, argue and argue. When we’re not fighting, we’re ignoring each other and when we’re not ignoring one another, we’re not in the same room. I don't even know what we fight about these days. I can't remember anything you say, anything I say. It's all a blur. It pisses me off. Then we fight more. This is sick...fucked up. But we've always been fucked up. I tell you so and you grimace. We both know it's the truth.
"Shut up, Tom. We're not fucked up."
I wish I believed you. I used to always believe you, anything and everything you said. Even when we were eight and you told me my socks come alive in the middle of the night and throw parties with my stuffed toys and that's why the toys always ended up in the middle of our bedroom floor, even after I checked and double checked that I had them all tucked in with me under the blankets.
People think that because I'm the oldest, I have control. That's so far from the fucking truth and you know it too. You had me wrapped around your fucking finger. I guess you still do, otherwise I wouldn't be here still. We both know that. It hurts, doesn't it? It hurts me.
"We are. We're disgusting."
"Baby..." You move towards me and I duck my head. I don't want you touching me, not anymore. How many times do I have to tell you no before you start to listen? "Tomi, come on. We're not. We're...we're perfect together."
"We used to be."
"We still are!" you snap and your beautiful brown eyes flash with anger. Here we go again, I think, right before your hands press against my chest. My heart races the moment you touch me. I'm sick, I tell myself. Fucking disgusting, and yet I lean into you. I always, always do. "We...we hit a rut. That's all...but we'll be OK because we need to be."
"We don't," I mutter, lifting my head.
"I'm not breaking up with you," you say, clear as day. I don't want to either, I tell you, but it doesn't look like we have much choice. If we don't, we're going to really lose one another and I can't handle you being gone from my life completely. I shudder at the thought, I have nightmares when I think too much about it.
"...I told you, Bill. I told you in the beginning that this, us, was a bad idea," I mumble under my breath and you shake your head so fast I'm afraid you'll give yourself whip lash. Again. "I told you we'd end up breaking each others hearts."
"We haven't...you haven't, Tom!"
"You're lying."
"I love you! Does that mean nothing to you?"
It used to mean everything.