oneshot
Title: Uncertainty and a Broken Heart [1/1]
Author: heartagramrose
Disclaimer: DK DO NH. Don’t sue, please
Pairing: Vam
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, alcohol, and general angsty-ness
Summary: Bam’s actions have always been confusing, and they’re finally causing Ville to break under the pressure.
POV: 1st, Ville’s
Author’s Notes: *waves* Hei, anyone remember me? The girl who hasn’t updated her story since April ((but is now re-reading in order to remember where she was going with it, and is then going to get back to work on it, now that it’s summer vacation and I have some time))? *sweatdrop* Anyway, this was originally a random piece of writing that I found on my computer last night, which I changed a tiny bit so it fit the pairing better. As many of my oneshots are, it’s based (heavily in this instance) on my life at that moment. It was written on May 10th, and I hope you enjoy it. P.S.: You can read the original (personal) piece on my journal.
I’m laying here in this big, empty bed. It is fit for a prince like the one I’ve been fooled into believing that I am by the fans and the people who claim to love me. They shower me with gifts and worship me as their god, but somehow, I have never felt the gift of true love other than the love I had for you which I only hope you ever returned. You’re such a fucking mystery sometimes and you contradict yourself so often, that I’m not sure what to believe anymore.
It was only last night that I was curled up here with that stupid little orange stuffed cat that you gave me on our first Christmas together, held tightly in my arms like it was you. I wished it was you. I’m sure you remember which cat I’m talking about, because you have a stuffed dog that goes with it. At least, I think you still do. I hope so.
Last night was so full of hope. We were going to try again, and we were really going to give it our best shot to try and make things work. Last night, I was thinking of all these different plans for the future. They were all vague, but they all included happy memories of you.
Then, today, I get a message saying that it’s “off”. No more love, no more you, no more happiness, no more future, no more happy memories.
I don’t know why I’m so upset over this. I mean, wasn’t it just this morning when I was telling myself never to hope for the best in any situation, because the best never occurs? But, foolishly, I dared to hope for the best with you. And look where it got me.
I’m lying alone in a bed that seems too big and yet makes me claustrophobic at the same time, with a bottle of urine-coloured liquid in my hands, leaning against the headboard of the bed and staring blankly up at the ceiling. My right ear is devoid of music, as I need it to listen for other activity in the house that could mean my getting caught with this beverage and for being awake by the boyfriend I am supposed to love, while the left on is filled with the sounds of my favourite band. Despite the danger that my boyfriend - who looks so much like you that sometimes I have difficulties not pretending he is - poses, my left ear is the one that I pay the most attention to, and it almost doesn’t matter that this means I’m not sober anymore.
I wish I was wasted already. But at the same time, I wish I didn’t once more feel the need to use this substance to do to shut up the constant noise in my head, which has been amplified by your inadvertent meddling with my emotions. You have always been like this, and therefore I cannot expect you to be remotely thoughtful of my emotions, which are already fucked up enough without your input, thank-you-very-much. Yet, I am strangely crushed by the simplest thing you do.
Some days, it makes me question how sure I am that I do not love you, but even on those days I know in my heart that the only way I could ever love you - if I did love you - would be as a brother.
And now, as the alcohol starts to take effect, I can no longer form a long enough train of thought to write about you anymore.
That was my aim, because I don’t want to think about you anymore. I don’t want to write about you anymore, or sing about you, or have anything to do with you. Yet I never seem to be able to help myself. I’m sorry I’m like this, but I am. And I still can’t decide whether or not I really should be this upset over this new development in our ever-changing relationship; this development that has been cut short and left me laying here in this empty bed that doesn’t bother me as much anymore now that I have that alcohol coursing through my veins.
And that makes me more content that you ever have, in all the years I’ve known you, I think. At least, that’s how it feels. I wish I had the strength to let you go…but I don’t know if I ever will.