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Post by Nikki on Aug 19, 2010 4:15:39 GMT
My heart pulls violently as I hear the door slam and the TV turn on. When I can move (and it takes a while to gain the effort) I walk calmly downstairs and sink down on the other end of the couch. The knot on my forehead is throbbing. I sit there with him in silence for a moment, before I say deadly, "Your David Letterman is drowning out my Placebo."
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Post by boo radley on Aug 19, 2010 4:29:13 GMT
I hardly hear her over the loud noise, but I flick the TV off anyway. In the background I hear "I'd break the back of love for you" -- yeah. Some music. I turn and look - painfully slowly - at Harley, with a gaze of sheer... I'm not certain. It's dark, twisted. And at the same time there's a glimmer of the past. It's a mix of negative.
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Post by Nikki on Aug 19, 2010 4:33:45 GMT
I feel him looking at me. My breath catches in my throat when I see the look on his face. "Thanks," I say huskily, but I don't go back upstairs. I just sit there on my hands, aware of the terror creeping through me. I think I'm actually sweating.
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Post by boo radley on Aug 21, 2010 3:10:54 GMT
I scoff - but lightly - at Harley's fear. All it took was one glance. I turn my head lazily back to facing the television screen - off, as it is. Her fear... any fear... is what I feed on.
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Post by Nikki on Aug 21, 2010 3:19:28 GMT
When he looks away, a flare of resentment passes through me. It really fucks with me when he does that: goes from monster to disapproving man in the space of a second. "What?" I say, and I glance at him this time. It hurts to turn my head; I feel like one giant bruise.
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Post by boo radley on Aug 21, 2010 3:27:49 GMT
..."I want more." I don't know what I want more of - fear, adrenaline, the rush... the swoop, the highs-and-lows... I can't believe in everything, and yet I want to believe in something. My own personal hell hole, where I'm the dictator and ruler Royal. Hell is like a ladder. If you're at the top, you're at the top. But you can fall off most easily.
The incessant rambles of my mind cut to the quick, though, and I fall silent, allowing for Harley to try and grasp the definition. She has this way of doing things, where she tends to think aloud. To try and...make sense of things. And when she does that, I see the clearer meaning, regardless if she's spot on, or completely wrong.
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Post by Nikki on Aug 21, 2010 3:34:35 GMT
I look down, brushing a hand across the back of my neck, and sigh. Wondering if I should say this. "I miss the way it was in the beginning," I start carefully. "Everything was so...when it was good, it was great. And when it was bad..." I trail off. "Well, that was great, too." I let out a bitter little laugh. "Now it seems we're caught in between. Not really one. Not really the other. There's not enough..."
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Post by boo radley on Aug 21, 2010 3:45:59 GMT
I listen to that and have to agree. "In the beginning it was tamer. And when it was bad, as you say, it was a... mild storm. But now it's a whirlwind, because then we were in the eye of the storm, and now we're circling around. I don't pretend to know all the reasons why you started out so fascinated. I'm just... a dog chasing cars." Probably one of the most underappreciated statements I've ever made, but the most true. "And now it's like a wolf pack chasing a freight train."
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Post by Nikki on Aug 21, 2010 3:58:50 GMT
"That must really get you off," I say, but not angrily. "My 'fascination'." I don't know where all this is coming from. I didn't even know I was feeling it.
I touch the knot on my forehead. There's a long silence. I'm not even looking at him anymore. "This was for you." I pull up my sleeve where the thin white ribbons of scars from months ago show. "And these were for you." I pull up the side of my shirt. "And these are from you."
All of a sudden the music I'm playing seems very stupid. Rid you of possessions fleeting...
Remain your funny valentine.
"And, uh..." I lean my elbow on the arm of the couch. "It's the one thing I actually don't find amusing at all. When I saw you..." I trail off again. I don't know quite how to continue.
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Post by boo radley on Aug 21, 2010 4:02:54 GMT
I see the scars, and my eyes shift slightly, so as to look at Harley's face again. "Then we're both battered by not only others, but by ourselves. There are scars from within, and scars from outside. I don't think anyone ever stopped to realize why I tell stories, and stories, and stories. They're all true. I don't have to differentiate." And I stop talking, only so as to think: because one story it's me, another story it's another person. And it's all their fault. It's all our fault. I'm the byproduct of...a thousand composites.
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