Sunday Morning Coming Down
Waking up, his head was splitting; the hangover from Saturday night worse than last Saturday night's, and the Advil he had taken didn't seem to ease the pain at all.
He tried to stand, but failed, as he sunk to his knees by his bed. Random obscene thoughts raced through his mind.
He was just a social drinker, he told himself, in no way was he drinking trying to forget about her.
So she had refused him, told him they were better off as friends; she had told him that her fucking powers wouldn't allow her to feel romantic notions.
That was bullshit. He had seen the way she was with Malchior; hugging him, reaching out to him.
All he ever tried to do was make her happy, and it always backfired.
He sighed, walking out of his room and into the common area that functioned as a living room. The wide windows were bright with filtering sunlight and he cussed again. Somehow, though, he couldn't help but walk closer to the windows, looking over the city.
There was something pure about Sunday mornings, something that made you want to decide between life and death. He wondered what would happen if he raced full force from across the room and launched himself out the bright windows,
The door opened behind him, and he could smell her. Fuck.
"Thinking about jumping?" She asked, her normally monotone voice wavered slightly as his emotions rushed over her.
"Sometimes, I wonder what the impact feels like. If it's instant or if there is pain. I always hoped there would be pain."
Her voice a strangled cry of "Why?"
"Haven't you ever wanted to feel a physical pain so great it makes the throbbing ache in your heart go away? Or were you asking why I wanted to jump?"
Her eyes just bore into him.
"I've seen too much of this world, and I'm fucking sick of being the goddamned optimist. I'm wasting my time here, and everyone knows it."
He looked back at her, her eyes, although not rimmed in tears, were sorrowful in their own way.
"I'll never do it though. Never jump, never swallow the damned pills, never hold that blade to my wrist; I can't do it, and it's all your fault."
A brief look of shock crossed her face. "If you hate me so, why do I stop you?"
"Because I don't hate you…because I know that if I did jump, you would hurt, somewhere deep inside, and I can't bring myself to hurt you."
"I'm sorry." She whispered. He looked at her, eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry I can't be the person you need me to be."
He was silent, letting her words wash over him. "And who the hell said you're not? Who would dare tell me who to fall in love with? If I love you, I love you. End of discussion. And you know what, I love you. For whatever masochistic reasons I way have, I love you."
"Yeah, I know I shouldn't. Doesn't change the fact that I do. And right now, I don't give a damn if you love me back or not."
"But…but I do." His head snapped around, the sudden motion causing his hangover to go into overdrive, he didn't as much as whimper.
"You what?" His voice was oddly calm.
"I love you back. But we shouldn't…" His eyes darkened.
"Fuck it." He grabbed her then, and kissed her hard, with desperate strokes. His lips pressed so hard against her own that his teeth bit into her sensitive flesh.
"All I need is you."