[A/N: I do not own Lost Souls, unfortunately. Or Nothing/Ghost/Zillah. Or the name of this, which is an Archie Star song. Just saying.]
We would fall like angels.
I was holding onto him even though we were standing a good foot apart. I was holding to him so goddamn tight and I was never going to let him go. He'd have to kill me to get rid of me now.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. A wordless reassurance, nothing more. What else did I have to offer? He did not look back. Maybe he didn't even see me. Maybe he was too blinded by the fury and rage to see me. I knew that all he ever saw, all he ever wound see, was her. Never me, never me, but always her. He would spend the rest of eternity loving her and never seeing me.
But I would never let him go.
Into the darkness we went, one after the other. Him first, then me. And I followed him, I followed him, just like always because I loved him.
Shadows were dancing wildly around the room, I stayed as close to him as I could, but my own golden eyes were scanning the room for them. Keeping tabs on their locations. I had to know where they were. I had to keep him/me/us safe. Us. We were all the same. Part of the same being, the same soul. And that would tear me apart in the end. Because he would nevernevernever love me the way I wanted him to. He would only love her, even if she was gone forever.
He was moving now, towards the bed that dominated the room. It was a big bed, and I longed to tumble into it, fall and drown and die. Sleep forever in peace.
He lifted the knife a little. It was a good, sturdy knife. With the proper angle and a hard enough blow, it would go right in.
In the darkness, I reached out to grip his free hand, the one not raised in lethal anger. I laced my finger in his trembling ones, giving a small squeeze. That single touch made it all worthwhile.
I closed my eyes when he did it, but the groan of pain filled my ears, deafening. A few diamond-like tears slipped out.
It was the wrong one. I knew it. He knew it. But by the time we realized it, that damned soul was flying at us out of the darkness. My hand was ripped from his and I went flying to the ground. The room was swept up in a single blur of motion. I watched without really seeing, because all I saw was him. The green-eyed devil was flying at him with this razor blade clutched in his hand. The monster ripped it across his wrists, and I flinched in pain as though it was me who had been cut. It was, I supposed, since we were the same.
I turned my gaze then, and I met instead the wide eyes of that pale, doomed boy. What hell had he chosen for himself? What terrible nightmare did he so willingly live among? Why? I didn't know, doubted I ever would. But in that solitary glance, I saw something. A flicker of hope, just beyond his eyes. Like maybe someday this would all go away, and he could find peace.
Then the pain was back. And he was looking at the bloody corpse beside him. But I was renewed. I had to save him, like I had wanted to do since I'd received that stupid postcard. When this had all started. Back when things had been simple, and there had been no monsters to hide from.
I pushed myself to my feet, picked up the knife that had been dropped. My steps were measured, my feet landing hard on the carpeted floor. Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump… at last I had reached him. The cause of this all. the bringing of death. Now it was his turn.
I fell into myself, vacated myself of any and all emotions. I slid my arm around his neck, tilting his head back. Somehow, somehow, I was strong enough. Stronger than him. I thought that maybe it was because I was being fueled by my love, whereas he was only propelled by hate. And love was so much stronger.
Then I closed my eyes, and I forced the blade into his head, and I had never done anything so hard.
It was over as quickly as it had begun. I dropped the lifeless body to the ground, my eyes still closed to block it all out. Behind me, the one I loved was breathing heavily. I could feel his relief.
"I could kill you," that boy told us, but I knew his heart wasn't in the threat. Already too much blood had been spilled tonight. Five lost souls had died under the New Orleans moon. Oh, to pull it from the sky and take it all back. To save them all.
And us. To save us too.
"I know you could," I told him softly. But he would not. He would not. He was lost and damned and trapped in hell, but he was not sadistic as his lover had been. He would let us live. Tonight, at least.
But we were a part of their world now, and I very much doubted that was something you could escape. We were lost souls too. We would live and breathe in this darkness. Die in it.
And we would fall. We would fall like angels.