|If You Kill Me Slowly
Author: Bleeding Air PM
STORY REMOVED. Jesse and May, messed up lovers, decide to test out a reincarnation theory. Too bad Cameron Hill, Jesse's reincarinated self, gets the sore side of things.Rated: Fiction M - English - Supernatural/Drama - Chapters: 12 - Words: 3,039 - Reviews: 200 - Favs: 53 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 11-06-05 - Published: 03-13-05 - Status: Complete - id: 1858172
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: THIS STORY HAS BEEN REMOVED.
.if you kill me slowly.
1: love or hate
People say they would do anything for love, but they don't know what anything is. They have no idea what they're in for, when they say that one little sentence. I didn't know either, and I regret it now.
I'm sitting here in jail because I did anything for love. This is where love got me. And my lover? She probably doesn't remember me, as she flounces around in her new three-year-old body.
Yeah. She'd be three now.
Five years earlier found me sitting in my room, running a knife lightly along my bedspread. It was the knife I kept in my sock drawer; it was the knife I used to slice my flesh in neat little lines; it was the knife I had used to slice my name, Jesse, into my girlfriend's chest; and it was the knife I had used to slice my girlfriend's name, May, into my chest. This knife was our "bonding knife", as my girlfriend called it.
Currently, May was pacing around my room, occasionally glancing up at the walls and occasionally shooting sideways glimpses at me.
The walls of my room were covered in various posters, mainly postures of my favorite heavy metal bands. However, there were a few posters of barely-dressed women in scandalous poses. The light of my room was dim, bathing the ugly brown carpet which matched my drawers and bed frame in a very pathetic source of light. My room wasn't very exciting, but I didn't care, since all I used it for was getting hot with May.
"Why are you pacing, hun?" I asked her absently mindedly as I held my wrist upwards and gently placed the cold knife's blade against my flesh. May glanced at me, at the knife, then back at me.
"My mom died yesterday," she said, sounding like she was reciting a fact and not a death.
"Oh," I said disinterestedly, focusing on the sharp pain that erupted from my wrist when I flicked the knife across it. Blood leaked out, and something blurred in my mind. I loved this feeling.
"Don't you care?" she asked me, slipping onto the bed with me and for the first time, appearing to be calm.
"Of course," I answered, refusing to take my eyes off the blood that ran down my arm. I was used to May questioning me about whether or not I cared if someone died. The first few times, I tried comforting her, but she had given me a long speech about why I shouldn't care.
"That's a lot of blood," May commented.
"It is," I agreed, then sliced another line identical to the first; over an old scar I had created weeks before.
"Give me that," May mumbled, snatching the knife from my hand. She used it on her own wrist. I heard her skin resist the knife, but the knife won. Blood broke through the surface of her skin and she pressed the back of her head against the wall we were leaning against, biting her lip.
"I'm not upset," she said, casting a glance at me. I looked back at her. I knew she wasn't upset. Death didn't upset her. "Everyone says I should be sad, but I'm not. Do you know why?"
Yes. I gave a small smirk and decided not to reply.
She looked away, ahead at the wall across from us; at a poster. "How can I be sad when I know she is just being born again in some other region of the world?" She paused to blow some of her blonde hair out of her face. "She's going to experience a whole new life, all over again. The lucky bitch."
"You don't miss her?" I nonchalantly reached for the knife, but she jerked it away from my range. I gave her an annoyed look, but she missed it completely. That, or didn't care to react to it.
"Sure," she said, nodding, then she dragged the knife down her arm, all the way to her elbow, as slowly as she could. While she was doing this, she whispered, "She'll never remember me, Jesse. That hurts. And I'll never see her as her again. Maybe, in a few years, a small toddler I see... that could be her. But I'll never know," she pulled the knife away from her skin, hissing lightly through her teeth. She glanced at me and raised a perfect eyebrow, "You know?"
"Mm," I mumbled and took the knife away from her. "That was a big one, babe."
"Yeah," she said breathlessly, looking down at the collecting blood on her arm. She looked at me and tightly said, "Jesse, I—"
She stopped when I hauled myself up and opened a drawer where I usually kept my old tests from school. My fucknut of a father insisted I kept them for some lame ass reason. I took out a roll of paper towel that I kept in there (the only useful thing in the whole drawer) and closed it with my knee.
"Thanks," May said quietly. I handed it to her, and with a trembling hand, she took it from me. I settled back down beside her. She instinctively rested her head against my shoulder and sighed as she ripped some paper towel from the role. I clicked my tongue and slid the knife along my wrist, adding a third bloody line.
"Fuck," I hissed, the pain finally registering in my mind.
"I want to," May quipped. I gave her an amused sideways glance.
"When David leaves," I said, referring to my father. He worked night shifts today, until 6:00 AM, so I would be free of him for the rest of the night.
"Okay," May said, then gasped when she apparently put too much pressure on her arm. "I'm so stupid," she whispered, and I smirked.
I set the blood-soaked knife down against my black bedspread, not caring if I got it bloody, and leaned over to press my lips against May's. She responded gently at first; almost timidly, before her tongue slipped out and ran along my lower lip.
"I want you to listen," she said, placing her hands on my chest and lightly pushing me back. Our lips parted and I regarded her with impatience.
"What?" I asked her, but she didn't answer right away. Instead, she laid down on my bed, past me. Her blonde hair sprawled across the maroon pillow while her eyes, so much like ice, stared up at me.
"Lay beside me," she practically pleaded, and I obeyed. She clung to me while I simply laced my fingers in her hair and stared up at the ceiling. A short silence overcame us both as we simply listened to each other's breathing. I felt the knife by my leg and shoved it off the bed. It met with the carpet with a soft 'thunk'.
A door slamming downstairs broke the silence. Shortly after, I heard a car start.
A/N: THIS STORY HAS BEEN REMOVED.