Title: Midnight Show

Author: Lia (Unattainable Adrenaline)

Rating: PG-13 - R

A/N: This is a re-post, but I added the ending and changed the title. ;)

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ONE-SHOT

“Please don’t leave me.”

My desperate voice echoes dully throughout the small room. My voice is raw and hoarse from our earlier screaming match, and it feels like someone rubbed my throat with sandpaper. But I ignore that, I have much more to pay attention to.

His body stalls in his packing and I see his back muscles clench as he sighs.

“I love you, don’t do this to me.” I plead again. Oh, God, don’t do this to me… “Roark, please.”

Roark turns around and throws his hands up in the air. “Guy, I’m sorry! I really am, but I just don’t know what to do anymore! It’s just too much, I can’t take it, and - and…” He pauses and catches his breath. He lets his hands fall to his sides as he shakes his head helplessly. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

He’s said this so many times before, but now I think, “This is final.” And… it is.

That’s it.

I stand speechless, not in shock, but simply because I can think of nothing to say. He goes about the room opening drawers and closets and stuffing his clothes and belongings haphazardly into his suitcase which lies splayed open on top of our unmade bed.

The sheets are crumpled and the rest of the room is in disarray. Broken glass and plastic litters the night stand and the floor around it from when one of us had thrown it in the heat of the argument.

Roark’s reflection is thrown back at me from the mirror above the dresser, and I see a picture of perfect mistakes.

We were perfect, where did we go wrong?

“I love you…” He whispers softly into my ear before tenderly pressing his lips to my sweaty temple. He is still catching his breath from our rough lovemaking, and we both bask in the afterglow of such intense pleasure.

His arms wrap loosely around my torso and back and I let my cheek fall and settle on his rising and falling chest.

“I love you too.” I answer him sleepily and a hand runs through my hair, lightly massaging my scalp as I drift off. The moment is perfect and I want to stay suspended in time forever.

But it was obviously not meant to be.

I’m thrown back into reality as I hear the closet door click shut and I’m vaguely aware that my body has slid down the wall. I now sit mindlessly on the cream carpeted floor.

He throws the last of his clothes into his bag and zips the large canvas suitcase shut. He slings it over his shoulder and surveys the room one last time.

His gaze lands on my form curled on the floor beside the bed and he takes a few steps closer. He crouches down and I see the pain evident in his eyes. I know it’s reflected from mine, though I don’t really feel it now.

“I’m so sorry, Guy.” He whispers one last time in a wobbly and congested voice.

I didn’t want it to end like this.

I didn’t want it to end at all.

“I’m sorry too.” There’s nothing else I can say left. He nods and stands straight and through my suddenly blurred eyesight, I see his form walk though the dark doorway.

And my heart breaks in two before dying in front of me.

It’s been about a month since he left. The apartment is always dark now, I never turn on the lights. What’s the point when I can see just as well in the dark anyway?

I feel my stomach growl for a second and off-handedly I realise I can’t even remember when the last time was when I ate. My friends come knocking at my door again, but I don’t answer it. I know everyone thinks I’m acting childish, but I can’t help it. I can’t even be bothered to care anymore.

I lay on my bed on the dirty sheets I haven’t changed for weeks and stare mindlessly at my ceiling. The play of light on it changes every so often as cars pass and the sun reflects off their hoods through my blinds. The pressure in my bladder becomes too bothersome to ignore and I sighed as I basically roll off the bed.

I walk into the blue-tiled bathroom and relieve myself, not even bothering to wash my hands after I go. I shuffle slowly in front of the mirror, not really wanting to see what I look like, but I pass it on my way. A pale, gaunt face stares out at me. The dark eyes are dull and lifeless now and sunken so far in I have a feeling they want to sink into the recesses of my mind. My skin is cut sharply by my lanky, overgrown hair which I haven’t bothered to take much care of since he left.

I stand there for a few more moments deciding whether or not to take a shower when I finally sigh and turn on the water. I undress slowly and my eyes take in briefly the sight of a starved, sickly looking body. But my eyes don’t care anyway and neither does the brain that’s attached.

Opening the glass door, I step into the two-person cubicle. Two people. Hah. Not anymore.

Even in my mind, my voice is tired and broken and the walls built around my mind can’t stop the memories from flooding back in.

Hahaha! Stop throwing soap on me, Guy! Laughing. Slipping. Wet sides. Sliding skin. A wet suction of skin tasting of salt and sweat and acidic-flavoured shower gel. A smile and a sigh.

A cold wet floor and a thin starved body.

A soft whispered sigh. I love you…

Desperate cries. “Oh, God, come back…”

I love you too.

“Please…” A sob.

Contentment. Love.

Love.

The word echoes in my mind back and forth. Love? Love kills everyone.

Including me.

A sudden clarity strikes me like a bolt of lightning. I don’t want to be here. Not without him with me.

My eyes flick around the glass shower for something, anything, to make it (me) go away. My eyes stop as a sharp light glints off of metal into my pupils, making them shrink. A razor. How perfect. The most overused, popular way to die. But now I see why they chose this lethal yet innocent weapon. It’s so easy. You don’t have to go through the trouble of buying a gun, or to get a prescription of pills, just go to your shower and pick up the most simple thing. Just one cut and that’s it.

Standing up, I don’t even notice my shaking until I see my hand reaching for the single blade razor. I stare fascinated at the perfection of such a simple tool, at the perfect straight line. So thin, yet so sharp. I think of the cold metal slicing through my skin cells, parting the globulous yellow fat, and drinking from the little red streams. What a beautiful way to die.

I smile and close my eyes. Yes, this is how I want it to end.

I’m standing still under the shower and I feel the steady torrent of water drip drop onto my head. It has made my hair a slick cap and the water falls onto my closed eyelids.

The first touch of the blade burns like fire and I gasp through clenched teeth, but the further I go, the less it hurts. I can’t even feel it now.

I’m sure in places I hit the bone, but the pain has numbed my body against itself. It doesn’t hurt anymore. In fact, it almost feels good.

My legs give out and I fall to the tile floor and I watch the multiple red rivers swirl down, down, down the drain. I wonder where the microscopic cells will end up; in a sewage plant? Maybe.

After a while the lines get fuzzy and it’s much too hard to breathe. So, I stop. The burning in my lungs nearly makes my instincts react. Nearly. But the urge passes. The colours blur into a spiral of black and grey and then they slowly leak out like something is sucking them away into oblivion. The noise of the water fades into the background then is suddenly gone.

Oh, how comfortable I am… how tired…

I’m almost gone when I hear a voice calling my name. So familiar…

Guy, baby, oh, God, talk to me, please…

But the black is too welcoming and I sink into it.

The first thing I feel is the scratchy texture of unsoftened sheets.

I’m still here.

A slight chemical smell assaults my senses and burns my nose.

Why am I still here?

Bit-by-bit, I slowly wake up and finally have enough strength to open my eyes.

The sight that greets me is much what I expect. I’m in a hospital obviously. Everything is a sterile white from the walls down to the sheets. Even the flowers in a white porcelain vase beside my bed seem a bit washed out and bleached.

I sigh again. Why am I still here?

I grow irritated that someone would arrogantly “save” my life and put me back in this hell. I try sitting up to try and move out of the reclined bed, but when I tug my hand, something stops me. I frown slightly and look down to see what has hindered me.

Roark.

Shock runs through my system and it’s all I can do to stare at the beautiful sleeping face.

He is sitting in a surely uncomfortable straight-backed chair next to my bed with his head resting next to my lap. His hand is what caught mine. He is clinging hard to me even though he’s apparently asleep. What is happening?

The jolt of my hand must have awoken him because as I watch I hear him yawn and he sits up to rub his eyes tiredly. My hand is abandoned and left limp on the bed and I raise it to his cheek. I can’t quite believe he’s here. That he may be an illusion. Just a dream.

His eyes snap open as soon as I touch him and his head whips around to stare into my wide, unblinking eyes.

“Guy?” His voice is rough and ill-used, cracking on the last letter of my name. His eyes suddenly well up with tears while I still stare blankly at him. He doesn’t seem to notice I’m not responding as he pulls my body into a tight embrace. I don’t want to do anything. But I’m scared that I can’t seem to.

He notices that I am sitting there unmoving in his arms and looks at me with tear stained cheeks. Something wet and salty is sliding down my face and I realise I too am crying. But I have to know something.

“Why did you leave me?”

My words come out a choked whisper. My throat has closed up and I barely get them out. I am still staring at him, but I feel my face scrunching up without orders from my brain. My hands and arms move without my consent and my hands ball into fists, clenching the material of Roark’s shirt.

Roark stares at me almost disbelievingly before his hand reach up and grasp my face. “Guy… I was so stupid to leave you.” He whispers. “I don’t know why I left you. I was being selfish, stubborn. But… But I know so much more now… I’m just, God, I don’t know what to say, Guy, I love you so much but I don’t know what to say.“ He goes on to say more, but my fingers find their way to his lips and silence him. It’s enough. I don’t even need to hear him explain anymore. But he manages to get out one more sentence after my fingers move.

“Sometimes you do things you can’t explain.”

And I understand.

I open my mouth to say something even though I don’t know what I’m about to say, but my mouth is sealed with Roark’s.

It is like coming home to an enchanted forest. The taste, the smell, the texture is all exotic, yet intimate in it’s relation. I breath in Roark’s scent of musk and cologne and clutch him close, afraid to let go. Roark’s tongue finds entrance to my mouth eagerly and I feel his almost scratchy tongue exploring my mouth over and over again. My tears are now flowing freely and I soon realise my tears aren’t the only ones falling onto the hospital sheets.

“I’m sorry,” Roark breaks away to gasp. His voice is rough and breathless yet I can’t see his eyes. They’re still closed and his face is pressed close to mine almost painfully so.

“I am too.” I whisper back.

But it’s alright.

It’s painful, but it’s alright

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A/N: This was a re-post, but I hope you all still enjoyed it.