|il blesse pour aimer
Author: citrus scented PM
it hurts to love; some soft and sad life lessons here.Rated: Fiction K - English - Words: 896 - Reviews: 17 - Favs: 3 - Published: 10-31-05 - id: 2039297
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
He was one of those people that the more you thought about him, the more you hated him. But then in the seconds you weren't thinking too hard about him, your body just about collapsed with desire. It was stupid, but my consolation was that at least I wasn't the only one. You could see it when he walked down the corridor, that secretly (silently) everybody harboured a mute attraction to the guy. He was just one of those people.
He could capture your heart with one twist of his lips, and send you spiralling into despair with another. An aura of rumours radiated off him, but his bruised and blood shot eyes spoke for themselves in the end.
He played the guitar like it was his life support but you should've heard him sing. So much power came out along with his words; I was often amazed his throat didn't crack in half. But the strange thing was; he never sang love songs. Just like everyone else, I would have assumed he was incapable of it, had it not been for one winter day last year.
It had been late November and the air was heavy and brutal with cold.
It felt like the hush before a storm, and I knew that day would change me. Even before I saw him standing there, by the river, hands in pockets and an icy expression on his face. It hadn't been until I was just about to pass by him that I noticed he was crying. It struck me as odd at the time, but I was prepared to just leave it be and walk on (after all, before that day I'd never even said hello to the guy) except just at that moment he struck out a shaking hand and grabbed me by the wrist.
"Got a light?" He said shortly. He didn't even look me in the face; just kept his eyes fixed on the water rushing by in front. Without thinking I fumbled in my front pocket and drew out my cheep green lighter. I was about to hand it over; when for some reason I retracted it.
"Say please," I grinned. He turned round, and I expected to see him annoyed, but his mouth seemed softer then usual.
"Please. Can I use your lighter? "I handed it over and watched as he lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply before letting the smoke spiral out his mouth. I noticed his hands were shivering slightly and suddenly was desperate to ask him what was wrong. In the end I didn't need to, because just as he was passing my lighter back he suddenly burst out.
"I don't normally cry. I mean, I don't ever cry. Don't think I'm like a fucking cry baby or whatever. "
"I don't think that-" I began, when he interrupted me.
"It's just; I don't know...I loved her, y'know. Swear to god, I loved her." Secretly my chest twanged with an unjustified jealousy.
"Who?" I asked curiously.
"You don't want to know. You don't want to know. "He repeated. His voice sounded so thick with sadness, I couldn't bring myself to probe it, and so I let silence settle between us. He'd stopped crying now, but hadn't bothered wiping the tears off his face. After a few awkward minutes I was about to leave, when he spoke again.
"I knew he'd find out, y'know. It's my luck. But I didn't know he'd fucking hurt her like that. I thought it'd be me who he got, y'know, worse then usual. But it was her. It was fucking her. He fucking got her." I didn't know what to do besides add a slight question and sympathy in my raised eyebrows.
"Don't fall in love. It just fucking screws you up inside out. Don't you ever fall in love." His voice began to tremble towards the end and, despite his dark hair almost covering his eyes; I noticed the shine of more tears threatening to spill. He just continued smoking, inhaling deeply and slowly before almost spitting the smoke back out. Eventually he chucked the stub of the cigarette into the hard soil beneath him, before twisting it apart with the heel of his foot. He ran his fingers threw his hair, and it was then that I noticed the name scored in blue-biro across his knuckles.
"Who's Emily?" His body froze, solid. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and started to walk away.
He'd only got about two metres away when he turned round. For a split second I thought he was about to explain, but all he said was: "Thanks for the lighter," with his mouth twisting into a soft smile, before turning back round.
I never spoke to him again, besides one or two nods in the corridor that made me ache with desire even more then before.
It wasn't until three months later, though, that I found out through a friend who Emily was. It was the name of his step-sister.