Clock Ticks

By A Tarnished Rose

A/N I was stuck on Quelqu'un A Aimer, so I wrote this. It's a bit depressing.

I watch you across the room, surrounded by laughing admirers. One of the girls kisses you jokingly on the lips, and you pull her into a full embrace, jamming your tongue down her throat and drawing wolf whistles and cheers from the crowd. She breaks away, giggling and blushing. I want to tell her to fuck off, that you belong to me, but then I realize that you don't. Not anymore.

I remember the day you left. It was March 21st, 2001. We were in New Zealand at the time, traveling on the immense wealth your parents commanded, because at the time it didn't feed your cocaine addiction, but your adventurous spirit. The spirit that took us everywhere and anywhere in the sixth months we were together. When I loved you more than life itself.

You came home one day, drunk out of your mind and high as a kite. It scared me, because I thought you'd sworn to stay away from those things. You slammed me against the wall and demanded whom I was cheating on you with. I was shocked. I told it was no one, that I loved you, and would never cheat. You started to hit me. With every blow, I pleaded with you to stop, to believe me. You didn't, and slowly my world faded to black.

When I woke up, you were gone.

I found out three months later, through a mutual friend, that you were never faithful. I found out about those girls you slept with, how you bragged about them, how you kept me stringing along like a helpless puppy. And I found out why we stayed in the cheapest hotels, ate the cheapest food. Your addictions. They weren't so serious then as they are now. But it was cocaine then, and is still. Always will be, until someone kills you on a dark night for the thousands in your wallet and the cocaine in your pocket.

You're using some of that blasted cocaine now. That stupid insignificant white powder that ruined everything. The crowd swarms around you, each person wanting a taste. Some slip large amounts of money into your hand, and in return receive small discrete packets of that rubbish drug you hold so dear.

All this I see from my corner in your club, your favorite spot in the world, where you are surrounded by people that adore you, your cocaine, and your money. The place where you can pretend that its all okay, that your mother isn't dying of cancer, that your father didn't just have a heart attack, that your supply of money isn't running out. That your own mortality isn't going to catch up and bite you, suck all the blood out until you're just a husk, broken, alone, and cold.

I slip out of my corner and make my way across the dance floor, sashaying my hips and reveling in the attention I get, the attention I take from you. I smile at the savage snarl of fury on your face as your crowd turns to stare at me. I can understand their fascination. I am gorgeous, with my long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and tanned skin. I also lack any signs of extensive drug use, being the only person in here who doesn't buy your cocaine.

The only thing that could ruin my appearance is the scars. The angry red marks ripping down the inside of my forearms. Not that you could see them, even if I shoved them in your face. You only see want you want to see after all. And want you don't want to see right now is me, with a bottle of vodka in one hand, and a bottle of pills and a pistol in the other, head up to the roof of your club. However, you're seeing it, and, no matter how hard you try, it's not going to go away.

I push open the door to the stairs and begin my walk upward. The stairwell stinks of blood, booze, piss, and drugs, and graffiti is scratched on every available surface. I read a few of the messages, feeling bored as I rise upward. 'Alan & Amy 4 Eva' I doubt they got it. 'This is the shit man!' I suppose some would agree. 'Die bitches, die' Well, I'm headed that way, no need to worry.

But it's the last piece of graffiti I read that makes me stop and stare. Scrawled across the wall in bright pink spray paint is 'Jordan & Matt 4 Eva!' That's us. Well, we certainly didn't get our forever.

My pausing gives you enough time to catch up with me, your footsteps echoing on the concrete stairs. You place your hand lightly on my shoulder "Jord, where are you going?"

Heaven, hopefully. But who knows?

I continue walking.

"Jordy stop!"

Why?

"Jordan wait for me!"

Your footsteps pound after me.

I reach the roof and walk out onto it, across to the very edge. I stare down at the dingy streets below before turning and uncorking the vodka. I take a large swallow as you walk toward me.

"Jordy, what are you doing?"

Drinking Vodka. In a few moments the pills will join it. Moreover, if that doesn't kill me, then I always have a knife and a pistol to finish the job.

"Jordy, stop."

Like you care what happens to me.

"Jordy please don't."

First pill.

"Jordan, don't."

Second pill.

"Jordan Anna-Marie Krippner, you stop that now."

Third pill.

"Jordy, don't do it Jordy."

Fourth pill.

"Jordan…."

Skull the last of the pills and vodka.

You take one step towards me "Jordy, why?"

You know why.

"I care about you Jordy, don't die."

Rubbish.

"Jordy, please, let me take you to a hospital. You don't want to die."

Yes, I do. What is the point in living when you ripped out my heart and fed it to the wolves?

"I don't want you to die either."

Bullshit.

"Jordy…"

You take another step forwards, and I swoon suddenly, my vision turning hazy. My sight flickers in and out as I crumble to the ground. I smack my head on the low wall that edges the roof as I fall. The blood trickling down my neck feels pleasantly warm.

My last coherent thought is how beautiful your dark gray eyes are.

They flicker slightly with a glimmer of some emotion. I don't have enough time left here to discover what it is.

I feel quite calm as I wait for death. The gentle patter of rain feels good on my face. I'm not afraid to die, because I know you'll join me soon. You're just as mortal as I am. Can't you hear the clock ticking?

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock....

Goodbye.

A/N Well, that was rather morbid, wasn't it? Please review.