Ver2 of the LAST CHAP

I found an error which my beta had missed XD (formiddable does not mean easy to form XDD wahahahaha I'm such a dork)

Hope you enjoy it. And write reviews!!!


The black wouldn't take it's hand off of me. It was carressing me with gentle hands from the shadows in the dark apartment my futile attempts to wave it off. I turned the light on, but the black was still in the corners, the places where the light didn't reach, and it was enveloping me with it's long fingers, making me cringe in anguish. Instinctively I went and checked on the fridge door. He had an appointment with the psychologist. I let out a big sigh of relief. I closed my eyes and stood there like an idiot who'd lost his way. I didn't know why I was so afraid since what could happen to him? He was surely out again, meeting some friends he should stay away from. I checked the note again. The appointment was six hours ago. And now it was nine o'clock, the psychologist couldn't possibly be working at this hour. I took my cellphone out of the backpocket of my jeans, dialing Ayahs cell-number out of my memory. One signal, two signals, three signals, nothing. I dialed again. "The number you have dialed can't be reached at the moment, the recie..." I turned it off with annoyance, frowning. He never turned it on anyway, he disliked talking on the phone, he only answered if he thought it might be something important. And if he was out tonight...he surely wouldn't even hear the signal even if it was on. I tried to calm myself, think logically, not think the worst case scenario. Why did I do that? I didn't know why I felt like this. Maybe it was the knives in Ayah's eyes last night, how he'd pushed me away. He didn't push me away verbally or physically, but I could feel it, and it broke my heart. Did he hate me...? I hit the fridge door, gritting my teeth. A storm of anger rumbling through me, though I couldn't find the reason behind it. Piercing throbs shot through my fist.

I went and looked out of the window, hoping he would be standing there again and waving to me with his cigarette. But those things only happen in fairy tales and this is no fairy tale. Ayah wouldn't be there just because I wanted him too, Ayah wouldn't love me just because I loved him, and Ayah wouldn't get well just because he had me. I sat down, looking at the TV screen yet not seeing it, my mind wondering off.

Oprah Winfrey could go to hell. I didn't wanna see how awful the lives of poor girls being raped as children were. I switched channels, zapping again and again, just zapping endlessly and then going to the window again, hoping he was there like last time. Nothing of course. I got up, walking about the room since I didn't know what else to do. I just knew I had to talk to him, about what I didn't know or rather it was like he had to tell me something, as if I shouldn't have silenced him last night and I regretted that. But he would come home eventually and he wouldn't look at me, and he would go to bed without bothering to brush his teeth or wash the sweat and body fluids of others off his skin and he would want me to go ask him what's happened, ask him repeatedly until he whispered it in my ear when I got to bed. He would murmur it softly to me with tears in his throat and wet crystal eyes like always, and his hand would clutch my arm so hard it would hurt, his voice full of anger, tickling my ear, making my heart throb. He would do that, he would do that, he would all that...

...And his eyes wouldn't be knives...

I went to the bathroom beacuse I needed to urinate. And then went to my room to sleep, knowing I wouldn't be able to until I heard that front door getting shut carelessly with a slam.

I found him asleep there on my double-bed, cuddling a pillow, his eyelashes wet. He usually didn't fall asleep so early, but the medicines made him sleepy sometimes. Maybe he'd gotten a new one from the psychologist today? I stood still, looking at him. He didn't move, just slept, his lips slightly parted, locks of sunshine in his face and stroking his neck. His hand clutched the pillow in front of his face, the light from the hallway falling on him and making the wet eyelashes shine. And the sky wasn't entirely black now, because it was winter, and in winter the sky was never entirely black. The greyness of the sky shone in on his bare feet that were left out of the blanket. He always stuck his feet out of the blanket. I took my clothes off and sneaked under the blanket beside him, looking at his face and then touching it, shoving back a sunshine lock from his face. He didn't wake up. Most of the time he had trouble waking up. He had a hard time falling asleep too, just laying there and looking at the ceiling like he always did. Even with drugs he couldn't fall asleep and when he did fall asleep, he sometimes didn't wake up. He could sleep for over a day so most often you had to shake him violently before he would open his eyes. He could start walking or screaming, tear at his hair, because he was still left in the cruel landscape of nightmares. Though he knew he was dreaming, he couldn't escape the frightful vision before his eyes.

I kissed the nape of his neck and head, tightening my arm around him slowly, slipping it under his thick knitted shirt and touching the warm skin on his chest and then his neck, and then just holding him. I was hoping he wouldn't notice, and at the same time hoping he would. Hoping he would notice and not wave it off like he normally did, but understand how deep my feelings for him were. His hair had that special smell every person's has, and it made my heart flutter. I'd looked forward to be with him all day, but now he was asleep, and I knew I had to go early tomorrow to catch a plane and wouldn't see him for a week. And would he tell me the reason for those wet lashes after so long? I doubted that...but maybe he would. Maybe he would whisper it to me someday.

"Is he okay?" Karen asked, looking worried.

"I'm not sure...his lips are moving" I kneeled down beside him, touching his ice cold and limp hand. He didn't move, didn't look at me even though his eyes were open.

An angel lying in the bleak and deep snow, staring at the stars. Snow flakes were falling down on his face, and on his wet eyelashes, on his wet lips that glistened in the light. He was whispering to the demons. What was he whispering? I leaned closer. He looked at me. "I don't want to die," It was barely audible, but I heard it anyway. It was as if it was his eyes telling me that and not his lips. His breath fogged in the cold night sky, as if it was his life, that air, leaving his wet lips with the heaving of that thin chest.

I carried him to the car, Karen opening the door for me.

"Thanks." I gave her a quick glance and a quick half-hearted smile, like I should.

"Do you know her?" Her eyes searching for mine. In her expression I distinguished worry and also the obvious confusionthat had made her take the boy for a girl.

What should I say...? She'd surely get suspicious if I said I didn't. I noticed this woman was fairly attractive. Charming blue eyes, I liked that, and her blonde hair was tied up. She was wearing a wine colored dress with golden glitters on, probably going home from a rather formal party. "Yeah, he's my nephew." I didn't even have any siblings.

"Oh. Well, you take care of him. I'm in a hurry. Good bye!" and she strotted off in the thin layer of snow on the pavement, the snow that had almost turned to dirty water from people walking it, her dress glistening golden.She bowed her head when she walked, to shield herself from the snow blowing against her.

"Be careful..." I looked after her a while, leaning on the open car door, until she turned around a corner, dazzled by the whole scenery.

I got in the car, glancing at the frozen boy beside me. He was petrified, sitting in the far corner of the front seat beside me. I took my coat off, putting it on him as he looked at me with scared eyes as if I'd kill him any second. Wet eyes, eyes like knives. "It's okay, I won't hurt you, 'kay?"

Trembling voice asking me: "You're the one who sings that crappy song, right?" His voice was quite dark and low pitched, and he sounded like he'd just woke up.

Crappy song? He was offending me to my face. I flushed, turning my lower lip inwards and sucking on it.

"You know, the one about the princess?" He leaned forward to meet my eyes.

"Yeah...?" I raised an eyebrow, waiting for what he'd say next.

"'I've locked you forever in my heart princess' or something like that. You really suck. I don't know how you can put up with being you." He stared forward at the dashboard, and then he touched it with his finger.

I laughed at his straight-forwardness. And tilted my head back, sinking in the seat. "What's your name?" Stared out in front of me through the windscreen. The snow was still falling down and a man ran across the street with big steps holding onto his hat.

"Ayah...And I'm not a girl," lips quivering violently from the cold.

He rested his head on the back of the seat, his face towards me, looking at me from under his fringe, his lips purple from the cold.

"Oh, you're not? Seems like you're used to people thinking that, eh? Well Ayah, wanna come for a coffee?" I said with a joking tone. The edge of my mouth went up; I winked at him.

"Yeah...I'll sleep over at your place if you want me to too, and do whatever you want, I don't care, anything is fine with me." He had no place to go. One of those who did anything for a place to spend the night at.

"Sure."

The next day though, I braved Layla, turning my cellphone off and even pulling out the home-phone's jack. I didn't care about her attempts to reach me.

Ayah woke up sometime around twelve, coming directly for lunch. He rubbed his eyelids, not talking to me. And his eyes were crystals. I smiled at him and felt happy even though he didn't bother to smile back. He did get better after a shower. He dressed, not caring about me stressing about him wearing warm clothes. But he did put the coat on, and he did put on warm white tights and the long purple scarf. This was, after all, the day I'd met him a year ago. Now he was seventeen. We went out to the park and he ran, jumping around in the snow and then falling on something that would've been a lawn had it not been covered by the white.

Since the weather wasn't all that cold this year, the snow was quite easy to form. We built a castle with it. Ayah laid down in the snow, waving his arms and legs to make a snow-angel, laughing hysterically. My angel in the gleaming snow, dreaming of a far away world void of this cruelty. He still didn't want to talk, but he did give me instructions for how to build this and that, just mumbling, and I knew I shouldn't tell him anything, just go along with it, asking if I was doing it right or not, not try to change the subject.

Now he laid there in the snow, tilting his head back towards me as I sat above his head and continued to work on the castle. I wanted it to be perfect. The snow smudged itself in the sunshine, making it wet. He smiled to me and giggled a little, taking out a cigarette and lighting it in shelter of his gloved hand. He smoked and looked at the naked trees around us and at the grey sunless sky.

"You're such a perfectionist", he said, the cigarette between his lips because he was adjusting the woollen gloves.

"Yeah..." I took the cigarette from him. He pouted like a cartoon character, tilting his head back to me again. I took the smoke in a deep breath. It made me cough. I inhaled again, getting used to the smoke in my throat and soon getting dizzy from the nicotine kick. He laughed at me. I laughed too. I laid on the snow beside him, feeling the cold against the back of my head, digging through my hair to reach my scalp, the snow getting in the collar of my coat. The dizziness felt awesome somehow. The empty grey sky spinning, the trees spinning, Ayah spinning.

"The song...is about you, you know," I told him in a "by-the-way" sort of manner.

Ayah rolled around getting up on his elbows, sniffing in water that would run from his nose. He looked at me for a long time, taking the almost burnt out cigarette and inhaling the smoke one last time before putting it out. And then he leaned forward, pressing his wet lips against mine, a warm droplet of water running from his nose and falling on my cheek. He sniffled again. I rolled over, placing myself above him and gave him a deep kiss, our fingers entangled. My tongue touched the silverball in his mouth that was his piercing. And finally the sugar-sweet taste of the cigarette filter from his lips, the taste of tobacco and bitter chocolate in his mouth, and the bittersweet taste of our feelings. My heart was in my throat, and his heart was too. And all my fears were gone. His eyes weren't knives, they were wet crystals, and his eyelashes made my cheeks wet, his cold fingers feeling nice against the back of my hand. "I've locked you in my heart forever princess."

But this isn't a fairy tale.

Rewind.

The black wouldn't take it's hand off of me. It was carressing me with gentle hands from the shadows in the dark apartment my futile attempts to wave it off. I turned the light on, but the black was still in the corners, the places where the light didn't reach, and it was enveloping me with it's long fingers, making me cringe in anguish. Instinctively I went and checked on the fridge door. He had an appointment with the psychologist. I let out a big sigh of relief. I closed my eyes and stood there like an idiot who'd lost his way. I didn't know why I was so afraid since what could happen to him? He was surely out again, meeting some friends he should stay away from. I checked the note again. The appointment was six hours ago. And now it was nine o'clock, the psychologist couldn't possibly be working at this hour. I took my cellphone out of the backpocket of my jeans, dialing Ayahs cell-number out of my memory. One signal, two signals, three signals, nothing. I dialed again. "The number you have dialed can't be reached at the moment, the recie..." I turned it off with annoyance, frowning. He never turned it on anyway, he disliked talking on the phone, he only answered if he thought it might be something important. And if he was out tonight...he surely wouldn't even hear the signal even if it was on. I tried to calm myself, think logically, not think the worst case scenario. Why did I do that? I didn't know why I felt like this. Maybe it was the knives in Ayah's eyes last night, how he'd pushed me away. He didn't push me away verbally or physically, but I could feel it, and it broke my heart. Did he hate me...? I hit the fridge door, gritting my teeth. A storm of anger rumbling through me, though I couldn't find the reason behind it. Piercing throbs shot through my fist.

I went and looked out of the window, hoping he would be standing there again and waving to me with his cigarette. But those things only happen in fairy tales and this is no fairy tale. Ayah wouldn't be there just because I wanted him too, Ayah wouldn't love me just because I loved him, and Ayah wouldn't get well just because he had me. I sat down, looking at the TV screen yet not seeing it, my mind wondering off.

Oprah Winfrey could go to hell. I didn't wanna see how awful the lives of poor girls being raped as children were. I switched channels, zapping again and again, just zapping endlessly and then going to the window again, hoping he was there like last time. Nothing of course. I got up, walking about the room since I didn't know what else to do. I just knew I had to talk to him, about what I didn't know or rather it was like he had to tell me something, as if I shouldn't have silenced him last night and I regretted that. But he would come home eventually and he wouldn't look at me, and he would go to bed without bothering to brush his teeth or wash the sweat and body fluids of others off his skin and he would want me to go ask him what's happened, ask him repeatedly until he whispered it in my ear when I got to bed. He would murmur it softly to me with tears in his throat and wet crystal eyes like always, and his hand would clutch my arm so hard it would hurt, his voice full of anger, tickling my ear, making my heart throb. He would do that, he would do that, he would all that...

...And his eyes wouldn't be knives...

I went to the bathroom, beacuse I needed to urinate. My hand automatically went for the swtich, but just when I was about to turn the light on, it stopped. My feet felt like stones, binding me to the floor. There were candles lit, and they burned my eyes. There they were, each standing alone, even though they were toghether they felt lonely to me. They filled the air with vanilla.

I rested my head against the doorframe since I couldn't move and just looked, sucking everything in, like his crystal eyes always sucked everything in. And I didn't know if I understood it, maybe he didn't understand it either? Like I wasn't understanding it, even though it was right before me. Maybe I just couldn't believe it. Maybe he was like that too, he saw the cruelty of this world, but he just couldn't believe it. That's why...that's why he was an angel. I didn't understand that it was his blood in the water running down from the edge of the bathtub and turning my world into scarlet. And I didn't want to see his wet eyelashes that has turned into ashes now, as if even the Sun had turned her back on him. And I didn't want to see his small short nose just above the crimson water, no air running through them. I didn't want to see his hair sticking to his face, the hair that was ashes now. And I didn't want to see his crystal eyes staring through me so cruelly. I didn't, and it was driving me insane. Something inside my throat was choking me, but I didn't cry. I didn't go take the pale cold hand that was dangling over the edge of the tub. I didn't go pull his body out of the tub and kiss his purple lips. I didn't stroke back those ashes from his face. I didn't hold him until morning and I didn't...I didn't tell him that he's my princess. I didn't tell him how much I love him. Because I was afraid. Because this isn't a fairy tale. Because I wasn't an angel like he was.