I wrote this a while ago on another site, though that site doesn't offer italics, something that's always bugged me - but this site does, so it's all okay.
I submitted this to possibly get published - if you like this piece, I would greatly appreciate it if you would take just a moment to rate it well on the site that it might get published with. It's pretty simple, and I would really appreciate it.
One last thing - are you acquainted with Hoobastank's The Reason? This story is inspired from that epic piece of sheer genius that is The Reason.
So now, please enjoy.
Shocks vibrated through my head as each pound thudded and crashed open, dribbling down the sides of my face, down my cheeks, through my hair, along my nose, into my eyes. I squeezed them shut to clear a menacingly blinding raindrop and reopened them to see the pale yellow of the window vaguely through the pouring drench. A vague shape was walking about the room, the indistinct body made all the more alluring by the strange ambiguity of the silhouette. My mouth watered with unquenched desire, longing to stroke the long and glorious hair, the touch her sweet and delectable lips.
And yet…I couldn't. I couldn't.
I had already failed her. I could never bring myself to face her again.
But I wanted to say goodbye. Something somewhere inside of me wanted to say goodbye.
I opened my mouth to whisper it – even at this distance, even through the cloaking rain, even when there was nothing to lose – even then, I could not say it. I could not whisper them.
I could not bid her goodbye.
Goodbye, I thought, the best I could bring myself to do.
She was mulling about the room, happy and pleased. Her body began to sway as if she were dancing to her own beat, dancing and whirling, her body forming to the gentle tunes of the music. She was happy, without me.
The rain touching my cheek was warm, hot and still some was cold. The tears and the rain collided together and melded on my face, a breeding ground for hot and cold to join as one and drip down off my chin to the foreboding ground below. The rain cascaded down in torrents, pelting the world with its cruelty.
I turned, eyes shut to keep that vague image of her in my head. She was a dancing silhouette, hair spinning out like a top. I could imagine her infinite beauty so clearly in my mind. She would stay that way forever.
And as I made the first few steps of the hardest journey of my life – away from her, away from love life and happiness – I thought about all of the idiotic blunders I'd stumbled through, blindly and stupidly.
In the scene trapped on the screen of my eyelids, it was a darker night, a clear sky and no rain. She was there. And that was all I knew of the evening. Dark and clear. Her beauty present. I was being stupid. And the next morning, a crisp and beautiful day, a memory of happier times, she confronted me.
Her eyes were glassy and terrified, like I was a time bomb with no warning clock. I smiled pleasantly, ready to accept her in my arms and kiss her as always. But she wouldn't come near me. She was frightened.
"What's wrong?" I'd asked curiously. I hated to see her so impure.
She looked around as if to ensure there were other people nearby. Like I wasn't trustable. "You were high last night," she'd whispered.
I remembered the exuberant feeling a little giddily, but it crashed down with awful pain as I realized what it did to her.
I forced my eyes tighter, forcing dancing spots across my vision; the spots grew and managed to cover most of what I saw, but still pervading through my mental shield was her face, wet and terrified, horrified, mortally scarred. Someone so pure, so gorgeous… I did not deserve her.
More visions played themselves, some clearer than others, all involving stupid things I'd done. There were hardly any happy moments with us, not with me around to destroy every opportunity.
I cared for her. So much. And I wanted to stop, I had wanted to stop.
But on the night I had finally said that Yes, I would stop, it was too late.
The next vision was devastating, and yet I could not stop it from coming.
Clean – drug-free, a new man, starting over – I walked over to the petite girl as she was talking to a handsome young jock. I recognized him, but it was her, blue-eyed and precious that I was there to see. I had finally cut out everything stupid I had ever done. I had cut all the ties that linked me to my influencing friends. I had cremated every last addiction I had. I had even destroyed the aspirin, not trusting myself for a moment to even be tempted in the slightest.
I was a new man, truly. Only the night before had I performed the rituals. But not there was nothing but me and her, none of my own idiocy barriers holding us back any longer.
The dashing young blond with her had regarded me with a distasteful grimace. I wanted to punch the sneer off his face, but that would only cause more trouble. She hated trouble more than anything. Or so I thought. It turned out that trouble held second place to me.
"I've got news to tell you," I announced excitedly, ignoring the rude jock. "Listen, it's important."
"Oh, no…" she groaned. I was taken aback, but not deterred.
"I've changed," I reported gleefully. "I've really changed this time. I threw out everything you hated about me. It's all gone. It's just you and me." I stood, innocently and excitedly waiting her enthusiastic response. I had no idea what I was about to get.
She sighed. "Listen," she said soothingly, touching a soft and delicate hand to my arm and sending shivers up and down it. Her eyes would not meet mine. "I…I'm tired of the lies. I'm tired of the drugs. I'm tired of everything. You've said you'd quit. You've said you'd let go, for me. You never did."
My heart plummeted. But I had. Really, truly…
"It's different this time," I assured her. "I was only talking those times. I finally got my ass up to do it. It's done, I swear. Swear to God," I promised. "I burned it all last night, every last shred of it. I'm not talking to my friends anymore. I gave all of my money to my mom to put in the bank. I swear it!"
She was grimacing painfully now. She had pulled half of her gleaming hair in front of her face as a blockade to hide away from me. Was I truly still scaring her?
"Honest," I quietly but forcelessly tried to assure her. "Honest," I said again. My voice cracked.
Through the sheaf of hair, I saw glitter reflecting the sunlight. Small tear droplets. She was crying.
"Oh no," I whispered, and reached an arm around her. She flinched back.
A rough hand grabbed my shoulder and hurled me back.
"Don't touch her," it harshly demanded. I looked around, disoriented, to see the prissy blond jock wrapping an overly-muscular arm around her shoulders – as if protecting her!
"Your not involved in this, jackass," I snapped, trying in vain to tear his arm off her. He shoved me away.
"I'm as involved in it as you are," he retorted. "Tell 'im," he commanded her in a way that made me want to pummel him until his teeth littered the ground and his blood painted it and until his screams begged for mercy.
She let a shudder out and held herself closer to him.
"He…" she said warily, "He…last night…he asked me out." I withheld the urge to punch his face and feel the satisfaction of his blood under my fist. "He'd been asking me out. For days. Weeks. And…and I always refused. I kept thinking that…I kept thinking that you might keep your promises. I kept thinking that you might change."
"But I di—"
"And you never did. And…I just got tired of waiting around," she sighed. "I just got tired. It was never going to happen, I knew it would never happen. It was just time to let go."
I gaped. This couldn't be happening. This just couldn't be happening.
"I'm sorry, really I am—"
"And I'm tired of hearing that, too."
We stared at each other, our eyes locked in one another's. In the deep swirling sea of her eyes I saw remorse and pity. Pity for herself or me, though, I never knew. Only the barest moment later, she was being pulled away. I looked up to see the jock holding her wrist lightly and pulling her away. She obliged easily, following him and flipping their hands so that she was holding his. They walked into the building, the doors closing with a resounding and echoing slam that would never leave my memory for the remainder of my small, pathetic life.
She did not look back.
And now, under a cruel and mocking downpour, I was again seeing the glass doors swing shut, the door of opportunity closing forever. I would never be able to go back. She would never take me.
I looked up and back at her house. I had stopped walking no further than where the front walk connecting to the pavement. I stared at the gray walk, deliberating. I turned to leave, but found that instead my feet were walking along the pathway.
I should leave. I shouldn't be here. She hates me, she wants me gone, she wants me to go more than anything in the world. She hates me. If she sees, she'll call the cops, have a restraining order put on me. I should leave, I shouldn't be here…
And yet none of the logical, rational thoughts stopped my feet from moving.
I was standing under her porch. The rain under hear was a deafening tremor, but it was mainly dry. My hair dripped little rivulets down my body. The welcome mat was anything but welcoming, with its sharp tines sticking straight up and bearing a deep brown color that had darkened with the rain and the night.
Before me was her door.
All I would need to do to see her one more time was press the tiny black button. That was all. Just press it. It would chime, she would answer. And I would see her one last time. No consequences after that would matter. She would be there.
My hand was above the doorbell, one finger outstretched. It was only an inch away. All I had to do was push it in. That was it. It was a simple gesture, so simple…
I pressed my finger forward and it touched the doorbell. I held it there, skimming the impossibly dry button.
And pulled it back.
I couldn't do it. I was a coward. A goddamned craven.
I stood there, ashamed, and stared for a moment.
Future, life. Gone. I was such an idiot.
I turned and walked without so much as a hesitation, into the black rain.
I had looked back just one last time. All of the house lights had been out.
She pulled back the curtain and looked out into the rain.
But of course there wouldn't be.
He was a blasphemed coward. He didn't have the guts to come back.
But how she wish he did…
She loved him. She knew he loved her, but she also knew what she was getting herself into. She had had to let go, had to sever the ties while they were still loose. He was the love of her life, and she would regret leaving him for all eternity, but he was useless. She had faced that fact nearly too late.
And now what?
He was gone forever. She was trapped with a stuck-up, self-centered jerk. And she could never revert it, because she had too much of that thing called pride to go crawling back like a beggar.
Her only hope had been that he had lost all pride but had gained all courage.
But of course not.
She dropped the silent curtain and flicked off the light, pitching herself into a cold and lonely darkness.
This is the link to that website, if you liked this piece, and it'll just take a second.
(Without the space, of course).