Into His Oblivion

Cold gusts of wind blowing fiercely caused the tall trees to sway and shed their yellow-brown Autumn leaves, signaling the end of November. The streets were pitch black and silent as the midnight hour approached. Only the hoots of the owls were heard in the distant forest. I looked out of my window at the dark night sky, wondering where the shining stars and the brilliant moon were that night. Shaking my head, I allowed my eyes to drift back down unto the empty sidewalks.That's when I saw him.

Even from a distance, his ebony hair shone, despite the lack of moonlight, and his grey eyes twinkled with mischief, as sauntered towards the house. His hands were in the front pockets of his jeans, with just an indication of his thumbs peeking out. His long strides were filled with such poise that even a ballet dancer would be envious of. A small frown found its way unto my lips as I compared how graceful he was to my ever-present clumsiness. As if on cue, he casted his eyes towards my direction and instantly my frown deepened. He tried to smile but I could see right through it. I knew something was wrong again.

I ran to the bathroom and gathered the usual items whenever he visited: needles, thread, bandages, rubbing alcohol, pain medication. My version of a first aid kit. Amongst my haste,a few needles fell and caused tiny pinpricks to dance all over my feet. Frustrated, I ran my hand through my hair, yanking tufts of it out during the process. I dropped the box and sank to the floor. With my back against the wall and head in my hands, I sighed loudly. I hated it when he did this to me. No, wait, scratch that; I hated him when he did this to me.

After I composed myself, I slowly descended the stairs, taking one step at a time, as I tried to focus on happy thoughts. When I got to the bottom of the staircase, I ventured into the living room where I knew he would be impatiently waiting for me. Sure enough, there he was sitting on our favorite couch, the one by the windows which gave the perfect view of the aging swing set in the backyard. I smiled as I remembered how he had sacrificed football camp five summers ago to help my dad create the ideal present for my 13th birthday. That was the day I realized exactly how much he meant to me.

Suddenly, the boy in question turned around with the ghost of a smirk on his face. As if he somehow knew what I was thinking about. Before I think into it, he motioned for me to come closer, patting the arm of the couch. Cautiously, I walked towards him. However, I dropped into the lone seat, adjacent to where he was sitting. While I was certain my eyes were full of wariness and confusion intermingled with specks of sadness and hurt, his remained blank as they followed my every move before staring directly into mine. He knew why I had chosen to sit there. He knew that I was afraid to get too close to him. But he also knew that this was more of an emotional dilemma than a physical one.

This was mainly due to the fact that whenever I thought we had jumped through hoops of fire and gotten closer, a volcano would erupt and we would end up further than before. Sometimes it got to the point where it felt as if we were coexisting in a house as complete strangers. Engaging in polite, awkward conversations while avoiding any form of physical contact at all costs. Then, there were those days where we just be so happy. Those rare moments where we were so light that we would stay up dancing on the bed and laughing for no reason. But those moments never seemed to last long because one minute we would be joking around, and the next, we were arguing about stupid things. Throwing things and screaming how we hated each other. So the bomb drops and the curtains close, preventing the sunlight from staying in our lives. And once again we would become cold. Dark. Distant.

Countless persons had said that he was no good for me. That he was dangerous for my health. That I was better off without him. But did I listen? No! I was too stubborn. Too stupid. Too blinded by this powerful emotion. This confusing feeling of affection. Or maybe it was infatuation. I wasn't sure. There was one thing I was certain of though: this couldn't be love. Love was supposed to be patient and kind and warm. This was fuelled off of lust and something that resembled pure insanity. It was desperate and selfish and cold. Whatever it was, it pulsed through my veins, intermingled with my blood and kept me wanting more. I grimaced. How sadistic was it that I revelled in the thing that was slowly killing me? How could I enjoy the thing that was stifling me, pulling me into some lust driven oblivion?

I was drawn out of my thoughts by a single sound. His soft voice whispering my name. It was so low and deep, as if he was unsure. I looked at him with anguish and he mouthed those two words. Forgive Me? I felt my resolve fading as I stared at those grey orbs, which were filled with remorse. I placed my hands on either side of his jaws and rested my forehead on his. I looked at the tiny brown freckles on his nose and the slight scar above his left eye, then back into his eyes. He moved forward and placed the softest of kisses on my lips. As my eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear escaped. Of course I would forgive him. We both knew I wasn't strong enough to let go of him.

For some reason, the words of Kiera Cass' infamous character, Maxon echoed through my mind. In a time of despair, he had looked at the girl he loved and said, "Break my heart. Break it a thousand times if you like. It was only ever yours to break anyway." And kissing the beautiful monster that sat before me, I had to fight the overwhelming urge to repeat these troubling words that haunted my thoughts.

It was there, in that moment, I realised that no matter what I did or no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't push him away and I wouldn't dare to walk away. Because whether I liked it or not, my heart was his. To have and hold. Or in this case, my heart was his to break.

*********

A friend of mine told me that short stories show the real me. Especially this piece. Maybe that's because it's partially based on something I experienced in the past. And since I'm an emotional person, it was perfectly reflected here. I feel weirdly exposed though. As if I bared a part of my soul to the world. Which I did. I'll probably delete this story eventually. Maybe.

Tell me what you think. Tell me if I should delete it. Tell me if it was too much. Tell me it tugged on your heartstrings or pierced your soul or whatever. Your comments are really appreciated. Anyhow, I'm gonna stop rambling. Love you guys much.

Happy reading darlings!

-Kes