Purgatory (bxb)

Chapter 22

"Tonight you're perfect, I wanna fall in love with the stars in your eyes. Tonight you're perfect, I wanna fall in love but only for the night. Tonight you're perfect."
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Fear is real, and comes in many forms. One such form, for example, is the fear of abandonment.

Fear is not an idea made up by humanity to exaggerate their anxiety or nervousness, nor is it a feeling.

Fear is a natural human instinct, a way for humanity to practice self-preservation, for us to put a limit on our recklessness. Fear makes our hearts beat a little faster, our brains work a little harder. Fear keeps us running, keeps us cautious.

Fear is a constant reminder that we are alive.

I do not want to be alive, do not want to feel my heart beating, for the constant thumps of my heart only harmonise with the echoes of thumps in my mind, yet I cannot escape fear. Nobody can.

Reality surrounds us like a cushion, like a blanket, suffocating our dreams and crushing our illusions until there's nothing left but reality.

Fear is reality, and it will follow us to our graves.

I have accepted that, but it doesn't mean I like having fear around.

My heart is beating a little faster, my brain working a little harder as I lose myself in the moment, drowning in Kyle's gaze, yet I cannot find it in me to call for help.

There is no help from yourself, after all.

He is moving closer, and I do not move. Some part of me wonders if maybe, just maybe, I came here knowing I will not come as just a friend, maybe I am here so I can no longer run away.

Maybe I did, maybe I didn't, but it all ceases to matter as he presses his lips to mine gently, and I am once again floating.

I feel his lips move against mine, yet I do not feel, do not think. Sparks fly everywhere, from my lips to my hands to my feet and I cannot help the thought that something will eventually catch fire and I will burn to the ground.

Everything is surreal, slowly fading away as if I am in a dream, and I move my lips too, awkwardly trying to replicate his movements.

I am floating, and I do not want it to stop, because I don't ever want to fall, don't want to come back down to reality, to the fear.

A moan slips past my lips and I break the kiss, turning away. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and I cannot tell if it is from fear, or from the excitement.

Adrenaline prepares us for fight-or-flight, but right now I cannot bring myself to do either. I just want to lean into him, lose myself in his warmth and just stop fighting.

I can do it, I can let it all go, but nothing lasts forever, and I know that it will only get colder after I have experienced warmth, the same way the tongue burns hotter after a glass of cold water.

It is a momentary reprieve, one I should not want.

Kyle is breathing heavily, and I am too. I feel my temperature rise, and I am smothered in my clothing.

Is this what love is, a momentary reprieve from the coldness of the world, to lure you into a false sense of security before it all comes crashing back down?

Is love for the weak, who cannot handle life alone any longer, or is it for the strong, the courageous, who are not afraid to take risks?

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it."

Chris was obsessed with quotes, and would continuously motivate us with them, but he was shit at remembering the sources.

"Nick?" His voice is slow, cautious as he waits for the regret to seep in, for me to repair my walls and push him out again.

Do I regret the kiss, do I wish it didn't happen?

I can't say that I do.

A part of me still yearns for him to touch me again, to escape reality for a few more moments, and I realise I am slowly growing addicted to him.

He holds out an arm and pauses in hesitation. I want to tell him to stop. I don't know what he wants to do, but I know it will take down the last of my defences and I do not want him to see me.

Perhaps a part of me is afraid of him ever leaving me, perhaps that is why I don't want him too close, to see the monster inside.

He wraps his arm around me, pulling me to his chest and it is warm.

I don't want him too close, but is it because I don't want him to see me for the broken, unwanted wreck that I am, or because I do not want him to get hurt by the edges of my shattered remains?

Kyle tugs at my sleeves gently, as if waiting for me to stop him, to show any form of resistance and I don't, so he pulls them up slowly, and I feel his gaze on my exposed skin.

He is frowning, and I know he sees the fresh scars, wounds that are less than a week old but he doesn't question it, doesn't call me out on the words I said last week, when I told him I don't do it anymore.

Kyle only holds me closer, and I am grateful for the silence, grateful that he doesn't try to make it look better, to tell me that my scars are beautiful because they aren't.

I don't want to listen to the preaching about love, and how it has the power to help me stop, to take away the cravings and make it all better because love doesn't fix anything.

Love cannot make us change for the better in a matter of days, cannot immediately heal our wounds, or solve our problems.

Love cannot do the impossible, because love itself is an impossibility.

"Can you give me a chance?"

His voice is soft, pleading, and I hate that he has to plead at all.

Can I give him a chance, can I let him in and trust he won't destroy me from the inside out?

I don't know.

"You'll only get hurt."

It is the truth. I will not pretend to treat this infatuation as something more, but Kyle just shakes his head.

"Maybe I will, but we don't know that, do we?"

He smiles at me, and it is so bright I feel the shadows in my mind start to fade, if only for a while.

"Give yourself a chance to love again."