| You’ll need a miracle (because it’ll get harder to breathe) |
[Jun. 7th, 2007|01:23 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Fall to Pieces - Velvet Revolver | ] |
Title: You’ll need a miracle (because it’ll get harder to breathe)
Author: ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) jayiscarbonkid
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Your boyfriend has been an idiot and you decide to change the situation… But despair takes all over and you lose control. Or this is just another lie you've got inside your pocket?
Author's note: I'm my own beta and English just my second language, so please nevermind any mistake. (:
Disclaimer: Wish they were mine, but do you really think I’d be writing it if they were mine? And well, inspired by Maroon 5’s Harder to Breathe. And this is not true, really, so don’t slit your wrists thinking it happened. Lol
Warning: Spelled “again” way too much.
"“It was getting so usual I wasn’t even complaining anymore. But God I’m getting tired, really. He doesn’t want to hold my hand again. He’s getting all upset again. And I’m crying quietly in our bathroom again. He yelled at me just for the hell of it again. And again. And over and over again. When will this bullshit end?
He didn’t listen to a word I said. Guess what? It wasn’t the first time it happened. He came home smelling like his ex-girlfriend, maybe because she’s always around. Again. I ignored it and we had great sex, again. And then he just turned on his side and slept. Ignored me. Again. God, it’s getting harder to breathe here.
But it all seems to fade when he wakes up and is all sweet with me again. It’s almost a miracle when we don’t fight. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a perfect boyfriend. He opens up your legs so gently it almost doesn’t hurt. And once he’s inside of you he never gets out. It seems that he’s always inside your mind, reading all your thoughts for forever more. You ask for someone to be out there ‘cause it’s getting really harder to breathe but you can’t complaint. You like it and you miss it when he leaves you alone for a second or two.
He went home wet last night. I wiped his body, changed his clothes, just like he did to my mind. I wasn’t this guy I am right now. I’d never work hard to share my money with a guy like him. But he changed me just like I change his clothes when he comes home all wet and stuff. We kissed and his lips were particularly soft that time, they tasted like cherry lip-gloss. I ignored and carried on. His smell was like flowers when he always smelled like strawberry and vodka. He didn’t look at me in the eyes like he used to. But I didn’t care, I couldn’t care about it that time. There were only two options: yells because of the betrayal or good sex. And I chosen second for my personal gain.
His parents never seemed to like me and it has never been a problem to us. At least it never seemed to be. Since his father left home and forgot about him things has gotten a little easier for us to meet and stuff. Until his mother find out about his bisexuality everything was just fine. Then she read his diary and my goodness, everything just went down once again. My dear God, who stills write a fucking diary these years? We waited some time so I saved some money and we moved together. It was perfect. He was studying and I was working. Working hard, if I might say it. Sex everyday, cute things couples do everyday. And well, these whole day by day things we always do.
But then things began to change. He started to be the person who I used to be in this relationship and I was the fucking stupid desperate housewife. Fights, absences, fights, lies and fights. Fights all day and night, it never seemed to end.
He came home late again. We fought again. I wasn’t feeling like arguing once again but he couldn’t shut up and I could barely stand him saying over and over again that my behavior was unacceptable to someone like him. It was clearly draining me dry but I kept myself quiet for old time’s sake. Even though I always had a tendency to get very physical I didn’t even sworn at him that time. Again. I tried to calm him down but he was so high not even Spider Man could catch him. So I just let it happen and it did just like always, again. He gave up screaming and sat down all of a sudden and began to cry and beg for me to forgive him once again. I was dying inside so I wouldn’t kill him. But did I mention there was no way we’d give up?
We lived a couple of fucking abnormal days without fighting. Then he came home before I did. What’s wrong?, I asked him and it was like talking to the fucking wind. No answer. I asked him over again and he waved me to wait. And I did. It seemed like he was looking for something. You could see by far he was high again. Again. God, when will this bullshit end? I pretended I didn’t care and threw my bag on the couch and walked into the kitchen looking for some food. He followed me and tried to get in my pants. For a second I almost left him in but then I gave up. I wouldn’t quit so easily. He said he needed some money. Again. I answered I wasn’t going to give him even more so it’d go straight up his nose. It pissed him off and he began to yell once again. I ignored it and it made him even more angry. He yelled I would end up dying and I said I hoped so. He went away and I prayed it was for the very last time.
But he came back. And I couldn’t control myself. I was cleaning up the kitchen. He came resolved to kick my ass. He shouldn’t have even thought about doing it. Didn’t he know I always had the fucking control? God, it was funny to see him crying like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams. I knew, he knew, we both knew he’d never find someone who’d do him like I did. Oh God it was so good to see the pain starting to be born in his hazel eyes. To see it growing older while I was building my masterpiece in his fucking baby face. I was crying again, but happy. God, I was so happy. I’m not so sure if a man like me can talk to God, but if he can, dear God, this was the best day ever. He was begging for forgiveness. Again. It was getting harder to breathe. Again. It was killing the two of us. Again.
-“What are you feeling, Frankie?” – I asked him, the knife running cold on his tattooed skin.
- “I.. I’m… I don’t”
- “What the fucking are you fucking feeling, Frank?”
- “Pain and…”
- “Aww. Pain?””
(…) My voice was sweet and calm and smooth. Pain? He had no idea of what the fuck was pain. I had. I really fucking had, but he didn’t. Oh, come on! He just couldn’t! If I regret it? If I fear it somehow? If I regret hurting him ‘til he died? I can’t. The double vision I was seeing was finally clear, how could I regret it, sir?
Miracles never happen when you need them to survive. |
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