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relicta-amans · 1 month

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🗒️gimme

November 16, 2021

-—-

I think she’s gotten used to me.

There are little things in the way that she holds herself. Less poised, less careful. That wall goes right back up the second she has company. I’ve done my best to be consistent, to be the closest thing to a confidant that I can be.

If she needs to learn to trust me, I might as well behave like she can.

Today, she finally cracked. There were no tears. None that I could find, at least. But she sighed openly, too quiet for anyone else to hear. Her eyes caught a picture of her family, and it would’ve been unkind to let the moment go unacknowledged.

She misses them. Nothing surprising there. She even admitted to wanting to go back, to go home.

But when she kept going on about her husband it was hard to keep listening. When Rosie complained about men, it was all about the things he’d done. Things that left little to the imagination. But not her. It was all speculation on who he was, what he was thinking. Nothing concrete.

Though, by the end of it, I had a very unflattering image of the King of Hell in my mind.

I gave her the same platitudes that always worked for Rosie, but she wasn’t biting. No, she surprised me.

“Have you ever been in love, Alastor?”

I think it was supposed to be spiteful. So that I could reject the idea and she could condescend to me on how I wouldn’t understand. So I was spiteful right back.

It was the first time in years—since coming here—I’d said his name out loud. I’d be lying if I said it was the first time I’d thought it, but I refused to say it until today.

It must have caught her off guard, because she suddenly was firing question after question. I answered. After a while, she leaned back in her chair, commenting something under her breath about how complicated it all seemed.

I reassured her it was nothing to worry about, but that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

She asked if I missed him.

I said I’d missed him for the better part of thirty years.

She asked if he missed me.

I told her it was doubtful.

She asked if I still loved him.

I said no.

I thought that was the end of the conversation, and went back to my day. The rest of the day went on, and it seemed like we were both content with letting it fade to memory. Until the sky turned dark. She sat up longer than usual, but I said nothing. As I passed by, she grabbed me by the arm.

“Do you want to go back,” she asked without looking up at me. I think she meant it.

“I’m not sure,” I replied.

I don’t think there’s anything to go back to.

#mania in a well constructed way ;; alastor #soulmates in any other world ;; alastor & vox #survival of the lesser ;; hellaverse

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relicta-amans · 2 months

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I have no excuse.

Everything else in my life is stable. I have people. I have shit to do. I’m living my dream, you know, for the most part.

What was that quote? Something about wanting something until you have it then spending the rest of your life figuring out what you want? Yeah, okay, not applicable. I’ve always wanted something.

Which is why I keep seeing your face everywhere I look. I’m not going to fucking lie to you, I’m actively looking. Hoping to find something. I don’t know what yet. Regret? No. You’re always right; why would you regret anything? Maybe I’m trying to prove to myself that you won’t change.

Tell me. How do you just move the fuck on? How do you walk around like it’s over and that’s fine. How do you just make this all ancient history? Because believe me, I’ve tried. Oh, I’ve tried. But maybe I’m too sensitive. I can’t keep up.

Have you even thought about me? Why am I bothering to ask? I know better. Every time we talk, you brush me off. Look at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind. Keep a cold and even tone. So I get to be the crazy one; the asshole who just can’t get it through his head.

You know how much I’ve written about you? People commend me for my villains. In awe of just how deep they seem to be. All based on you. In the same breath they chastise me. ‘No happy endings?’ Why would I bother? I don’t see anything getting better anytime soon.

But you do, don’t you?

Redemption. You fucking put your whole ass into the concept. It’s so fucking funny. You get to better yourself while leaving everyone you’ve ever touched worse off. I’m not the only one wrecked by your bullshit. But no, you get to go and leave and travel the world and come back and play nice.

I feel like I’m going insane. Have I? Or is this how normal people react to someone wasting so much of their time and energy?

“You can’t buy me,” you said. Then why did you fucking let me?! All too happy to take what I had. Feeding off of me like a real leech. Then turn and demand more? I gave you my whole fucking life, what more could you want? Telling everyone that I’m the one who ruined you while you get to say things that chip at me.

What was it you accused me of?

Oh, right.

An unreliable narrator. A fake, a fraud, a fucking work of fiction. Really? I was as real with you as I could be! I don’t bother anymore. Not with anyone. Even the ones closest to me don’t get to see me.

I got that from you.

I thought I understood you. But now I’m starting to think you were just mimicking me. Using myself against me. Agreeing with me to make me feel seen. Getting me addicted to your little crumbs of validation. All so I would turn a blind eye to the crimes you committed. Now I think you’ve talked about me the way you talked about other people. The miserable, cutting little comments that we used to throw anyone else’s way.

Because we were better. More realized. More confident. More right.

Are we? Or was it just you? You, so beautiful, so kind, so perfect. What a fucking joke. You’re selfish and arrogant and cruel and heartless.

And yet, here I am, watching your every fucking move.

Do I seem unhinged, dear friend? That’s your fault.

HA!

No, of course not!

I was like this long before you, obviously. But you believed me, just for a second, didn’t you? So fucking vain. Could you imagine? I guess we’ll never fucking know.

You’re so intertwined with me. Do you feel that? Do you feel your fingers in my heart? I’m sick in my head, my heart, my bones. You’re a weight and a freedom at the same time.

Your name feels like acid on my tongue. I’ll take any excuse to say it. Feeling a burn is better than pretending it didn’t happen.

I tried that too.

I forgot what you looked like, after a while. Had this distorted image in my head. I was almost content to live like that. But I had to go looking. I had to see you.

I regret watching.

Especially seeing you that one time.

Your smile almost took me out. Because it just looked so real, for once. Are you happy? Please, just fucking tell me. You were trapped before, you said. Maybe that wasn’t real either. You told me how much you were suffering and I comforted you. I tried to protect you. Shield you from your own pain. Now I wonder if you just liked the attention.

Can you just tell me to fuck off? That everything I ever fought for with you was never there? Or tell me you miss me. Tell me you always loved me too. That I wasn’t dependent on someone who never needed me.

But no, you won’t lie to me.

Like I would even know the difference?! I’m just kidding myself. You’re around, just not around me.

It’s so fucking funny.

I used to imagine all the different ways you’d died. More and more ridiculous ways every time. Because if you actually died and I was right about how, I’d feel like it was my fucking fault!

I want you dead.

I think.

I imagined going to your funeral too. I wasn’t sure if I’d laugh or cry or piss on your grave. Maybe all three, who knows.

I miss you.

Maybe.

Maybe I just miss what I thought was there. Maybe if you came back, crying or bleeding, I would try and help you again.

Maybe I’d just slam the door.

But we’ll never fucking know.

#resentment breeds obsession ;; vox #soulmates in any other world ;; alastor & vox

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