No Where ~ 2

Originally written 1.19.2013. Writings from my universe.

She slept over a lot.

Not those kind of sleep overs.

She was often there late at night, watching movies with him or having deep conversations, and she either fell asleep or refused to drive back home due to her unbridled laziness. This particular night was a deep conversation one, completely with "what am I going to do with my life"s and plenty of "why the hell am I here"s. Instead of her fatigue or lack of motivation to move keeping her curled up at his side, it was the intense fire that burned behind her eyes, deep inside her soul - the soul he always thought he could see into - which kept them talking until the early hours of the morning.

Around three, it became almost unbearable for him. Her beauty practically slapped him in the face every time he blinked, yet, he could not avert his stare. The way she talked, the way she tilted her head in question at her own statements fogged by sleepiness, the way she moved her hands passionately, her fingers dancing around her words as they floated and flowed through the air left him mesmerized, heartbroken, and, despite how hard he tried to suppress it, kind of horny.

He kept having the same randomly paired group of thoughts, over and over, thoughts that included things that - if put into action - would have him end up on death row. He didn't know how to handle it, and was beginning to contemplate suicide in between her words. Her brow furrowed in confusion at the constantly changing, and quite upsetting, expressions on his face, and she stopped mid-sentence to ask him if he was okay.

Looking at her as if he had just seen her for the first time in his life, he suddenly blurted out "Can I kiss you?"

Her countenance fell immediately, as well as quite noticeably. She - a woman so eloquent in her speech - searched the empty air for a response. All that she was able to reply with was a quietly mumbled "No, I - uh, no. I'm sorry."

Tears welled up in his eyes, not because she denied him, he most definitely knew it was going to happen, but because of the number that could have been placed on the denial if he had bothered to keep count. He had told her recently of his feelings for her, and she began to upset herself, feeling like she was hurting him in some way. He shook his head sorrowfully, and whispered how he didn't expect a different outcome and therefore was not hurt. He vaguely mentioned that only one person he had feelings for in the past - out of quite a few- supposedly returned the emotions, but soon after they began dating someone he considered his best friend. 

She began crying and he could see he'd made her uncomfortable in more than one way. His face morphed into the illustration of pain, as he pressed her head against his chest.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there with her crushed against him, the both of them quietly explaining their regret, their sorrow, their sorriness, but as the sun came up, greeting them with the promise of a new day, he had never felt more hopeless in the realm of love.

He felt horrible for thinking it, but as she whispered sob stories into his soaked shirt, asking why so many had screwed her over, and he whispered encouragement, explaining how amazing she was - he couldn't help but wonder; if beautiful people were the ones that got screwed over, what did that make him? Was he not worth screwing over? Was he not worth anything? Why couldn't someone even pretend to feel some sort of way about him, even for their own benefit?

And as the sunlight wrapped around the two, he felt something break inside of him, something he was sure would never be fixed.