Moonlight Kisses

life and death

tw: abuse, anxiety/panic attack

beau.

She was too damn good to me.

Even after she uncovered my lies, Jo was still too pitiful on me. We both knew I deserved so much worse. Worse than her telling me she was done with me. Worse than feeling her anger stained on my cheek. Worse than hearing her tell me she hated me. But she's too good for me. I could break her in the worst way possible and she'd still show me a fraction of mercy.

Tearing me apart was the knowledge that I selfishly took advantage of that beautiful trait of hers. She saw hope within me and I just had to crush it. She sees good in the world and I just had to shove her back down. Not because that was what was best for her, but because the only way I could be sure she wouldn't give up on my sorry ass is to drag her down with me. And look where that got us.

She gave me all the more reason to hate myself. Hate the way I am. How I'll always be. How I treat her. How I look at the world. Everything I see in her is a reflection of what I could have had if I hadn't been damned from the moment I came into this world.

~

The one night she tried to intervene would be the last. It was years ago, but the sheer look of terror on her face as she came face to face with the evil she called a husband remained fresh in my mind for years to come.

~

My hands white-knuckle the steering wheel before me. I'm trying to push away the constant reminders that I will never be good enough. For anyone. Especially not Jo. It was negligible of me to think otherwise. She deserved so much fucking better. Self-serving was I to go and waste her precious time. The time she could have spent finding someone who was actually worthy of her affections, I wasted by filling her with hope that something good could come of me, of us.

I played a part. Did things for her I never thought I'd do for anyone else. Tried to tell myself I could be what she needed. A good guy. Someone that was capable of protecting her. Someone that was capable of making her smile when she was upset. Someone that was capable of loving her. I tricked myself into believing I wasn't the source for her tears. She's a danger to herself as much as I am to her. Adding to that would do much more harm than good.

But I pretended like I wasn't lying to her. Our moments together are now tainted by my lies because I couldn't stand the thought of being left to my own devices. It was second nature to me to have something to fall back on. When the going gets rough, I have my guarded walls to shield me. I have my vices, my bad habits. The things that would've sucked her into an eternal darkness. My darkness was bound to consume the source of light she was, no matter how brightly she shined.

~

My mother has the strength I wish I had. She manages to push my father away meanwhile I cower at his feet, proving the very statements tumbling out of his drunken mouth.

"You worthless piece of shit!"

"Nothing but a weak bastard."

"You're nothing. You will never amount to anything!"

"Mason, stop! He's had enough!" I feel my limp body being taken up into her arms, only making me sob harder. Nothing hurt more than receiving affection when you were at your lowest.

He makes her weak too. Over the years he made sure to suck the life out of her. Leave her in scraps. Starting with nights like that one. He struck her. Not once. Twice. She was too petrified to continue to help me up from the cold blood-stained tile that'll be spotless before the sun comes up.