THE VOICES

borderline bipolar;

Spending the night with Peter was difficult, in view of the fact that every single time he touched you, kissed you, spoke a word of your name your mind practically fulminated. You hadn't exactly realised that you were virtually sobbing when he dipped his eyes to your neck, knowing to an extent it was safe to release that abundant emotion when he couldn't see you.

Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to pin the blame on him, for it was impossible for him to even comprehend the pain that was ripping you apart. Every time he thrust up against your body under the weight of the quilt the stimulation of what can only be described as a thin metal dagger being pushed through your body was inflicted. The way you were desperate to scream when he gently bit your neck because for you it felt like he was ripping through your muscle tissue.

And yet... You never said a word. Because the voices in your head reminded you that pain was all you deserved. It wouldn't be right for you to enjoy sex with someone. You didn't have the right to love. More on less, you didn't have the capability to own such an emotion.

It all became too real too quickly... his weight crushing you like a small insect under the sole of a leather boot, his muggy breath suffocating you, his hands squeezing you only lightly, but to you, it felt like your flesh was being torn apart. It was as if he was trying to kill you silently under the act of a lustrous desire. But you asked for it, so who's fault was it really?

Time moved briskly for the moment the shower was off, both your dripping bodies stripping off every emotion that was on the table for just a moment of touch. Just a second to feel what love was all about, because deep down inside you were both craving it so desperately. For Peter it was real, but for you, it was just more pain to make sure that whatever was happening... Was really happening.

The fact that he cradled you and treated you with care made your mind burn with hatred. The fact that he enjoyed having the shell of your soul so close to him made you want to cry. You wanted it to keep going, you wanted this, you wanted Peter, you loved him...

But your mind was telling you otherwise.

After the marathon was over and he finally set back, commending all of what you displayed to him, and kept away what you wanted him to see. In a way you wanted him to see you cry, because then maybe he would understand and cradle you. Not that he didn't do that anyway.

The bed was bathed in sweat, destroyed and certainly not fit for sleeping in. So, in the darkness of the evening, he carried your body downstairs in the comfort of his shirt, setting you down on the couch. Even after a strong debate, you'd forced him to stay, not that he was confident on the idea of leaving. He pushed the two separate couches together, creating somewhat of a makeshift bed and slid down behind you, spooning your body up against his, his lips reminding you of the past hour's events as they softly kissed your shoulder.

Although you didn't have a choice, you sat there all evening and stared at the wall like you were scared it would move without your watch. Peter's hands had fallen numb against your skin, his scent fading away under the reality that you had gotten so used to it. He didn't feel warm anymore. He was just another shadow for you to drain the life out of.

You know this is getting pretty ridiculous... I mean c'mon Y/N, can't you just kill him already like we've been waiting to do for fucking months?

Of course, what was a good night sleep at all without that voice in your head?

"Can you leave me alone for just two seconds?"

I can't exactly disappear now can I? You created me, Y/N.

Groaning tightly, you picked up Peter's hand in your grasp and moved it away from your skin. He fidgeted behind you, turning his back as you got up from the couch-bed whatever it was, in the comfort of the dark living room, following the light into the kitchen. Hearing that broken record in your head made you want to scream. Even though you could only count on one hand how many times that voice had actually spoken out while you and Peter were upstairs, you couldn't be confident in answering who he was really making love to. You, are that voice?