You're Poison

five ☪

When people try to fend for themselves, deal with situations their self, sometimes they fall into a deep void of blackness that swallows that person wholly.

But then, there's those times when something, or in Steven's case, someone who pulls that person out of that darkness, they bring light to the dark like constellations across their night sky.

She had that effect on him.

For example, if he were drowning and he had the choice of grabbing the life jacket and saving himself or letting himself die, before her, he would've chose to die. To let the little light in his eyes fade until there was nothing, nothing but dead dreams and relief. For he dreamt about it enough. But now? He would grab that fucking life jacket and hang onto it for dear life.

She freckled his night sky like stars on a late summers night.

"What are you thinking about?" She said, her eyes searched my face.

Honestly? You. And death. He thought about death a lot, but he wasn't planning on telling her that.
"Nothing." he said quickly, twirling his hands nervously.

She placed her hand on top of his, stopping his action.

"Okay, tell me your deepest and darkest secrets." Her face scrunched up, and she crossed her legs as if she were preparing herself.

"Sometimes," he whispered, getting closer to her, "I forget to put on my socks."

She shoved him, and laughed.
"You're an idiot. I was being serious. I want to know what made you the way you are, why it shaped you into who you are."

He sat and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He wasn't used to telling people about himself, he never did to be quite frank.

"You really want to know? It's a bit morbid." He grimaced.

"Yes, I do."

He took in a deep breath and looked up, the night inviting him in.
They were bathed in darkness.

"It started out in sixth grade, when my parents started fighting a lot. Screaming, slamming doors. The usual.
It started getting bad, really bad. My mom would stay up all night crying sometimes. I was only twelve, what was I supposed to do? One night, they were fighting like usual. But this time, it was worse. It wasn't just verbal abuse anymore, it got physical. At first, I heard glass shatter and I ran out of my room into where I heard the noise.
My dad's face was beet red in the doorway and my mom was sobbing on the ground. I didn't know what to do, so I hid, so he couldn't see me. That was mistake number one." He laughed dryly, shaking his head. "My dad was yelling at her, he was obviously intoxicated. Suddenly, he pulled out a gun. A fucking gun." His voice got small.

"Oh my god." She breathed.

He looked at her, tears threatening to over spill. "By then I was fucking terrified, I didn't want my mom to die. I ran out of my hiding spot and yelled for him to stop, and that was my second mistake. Seeing me trying to defend my mom only set off a ticking time bomb inside of my dad. I realized by then I had made the situation worse. Much, much worse. He pointed it at me at first, incoherently saying something to me. I was yelling for him to stop but he just wouldn't listen. He grabbed me by the neck and pushed me down. He broke my nose, turns out. I was crying, and I was in pain. And then, I heard a gun shot. And then silence." By then, tears were visibly streaming down his face. His shoulders shook, and she grabbed him and held him.

"What happened next?" She whispered, emotion inflicted into her voice.

He looked at her, and closed his eyes. "He killed her. He killed my mom."