A Gun To My Heart

43

I sneak into Aries's room, quietly stepping onto the cold floor. Searching for the Samira. Feeling the air hit my fresh wounds, causing them to sting for a second. My hands search his drawers. It needs to heal me before anyone sees my cuts and bruises.

I don't know which excuse I'll use this time. I have no idea. My head is empty but blocked at the same time. It feels like it's filled with desperation and completely barred at the moment. Hindering every thought that's not about the samira, from joining the panic going on inside my head.

Swirling around like a storm.
The samira.

Metal drawers slam back and forth silently as I'm searching.
"If you ruin this for me, I'll kill him too."

It feels like everything good gets stolen from me. Every light. Everything that will keep me going. Everything that will keep me existing. Falling from me. Slipping out of my hands. It doesn't matter how hard I try to keep it in my grip. Somehow, it always falls. Dies.

I eventually reach a freezing metal box, grasping it as fast as I can, before I move out of his room. As I'm hiding it under my thin, blood-stained sleeve, I lock my door. Pushing myself closer to the mirror. Looking at my face filled with stained blood from my nose. Covering the samira on each imperfection.

My body finally relaxes on the chair, while I'm hiding the metal box in the glowing flower on my desk. Some of its petals are laying on the floor. Without the radiant, beaming lights. Grey-colored. Lifeless.

I feel the pulsing from the samira on my skin as it's healing me. When will I heal mentally? When will this stop?

The adrenaline. The desperation. Gradually vanishing. Leaping out of my body. Taking the blockages with them. Leaving my mind on its own again. I don't know if I like it or not. The desperation is gone, but the thoughts are still existing. Filling the void.

I look at the painting in front of me, sitting lonely against the wall. Me saving them. 'You'll always be a leader in our eyes'. My stare never moves. Pulling in her words. Pulling in the sight of the painting. The effort she made to make it. The skill she has. And yet, she's left with nothing. Barely a house. Barely money.

Working all her life.

Just before the guilt forms inside my chest, I change my clothes and walk out to the long hallway again. Reminding me of a big labyrinth. The mirror is moved. Each trace from my episode is gone.

My feet continue to walk down the empty hallway and into the big living room. There he is. Sitting on the couch. Reading. Writing. The same stern look on his face. Some of his hair covering his pretty face.

His gaze meets mine. Guilt washes over me as I sit down next to him. With my action, the look on his face goes away. Replaced by a smile.

He doesn't know, and I can't continue like this.

"We need to talk, " I say and keep my hands for myself as he tries to hold them. The smile quickly fades away too. "I don't think we should continue this thing."

His brows furrow at my words. I feel my heart beating. Scared. That's what I am. But I can't continue this. Knowing that his dad will die because of my mother. Not saying anything.

I can't say anything.

"We can greet each other when we meet, but nothing more. No talking. No... flirting. Just greeting, whenever it's necessary."

Surprisingly he doesn't react like I thought he would. Instead, he breaks eye contact, picking up the metal pen, and starts to write again. It feels like I got punched in my chest.

"Ok."

Again. Another invisible punch hits me. Wasn't this thing a big deal for him? Me destroying it? Was it nothing for him? He doesn't even look a tiny bit affected by my words.

"You're not going to say anything?" My voice almost trembles as I'm saying it.
Now I see it. The old Aries coming back. His ice-cold eyes. The similarity.

"What could I possibly say that would change your mind?"

Silence. Thoughts running back. Trying to find a response. However, I find nothing to argue with. He's correct again. There is nothing to say. Nothing to do, that will change my mind.

I slowly nod, walking out of the silent room. Killing off another thing that would make me happy.

Stop.

This wouldn't make me happy. Constantly being reminded that he would shatter because of me.
That isn't happiness.