Error. [H.S.]

18.

Unknown Perspective.

Steam opened your pores like a window into your soul, your vulnerability only lightly concealed from the exterior by a blanket of condensation. As the temperature rose, your guard diminished. What a beautiful mistake that was.

The muscles in your shoulders loosened slowly, easing away the tension that knotted beneath your faultless skin. Droplets took advantage of your natural curvatures, skimming along in pursuit of adorning your figure with the attentiveness you seek from others. Your own conscious would never fulfill your desires in the pitiful way that the words of other men do. You define your self-worth based on the looking glass other's view you from. If perfection doesn't align with their perspective, your subconscious calculates small alterations to become the volume they seek.

Red lipstick has smeared on the collars of men who would never view you as more than a past time. The powerful color masqueraded your innocence by personifying a version of you that would never exist in a world outside of strong liquors and secondhand smoke.

The color alone made you desirable to a new audience, but those who applauded you only sang your praise in competition to see who could wrap their hands around your throat first.

We both know the obvious winner.

You were playing with the high rollers, Scotty, and you're lucky you made it out alive. Your escapism techniques were a cry for help, a desperate plea to repress the abandonment taught to you by your own father. Credit for the risque behavior couldn't fall into your hands though, because you were under the influence of someone on the opposite end of the law now.

Confidence wore you like an accessory. You were running on cruise-control, fueled by adrenaline and underage intoxication in a place so dangerous for someone like you. You were brave enough to cross the city limits to wander off into a bar where nobody knew your story, but everyone knew your name by the last call for alcohol.

At the time, you were an illicit angel, so desired and yet, so lawfully out of reach, but actions speak louder than words, Scotty, and tucked away in a drawer besides the lace you left me, is a record of your every action since our last touch.

Now, at an arms length away, the warm scent of your body wash welcomes me with a sudsy invitation. The decadent scent compliments you with every note entangled in the fragrance as you try to scrub the torments of the day away. Through the fogged glass, your disappointment curses your lips with a frown as you realize that heartache isn't something that washes down the drain so easily.

Salt water tears were camouflaged by the downpour of the shower head, and if I weren't mistaken, quiet pleads were bargained under your breath as you prayed to whatever god would answer your pathetic wishes.

Don't cry, darling, I'm right here.

Life has dealt you a putrid hand of cards to equip you for the grand finale, but choose your soldiers carefully. The ones you trust most will be the first to betray you, just as history has shown. The people meant to protect you have left you floundering to keep your head above your sea of tears.

Niall will make it, Scotty. Dry those pretty tears until I'm able to dry them for you.

Your absence was noticed by many the first weekend you didn't return, and by the second, all eyes were on the doors, anticipating if you would ever return, but you never did.

The ruby red lipstick was retired when you met someone who fell in love with the way you looked when your mask fell off. Your authenticity glimmered brightly through the looking glass of someone who had fallen in love with you unexpectedly, but all at once, and because of that, you traded your cherry lips for strawberry gloss when you learned that seeking admiration wasn't about putting the likes of others first. You became the muse you had always dreamed of without any modifications of your true self, and you turned your back on the people who were there for you when your world was ending.