Love Me, Harm Me

(I'm) The Idiot

"I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it's just too much. The current's too strong. They've got to let go, drift apart. That's how it is with us. It's a shame, Kath, because we've loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can't stay together forever."
― Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go

.☀.🌑.☀.🌑.

Being that kid again was tough. No, scratch that. Being that kid again, scruffy hair, backpack filled with illegal loot, was not an option anymore. No matter how much he regressed, no matter how similar he could get to his past self, Meliodas would never be that kid again. That kid was lost, done and dusted in the embers of the past - a ashy husk of something that was once real.

But then again, even he - the kid on a lost path, stumbling over a rickety bridge built by his own father - had Elizabeth by his side. Shyly tagging along, her own bag filled with school books and stationary instead of his illegal party favours. Neatly brushed hair, shirt freshly ironed, navy socks pulled tightly around her pale calves, Elizabeth always looked like his exact opposite.

Raised to be a good Catholic girl, she was the epitome of the C of E kids around the neighbourhood. Most of them ended up getting into private schools or attending Sacred Heart and other highly religious farther south in the city. But, ever the exception, Elizabeth was here, somehow stuck in the shitty state school that was their generic academy.

How the hell she ended up there, Meliodas would never know. How the hell she was unfortunate enough to meet him - well, again he wouldn't know.

Why did god like to punish her? In his case it was all justified. Selling on the streets, doing what he had to in order to survive, Meliodas was definitely not a saint. But Elizabeth, his dear, sweet Elizabeth, was definitely not someone to fit the bill of a sinner. Everything tied to the devil came after she met him - after he'd introduced it all to her.

Really, he was worst mistake was taking her on one of his drug runs. That Saturday should have never happened. Maybe then Meliodas could have avoided this.

"You finally decided to show," Disgust wasn't at all hidden in the venomous spit directed his way. These days it was easy to pick up on it; such habits tended to be picked up when you were a walking, talking trashbag.

"I'm a man of my word," Meliodas held both hands in the air. Nonchalance was always key. Being lackadaisical, not giving a fuck, had become his one and only defense in the face of his father's world. Nowadays all they ever wanted from him was a reaction; eager and vindictive, they always wanted to see how much they could dig and dig and dig.

"Cheap talk coming from you, Meliodas," Melascula, familiar as ever, perched on the arm of the rather worn sofa nestled in the corner. Was that just standard for the flats used for production now? Make it look as shitty and crack-den-like as possible? God, the standards really had gone down ever since he'd left. "Or did you forget about being the traitor?"

Shaking his head, Meliodas bit down the grumble that wanted to leave his system, "I wasn't a traitor."

"You were the reason why they shut down our operation on the campus," Derieri, the first voice to direct hostility toward him, spoke once more. Arms crossed over her chest - definitely bulked up from her time in prison - she looked as she if she wanted to rip his head off. "You ruined my chance to get a degree."

Don't push it. Don't push it.

"I never told you sell drugs." 

He pushed it. Seen in the twitch to her jaw, the clench of her fingers, Meliodas knew that he indeed had struck a chord. A very fine one. But the unbearable fucker that he was, he couldn't give much energy toward caring. Not now, at least. Just as he was back then - just as he was now - being the most unforgiving, blunt, obnoxious shit there was occupied his entire agenda.