Watercolour Eyes

What Would You Do For Love.

Vanity and Sid laid in their bed together. Sid had his eyes closed in his own little world. it was silent. quiet. Vanity had her arm hanging off of the bed as she looked out at the grey clouds Her head close to Sid's chest.

Sid had been noticing a change in her recently it wasn't at all normal and for how long Sid has known her for he hadn't ever seen her like this. She hadn't actually told him what was wrong because she didn't know what was wrong.

It had just been so recent and so sudden that it overtook her all at once. A wave of sadness and depression overtook her head and clouded her mind with horrific thoughts. What haunted her was the fact that this isn't the first time she's felt like this. When she was 14 the feeling that she felt now was similar however now it was more frightening because of how familiar, yet so foreign this plague was.

"I feel like all my friends are dead" Vanity finally spoke, her voice scratchy and dry. Sid's eyes fluttered open, his gaze shifting from the abyss of his thoughts to the woman beside him. Vanity's words hung heavy in the air, an unsettling revelation that cut through the silence of the room. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with concern etched across his face.

"What do you mean, love?" Sid's voice was gentle, a soothing undertone that showed he wanted to know the meaning behind Vanity's cryptic statement. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

Vanity stared blankly at the ceiling, her eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions. Sid's fingers trembled as he continued to stroke Vanity's hair, a feeble attempt to offer comfort in the face of such profound sadness. He couldn't fathom the depth of her pain, but he could feel its intensity radiating from her like a haunting melody.

Vanity's voice, scratchy and raw, carved through the silence like a knife. "It's like... everyone I've ever cared about is gone. Not dead in the literal sense, but... dead to me. It feels like I'm surrounded by ghosts, and I'm just drifting away from everything and everyone."

Sid's own eyes welled up, mirroring the tears that threatened to spill from Vanity's. "I-" She choked on her words, her admission cutting through him like a blade. "I feel dead."

His heartache intensified, and Sid held her tighter, as if trying to anchor her to the present, to him. "You can't be dead... I couldn't live without ya," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Vanity rested her head on Sid's chest, seeking solace in the rhythmic beating of his heart. "We better go together then... because I'm not gonna be here for very long." The words hung in the air, a haunting confession that to Vanity seemed like nothing.

Sid hummed in response, his voice laced with sorrow. Vanity crossed her arms over his chest, and as she lifted herself to gaze into his eyes, the weight of their shared pain was unmistakable. "How should we do it?" Sid asked, a desperation lingering beneath the surface.

She bit her nails, contemplating the darkest of choices. "We could... jump off a building, throw ourselves in front of a train, OD." Vanity's smirk held a twisted fascination with the morbid possibilities.

Then, a sinister darkness overcame her, the smirk leaving her face, and she fixed Sid with a chilling gaze. "If I asked you to kill me... would you?" The question hung in the air, a subtle dance of shadows in the dimly lit room.

Sid's misty eyes met hers, his voice low and shaky. "W-what would I do then? I couldn't live without ya." The lump in his throat grew, making it difficult for him to speak.

"You could kill yourself after... would you do that for me?" Vanity's desperation echoed in the room.

A small, sad smile played on Sid's lips, and he nodded. "I'd do that for you." The room descended further into the depths of darkness, the weight of their shared pain becoming an unbearable burden, threatening to extinguish the light they had once found in each other.