“I said maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me.”
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“Okay, tell me one random thing about you,” I grin, gulping down another glass of beer.
You laugh as you observe my ‘unladylike drinking’, sitting on the floor opposite me. “I am most definitely amazed by your drinking.”
I look at you and childishly stick my tongue out. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, I know that,” you say with an eye roll. I look at you expectantly and you smile that small smile of yours. You pour yourself another glass of beer, taking a small sip.
I watch you while you drink; the way you throw your head back in an almost graceful manner, fingers tight around the glass in your hand, squeezing as the alcohol hits you. Your eyes closed as if the drink is taking you to another world, an impossible smirk playing on your lips while you swallow.
Suddenly you open your eyes and catch me staring. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.”
“Idiot, answer the question,” I laugh.
You smile at me, your brown eyes lighting up. The lighting in the room darkens your eyes, making you look more dangerous and rugged. Your hair is disheveled, three buttons on your shirt undone. Slowly, you make your way around the table in between us. You sit next to me, leaning against the cold, hard wall. Your scent wafts toward me –coffee, a hint of vanilla and some exotic spice I can’t put my finger on.
“I must ponder on this ever philosophical question first, mi lady,” you say in a whisper, your voice soft yet deep, making my skin tingle and my heart beat just a little faster. I smile and give you a small nod.
As you think, we both stare at the view in front of us, the window in my room open to the cool December night. The sky is a milky shade of blue, the stars shining in their infiniteness. And suddenly, I feel your fingers upon mine. Soft yet rough at the same time, in a way that the hand of a loved one can only be. I feel your pinky tracing the back of my hand, a pattern seemingly etched in your subconscious mind. Ever gently, I lace my fingers into yours. I look down on our entwined fingers, smiling.
I feel the weight of your gaze on me, and I turn my head to you.
You smile before you begin to answer. “Did you know that you’re the reason why I’m still in this place? Time and time before, I’ve tried to leave. Escaping, sneaking out into the night. Somehow, and much to my disappointment, my parents always found me in the end. They found me, talked to me, tried to make me stay. I would always be left with no other choice but to stay. But time passes, and I leave again. It became a cycle, my coming and going and being found. It tired me out, but I always tried to leave anyway.
And then I met you. Cliché as it may seem, you gave me a reason to stay. I met you, and suddenly I knew why I was still in this sad excuse for a town. Something always brought me back home, and somehow I realized that maybe it was because I haven’t met you yet. Now that I found you, I don’t think I’m going anywhere else anytime soon.”
My smile widens and I give your hand a squeeze. I look away, afraid to look back at you, afraid to let you see the turmoil in my eyes.
Because as I listened to you speak, something inside of me urged to tell you my own “You-gave-me-a-reason” story. Yet I know that it is too early for that, too early to let you know. And so I settle for squeezing your hand, letting you know that I love you. I rest my head on your shoulder, thinking of how my own story would go if I ever told you.
Did you know that you’re the reason why I’m still alive? Time and time before, I’ve planned my death. I’ve written countless suicide notes, bidding adieu to people who didn’t even give a rats shit about me. You were never in these notes, not even a whisper of your existence. Then, I didn’t even know who you were. And so I went on half-living my life, knowing that the ending of my story was gladly written by me. And I kept hurting, hurting myself in ways that no one else knew of. I didn’t speak of the hurt, because I knew that I would eventually end it one day. But somehow, I kept prolonging my inevitable death. Mostly, I think it was because I was looking for someone to save me. Maybe I just wanted someone to realize what was happening inside of me. I wanted someone to give me a reason.
No one did. Until I found you. And without knowing, you kept me alive. You gave me a reason to stay alive. I woke up in the mornings because I knew that at some point in my shitty day, I would see you. Heck, I woke up smiling because of you. And at night, instead of contemplating “overdose or bathtub death?”, I fell asleep to your smile and the way you laughed like a child on Christmas morn.
You never realized it, but you are the reason why I’m still living right now, not a rotting corpse six feet under. My boat was sinking, my pieces shattered, my sail bloody, battered and torn apart. Then you found me in open sea, you were the lifesaver I was endlessly searching for. And I clung on to you; I am clinging on to you. I’m not drowning anymore. I am floating, we are floating.
You saved me.
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A/N: Not my best work so far, but it’s a sort of big piece of me. This is something personal, I guess you could say. So I hope y’all like it. Constructive criticism is reaaaaaaally, really really appreciated because I really need help with my writing.
Vote? Comment? Fan? DFTBA! :)
(Also does anyone else realize the themes of most of my one shots? Oops sorry.)
YOU ARE READING
Shot In The Dark.
Short Story"and maybe in the end, you'll be another memory, you'll be nothing but a story to tell."
