Breathe (Tronnor One-Shots)

Prove.

Genre: Angst and hurt/comfort. This may become a full length fic in the future, I love it that much.

Word Count: 582

Are we still a love story?

Why?

Because sometimes your arms feel like cages, like chains, like I'm some kind of monster you need to keep away from the rest of the world. Or maybe I'm not the monster, maybe the world is the monster and you know I don't have anywhere left for the scar tissue to grow. Maybe you know my skin is silver to cheat them into thinking I'm made of steel. Maybe you know I'm really nothing but recycled paper tossed around the washing machine one too many times.

How?

With a head turned when you go to kiss me like you're poison, like you're a bundle of matches and I'm so very flammable. With a growing distance you won't think enough of until it's too late. Passive and quiet, slow, because I'd rather let the rope burn your wrists than stab you in the gut, because I'd rather watch your face fall slowly than crumble all at once.

Why?

Because it hurts, it hurts so much I can't breathe sometimes. Because I feel like I'm robbing you of the air right from your lungs every time I try and leaving us both suffocating, choking on charcoal misery and coughing up crimson desperation. Because you're you (everything) and I'm me (nothing) and all we are together is an inevitable disaster. Because you love me but you don't know me and I love you but I hate myself. Because you tell me things aren't 'healthy' and I only want to do them even more.

Where?

In a bed that's big enough for miles to stretch between us at night, for my demons to settle in beside me and you still not know they're there. In a bathroom with bloodstains only I've ever seen, a medicine cabinet with pills only I know exist. In my body where it hollows and screams and your hands where they stay far away from the ruins of me. In my blood, my veins, my heart, like a sickness I'm so scared is contagious. In your eyes when you look at me like you know something's broken, but you can't figure out what. In my throat where "I hate you" fizzes up in place of "I hate myself".

Why?

Because I don't know what I'm doing, what we're doing, and sometimes I love you so much I can't stand you. Because everything's broken and everything's breaking and everything's bent and you can't fix it or hold it all together and it wouldn't be 'healthy' if you did. Because you're you and I'm me and we're us and you may think that's enough but it's not. Nothing's enough. Everything's too much.

Why?

Because I'm breaking and you're breaking and we're bent and I love you but I hate you and I don't know how to feel both at once.

Why?

Because this is it, that's all there is, and I'm so tired of covering my mouth every time I scream.

What?

Scar tissue. Doors slammed. Angry shouts and sheets on the couch. The unworn gap in the middle of the bed. The ribs I never let you count but trace my fingers down every time I look in the mirror. Ripping your arms away from me. Scar tissue. Doors slammed. Turning my head away from you. Holding my breath until it hurts. Packed bags. Healthy. Scar tissue. Doors slammed. Key on the table. Car tires screeching. Scars. Doors left open.

Or are we a cautionary tale?