Please... (Mavi/PTX)

20

Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly. Don't panic. Don't be frightened. I won't hurt you. He looked at me with wide eyes, nearly shedding tears but he held them back. No weakness, be strong. I wondered what was going on in his mind. Was he thinking about it? Trying to find an excuse? Trying to escape? Only he knew it. Even I couldn't invade his thoughts to find out what was going on and that was probably the worst part. The nights he had spent alone with his thoughts. How they reminded him of the day he went through. How they repeated the cruelest set of words raining down on his fragile frame. Thoughts could damage people, more than actions. One false phrase said to them and they would be haunted by the never resting thought of not being good enough. Of being a failure, just another waste of space and time, not a human being. What did Avi think of himself? What image did he have of himself? Did he believe what the older man used to scream at him? Did he repeat his insults in his mind to remember them? 

He opened his mouth and closed it again. Lips pressed firmly onto one another. No sound would escape from him and I wasn't angry. I felt.. sadness. Was I too straightforward? Did I rush him to trust me? Did he trust the man as well at first and then figured out his brutal ways? Did Avi fear that I would hurt him too although I would never lay a hand on him?

Poor angel..

What would I give to make you see your importance in this universe. The impact you have in my life. I could show you but how would you react? Would you push me away? Too many questions, no answers. His hand moved a little and my gaze wandered from his eyes to his hand, pointing shakingly towards a table. I saw the items on it. Books, fairytales Scott used to read to me when we were younger, letters from his sisters abroad, pencils and paper. On the wall pictures of our childhood. When we used to go by bike, eat ice cream and have the best days ever. My childhood has been dark for a long time but Scott brought light into it. Avi needed that light in the darkness of his life. 

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

A quote we learned in school. Martin Luther King Jr. I never understood what you meant by that but now I do. Now I know what it means. All my life I have tried to conquer the darkness in me, I succeded with the help of my friends, supporters, loved ones. They showed me the way into the light. Self hate, darkness, does not help. We only fall deeper into a hole out of which we can never escape. A vicious circle. 

Avi? Has the darkness taken you completely? Is there still a light in you? Somewhere? Somewhere hidden deep within you? Would you allow me to find it? Through love? 

I stood up and walked towards the table and pointed at each object to find the one he was looking for. The piece of paper and a pen. I understood. Walking to the bed I handed them to him, my hands shaking as our fingers brushed against one another. An electric shock through my body. I felt paralyzed. We stopped moving and I caught his stare. What would I give to be yours.. His eyes were shining slightly, a bit of the dullness has vanished from them, allowing him to show the beautiful shade in his eyes. Emerald green. Extremly unique and very rare. Like him...

Sitting back in my chair I watched him write something. His hands moving slowly but certainly not in a calm way. I wondered how he could hold the pen between his trembling fingers without dropping it. He locked eyes with me and gulped, flinching because of  his aching throat. 

He closed his eyes and a tear rolled down his cheek. He was in so much pain he couldn't do anything but cry. And I let him. He didn't give me permission to hug or comfort him, so I only had the option to sit next to him and watch him suffer and go through his pain alone. I felt useless and quilty. There was nothing I could do for him until he let me. 

Avi took a few deep breaths and I could only imagine what his throat felt like. Did it have a metallic taste like blood? How many times had he tasted his own blood? How many times has he seen it?

He gave me the paper, his eyes still closed, and let his arms fall to his sides. His breathing was uneven, probably because every breath he took hurt his lungs. I held up the paper and read his response, sighing at the sadness hidden behind the simple word.

Please

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#Yanie