Breaking Them Up (BoyxBoy) (On Hold Forever)

Keeping Us Together :::10:::

*Damien’s POV*

　

“Please” the word came from someone else. It must have. How impossible it was that I was standing here, begging Kyle to please just listen, to please just stop what he was doing. How impossible that I was crying harsh tears, salty with self-hatred, forehead pressed against the closed gate encircling Kyle’s house. Encircling Kyle. “Please just wait…” the pathetic person carrying out these acts croaked.

Kyle had no intention of listening to whoever this was, even if it was me. He didn’t even look my way, and that stung more then anything else. I wanted him to hate me if nothing else. Insult me Kyle. Hit me. Prove that you care…. “Please Kyle” I guess it really was me standing there, sobbing my throat raw.

He went back towards the house, to get more bags would be my assumption. The limo idled in the driveway, it’s trunk packed with his belongings. I assume Rose was in there somewhere, waiting for the son she’d dreamed of her entire life, ready to take him away from me completely and totally.

My cheeks crack from all the dampness caking them. Everything seemed to hurt. My stomach, my heart, my throat. It was like even my body didn’t want me, was trying to get rid of me. I unclamp my fingers, white with pressure, from around the gate bars. I flex them, but my only response is a throbbing pain from holding on so tight. Kyle reappears in his doorway.

“Fuck you!” I could only take being vulnerable for so long. Could only take this pain for so long. “Fuck you Kyle! Like you’re so fucking perfect!” he walks straight to the limo, gaze ahead. I’m not even there “You’re just going to run away!? Not only from me but from your fuckign kid! Grow up Kyle!”

He places the suitcase in the trunk. But he pauses longer then he should, and I see that his back is ridgid with tension. It’s hard to make out but he almost seems to be trembling. I imagine his face, eyes squeezed shut, lips a tremling line. Good. Come talk to me. Be mad if you want, but come talk to me…

He straightens. And starts walking alongside the limo, hand reaching for the handle.

“Pay attention to me dammit! Don’t do this to me!” I punch the gate, but it’s in vain. The only result is busting my knuckle open, and a gush of blood surges forward, red contrast to the white. My face crumples, not in physical pain, but in defeat “Kyle..” his name is a broken whimper.

The door to the limo clicks shut. I watch as the car circles the court and after a breif pause, the gate opens for them. The car is a blur in my tear filled eyes, and its like my heart is a shattering hourglass. As I desperately try to cling to the last sands as they slip through my fingers, the glass cracks and breaks around it. “Kyle you ass….” but is a meanless hiccup and I’m cold inside.

****************

The coldness inside me had materialized. It was everywhere. The leaves were dying, there colourfull deaths announced by the crunch they made when stepped down upon. Fall was here, winter would be here soon, and I just didn’t care. I hug the sheets of my bed closer to me.

I hadn’t been sleeping-when was the last time I actually got a decent sleep?-I was lying here wallowing in selfpity and three days worth of poor hygiene rituals. I had nowhere to go anyways. The first days my parents had let me off the hook for school. The second day they’d nagged and yelled at me, but it’d still gotten away with it. Today was Saturday. I was fine. I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to acknowledge that I was alive. I grab my pillow and breathly consider suffocation.

Lke a little kid, I image how bad everyone would feel at my funeral. Kyle would cry. Say he loved me. Visit my grave every year with flowers. My parents would hate themselves for neglecting me. Karen would hate herself for trying to marry my boyfriend. Seth would just hate himself.