dear violet ➳ andy biersack (currently editing)

16 - unedited

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chapter
fifteen
violet

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That evening, Andy and I wound up sharing a room.

It was warm in here, the late afternoon sun still captured in the darkness. The warmth - it was so so still, so compact, and it filled every little space between us.

My wrists itched and stung, but I was okay. I could think clearly.

I lay on my back, the pillow soft, my hair fanning out around my head.

Andy lay close beside me with his chin in his hand, head propped up by his elbow.

His eyes glinted blue - the colour of an evening sky.

He had such beautiful eyes.

Right now, the hotel was bathed in a soft, nightime quiet while everybody else slept.

It made me feel more... alone with him. As if the sun had exploded and burnt the earth to cinders, leaving only the two of us left. Floating in a state of simplicity with our hands and ankles gently touching, the matress white and soft beneath us.

I trusted him.

I... I loved him.

And maybe it was just the shock talking, or the trauma, but it felt intense enough to be real. I wondered how it was even possible to fall so voilently in love with someone after only one day and one night.

Love defied logic, I supposed. Love made no sense.

And looking at Andy, at the bold, elegant planes of his face, the knife-like cut of his jaw and nose, I decided that when it came to him, love didn't have to make sense for now.

I drew a breath. "Andy?"

He smiled slightly in response.

"You told me everything a couple hours ago, when I was showing you around the city, when I was giving you a tour. You gave me your story, remember? How you grew up, how you formed the band - everything?"

He nodded, waiting for me to carry on.

"I didn't return the favour," I said. "But now - now I will."

His eyes lit up at that, and he leaned in slightly as I began to speak.

And so I found myself telling him absolutely everything as we lay huddled up close, chest to chest, my feet tucked up to my stomach, his warm breath stirring the loose strands of hair around my face.

As I spoke he picked up a plastic fountain pen from the clutter on the bedside table.

He reached out and pulled down the neckline of my shirt so the fabric stretched out to bare my pale shoulder, my collarbone, my white bra strap.

I froze and stopped talking, heart hammering like a drum.

He leaned in, so that I could feel his breath fanning across my face.

Surprise practically stopped my heart.

I couldn't think.

All I could see was the chaos running wild behind his eyes, the deep purple light thrown across his face. I could see the flaws embedded into his skin like specks of dust; the scars and hairs and birth marks, interrupting the smooth perfection - the perfection everybody else noticed from a distance.