Shift

Summary *Extended*

"Wait." I plead.

My hands shake vigorously, a quiet noise echoing off the walls of the small space when the silver band around my middle finger begins to tap obnoxiously against the neck of the glass bottle being held tightly in my left hand.

Across the room, an ocean eyed girl stands, her arms folded over her chest tightly. She's tapping her foot, a steady motion that often indicates her arrival, but now indicates the look in her eyes that tells me she's leaving. Only this time she doesn't plan on coming back.

"What?" She cries, "What is it that you so desperately need me for?" She words are harsh when I hear them, perhaps more harsh then she had meant for them to be. But, we both know what I can do with words, what I can do to the truth. I try to speak, but the glare in her eyes silences me for a moment.

There's a whistle in the air I breathe, a slight change in the atmosphere.

I don't mean to, but my words fall short. I have nothing left to say except those same words over and over again.

Sorry.

They'll fall from my lips, and although they may in fact hold meaning to me, to everyone else the meaning has deteriorated into nothing but small particles, tiny bits of ash that have now reduced to nothing but a waste of space.

They don't belong there, they don't need to be there, and yet they continue to roam and take up space, even when everyone around seems to wish they wouldn't.

Looking into her eyes is like pulling a trigger inside my head, it's like starting a fire in my bones, it's like letting loose the monster inside of me. No matter how hard I try, I can't tame it.

I pretend I don't feel it.

I pretend I don't feel the glass bottle slipping from my delicate fingers, that I don't hear it when it breaks against the wall.

Everything is black now.

It's like someone turned the lights out in the room and I just can't see. I don't want to anymore. There's nothing left to see that will  make me hate this situation any less.

I pretend I don't feel the glass as it digs under the skin of my knees when I collapse like the weak child I've always considered myself to be.

I pretend I don't feel the angry tears pouring down my face, that I don't feel the weight on my chest or the pounding as my heart beats too hard against the fragile bones that lousily protect it. I pretend I don't feel the warmth of white skin.

However, I can't deny that I  feel the fabric of her shirt when I shove her away. Not just once, but six times.

I'm not sad anymore. I don't feel it in me. All that's left of me is rage. It pours into me, flooding my mind and filling my veins as if all I've ever known is to grit my teeth and spit my venom.

I can't deny that I feel the warm flesh of her arm when I sink my nails into her skin, that I feel the strength of her grip when she holds me down on the same grey carpet I pushed her onto. She's only making it worse, shes feeding the monsters. She's coursing adrenaline through my veins now.

I can no longer dismiss it when I see the anger in her eyes fade into something of loss, as if she's lost me.

And for a split second, before I shut down completely, before my bones grow limp and numb, before my heart stops beating, I can almost swear I hear her tell me she loves me.

But that's the problem.

She shouldn't.

She can't.

Now, it's all static. I hear ear piercing squeals, white noise from undiscovered tv screens lurking.

I don't remember willing my body to melt into her embrace, and I sure as hell don't remember opening my mouth to speak, but when I do I remember exactly what I said, the first time I've said the word aloud,

"Shift."