Exo Imagines

113. In Terror (Lay)

Warning: Contains mild reference. to drink driving and self harm.

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You swiped the power bush over your dampened cheeks, only groaning when the shimmery blush powder congealed into clumps upon your tear soaked skin. Throwing your brush down with a saddened grunt you let your head fall into your arms, your shoulders quivering as you let the build up of salty water fall from your swollen eyes.

"This is my fault," you sobbed into your arm. "This is all my fault," you repeated as your mind wandered over those very last moments, those moments of shattered glass stabbing into bruised flesh, the creaking metal of the car frame as it constitutes around bodies and the foul stench of burning petrol and flesh. "I'm a murderer."

A silent figure was settled upon the edge of your bed, his head dipped and shoulders hunched as he focused intently on the way his feet seemed to hover against the cream bedroom carpet, his shoe not leaving any imprinted within the fabric. "Yes," he sighed and rounded his back, his right forearm holding his weight against his thigh as his left reached up to run long gangly fingers through soft perfectly fluffed brown hair. "It is your fault." His voice was cold and emotionless, his eyes sharp as he tilted his head to look over towards the desk where you sat slumped in front of the large makeup mirror.

He stood up and slowly and cautiously made his way across the bedroom floor to stand at your side, his hand reaching out to touch your shoulder, but he quickly retracted it back when he realised he may startle you. "But it's also my fault. I should never have let you drive."

"I love you, Yixing," you weeped as you pulled the small photo from out of the corner of the mirrors frame. "I love you and I miss you." You were both smiling, a tall elegant glass filled with champagne sat in your hands and the thought of alcohol made your body quiver and stomach flip violently.

Yixing moved to stand behind you, his hand finally reaching out to touch your quivering shoulder, blinking back the invisible tears when his fingers disappeared into your shoulder, the fabric of your jet black funeral gown swallowing his fingertips. Yixing looked into the mirror and let an involuntary quiver escape past his lips as he looked upon the empty space behind you where his reflection should have been, stood watching over you.

But that was the problem... Ghosts didn't have reflections. But the worst thing about his being a ghost was that he could never leave, he was left to warder purgatory for the rest of his existence... The haunt and taunt you for causing his demise. But how could he haunt the woman he loved so dearly? So instead, he stood by your side day after day as he watched you greave over his death, regretting that it was all you fault for driving with the contents of four bottles of wine flowing through your veins.

You placed the photo back and reached into one of the small wooden draws, gulping as you spotted Yixing's old pocket knife. Reaching for it you flipped out the sharp blade and ran the tip of your finger across the smooth edge, hissing in pain when it cut into your flesh, feeling some sort of relief as hot blood trickled down your finger. With a heavy sigh you gripped the knife tighter, Yixing's eyes widened in terror as you placed the blade to your skin, the words, "it should have been me," escaping your mouth.