See Me and Accept Me (a prinxiety fanfiction)

Chapter 12 - Pillow Talk

There's nothing quite like a embracing a big change, and mine was one in music (for the moment; my heart will always truly belong to emo). I had switched from my usual heavy base to . . . embarrassingly . . . love songs. Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, Agent Provocateur – anything that teemed with tenderness, a sentiment I was trying so hard to define.

Despite my efforts, music was revealing nothing of what love encompasses. Not playing it at blasting volume or low and soothing in the background, the singers refused me access to romance, only to listening others tell of its wonders. Typical, and I wonder why the others call me emotionless I – not now, I push my thoughts to the back of my clogged brain - Princey deserved an answer and he deserved it soon, to a question that wasn't entirely clear in its wording. What did I want from him? What would it mean to want him in the first place? As a friend, a comrade . . . a partner?

This conundrum was keeping in my room for days (not that anyone but Princey noticed, not like they care), and as the minutes ticked onwards my answer to the problem drew no closer. I couldn't even 'feel it at my fingertips', even there I had no hint that there was even something to search for. Maybe my troubles are answerless. That'd be about right for me, what I deserve.

The thought had crossed my mind that the emotion which filled me when I first met Lovan might be love, except that I had and have never felt that for Roman. Does that mean I don't love him, I don't want him? Temptation to ask for another meeting with Lovan often called on me, but I couldn't face Princey again without offering him an answer. A solution that I was finding so hard to come to that it consumed me for days, the effort into sorting through my feelings left me trembling with the thoughts and moods I had to face up to.

I had never loved anyone before, nor been loved before, so how would I know what it feels like? I wish I did, and often Thomas claimed he loved us, but how can he really when we are but fractions of himself; I would know most that he does not love himself, so how can he love us? This renders him useless as an example of what love feels like, and I don't have the confidence to just go and ask him about how he's felt about partners in the past - that'd mean explaining what's going on with Roman, and what a nightmare that'd be. No, god no, I definitely do not need more than one person judging me, the real me.

Which leaves me very much alone in my room, constantly deafened by the silence that Roman filled, briefly, with his obnoxious laughter and ridicule of my conspiracy theories. To my surprise, I miss it, enough to want to go and say to him whatever he might wish to hear in order for him to come back and sit on my bed with me whilst we play Uno, or Rummy or whatever else he might fancy. But at the same time, I know it would be wrong to appease him with no truth behind my words, which would be messing him around and I can't do that to him. Not with how well he's treated me.

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My concept of time has disintegrated like a clock without batteries, and I could have isolated myself in my chambers for days or weeks, I honestly no longer know. I am so wrapped up in discovering my feelings that often I don't sleep, and when I do I return to old habits; nightmares, of Thomas' greatest fears.

Unfortunately among those is a fear of his loved ones being hurt, us among them. Resulting from this, I have watched Roman hurt in a variety of ways, usually in such a manner that just leads me upset when I awake. But tonight was the worst, tonight I hurt him. It gets to me because despite having hurt him in the past, there's a very possible chance I am going to hurt him even worse in the future, even if we only remain friends. I mean god, I'm so predictable. Any emotion other than down and I lash out at the only person that accepts me. He ought to stay away for his own safety really, I'm enough of a dick that I'd probably even hurt him when I'm just 'down'. My throat tightens as an invisible hand squeezes, and all that escapes is choked sobs that quickly dissipate into the air like smoke from a fire.