Eternity's Ending (our version of events) - Book One

Vincent

"You don't have to leave. You know that, right?" Xander reaches for her shirt. I snatch it from the bed before she can gain possession of it. "I mean, I don't mind that you snore."

"I don't snore," she extends her hand, sighing impatiently when I don't grant her the instant gratification she is accustomed to.

"How would you know, you only sleep alone?"

"I know," her tone urges me to proceed with caution but I refuse to heed its warning. She shoves her open palm in the direction of the shirt I hold hostage.

"You can't possibly know. But I'm more than willing to help you find out."

When she finally drops her arm and turns to face me, I know without question, I have awakened a sleeping dragon. I speak before she has the chance to unleash the fire sitting on her tongue.

"We'll play my favorite game," I pause to gauge her annoyance level. She doesn't strike during the silence so I continue. "It's called, 'Are you a snorer?'"

I whistle and cheer as loud as a one-man studio audience can.

"Really?" she says flatly.

"You know it?" I try to combat the apathy of her tone with the excitement in mine.

"No, I don't know it, Vincent," she spits my name at me.

She is about to raise the stakes to a level where I can't compete. I throw in my hand but she continues to play her cards.

"Why are you so adamant about me staying over? I mean, isn't this every guy's dream; stringless sex? Are you going to insist we cuddle too?" disgust stains her words so she pauses and cleans them up.

"Look, I'm diggin' what we got goin' here. Don't fuck it up by being gay."

She leans over to my side of the bed and hesitantly reaches for her shirt. Her actions assure me she is not looking for a fight but her hurtful words have rung the bell. I'm not sure I can return to my corner as easily as she returns to hers. I open my mouth to reciprocate the deep pain she has unknowingly caused me. My words are absorbed by her lips without ever seeing the light of day.

"I'm not gay," I squeeze the words out between kisses hoping to bandage the wound she reopened.

"Maybe a little," she whispers. I can taste her smile. "But it's cool."

She strokes out the argument I am preparing before her mouth becomes too busy to counter.

I let her get dressed without resistance this round, although a part of me is tempted to provoke her into more "shut me up" sex. But in our arrangement, fighting is an unnecessary and exhausting means to an end.

"Leave my money on the nightstand," I say only half joking.

She smiles, digs $20 out of her pocket and places it next to my wallet.

"Go buy yourself a teddy bear. I hear they love to cuddle. I'll even let you name it after me if it will make you feel better," she turns, leaving in typical Xander fashion, without a goodbye.

I roll onto my back and stare at the blades chasing each other around the ceiling fan.

"What fools we are," I say to them, "doggedly pursuing the unattainable."

Memories eagerly fill the void she leaves, forcing me to relive my past.

I filled my mouth with enough whiskey to turn my cheeks into liquid packed balloons. I let it sit for a moment before allowing it to escape down my throat. I wiped the few drops that trickled down my chin with the back of my hand and repeated the process. It would not be long before I reached the unconsciousness I so desperately needed. Unconsciousness was the only place where the pain of my heartache couldn't reach me; the only place where I didn't love him.

"I don't love him. I can't love him," I argued, raging violently against the final truthful moments before the blackout.

"You'll love him until you die," taunted reality.

"I'll love him until I die," I repeated.

Finally, I understood. Unconsciousness only provided a temporary reprieve from the nightmare my life had become. Despite my most valiant efforts, I never could get drunk enough to get him off my mind; until that night.

Justifications left my thought process completely congested, forcing me to utilize the only explanation readily available to me. I scribble my thoughts on the back of the scrap piece of paper found tucked away in the drawer holding my handgun. I kissed the bullet that would pry my heart from his hands and loaded it into the clip. I put the gun to my head and took a deep breath. I squeezed the trigger but found myself unable to press hard enough to discharge the weapon. I laid the gun on the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. I spent my final moments alternating swigs and suicide attempts until both the bottle and the clip were empty.

Hell is not fire and brimstone. Hell is the vastness of eternity choked with unfulfilled wishes to make amends for the lives you've destroyed. I spent a lifetime in hell trying to bargain away two wishes for the chance to be granted the single most important one; to be paired with the soul I abandoned. Time proved no match for the wounds I created.

Xander's possession of Avery's soul created an inherent distrust I constantly worked to overcome. On days like this when Xander is exactly who she is and not the person I used to know, I wonder if I would love Xander had I not loved Avery first. The answer to that question is inconsequential. Her soul was hardened by the damage I'd done. Regardless of how trying my attempts to love her became, I owed her the fight.