How Its Meant To Be

Prologue

Lance's pov

Walking into the gym I see him here, I was hoping he would be. Well I say hoping, I watched him walk in here, I wasn't stalking him I promise.

His dark red long-sleeved tee clings desperately to his arms, his black hair shines under the harsh lighting contrasted by the light creaminess of his skin, sweat glistens from its seat upon his forehead. Eyes of the most entrancing amethyst, sprinkled with snow white flakes, bore much envied holes into the ground as he does his press-ups in an almost ritualistic manner.

Small glances are all I chance, if he sees me staring he will know there is something wrong. But I can't help myself, why do I feel so close and yet so far from him?

He is perfect, the perfect height, short but not too short. His hair is a deep black that shines like the sun in the sky. His muscles look like they are frantically trying to escape from that sinfully tight top that adorns his God like body.

What am I compared to him, I'm too tall, my limbs are long and gangly, I'm too skinny for my own good.

I wish he would notice me, I see him every day how could he keep pushing me away, I know I'm not good enough, that I should try harder, be nicer, but how are you supposed to do all of these seemingly impossible tasks when you can't even get close enough?

Keith's pov

Look at him over there, on that treadmill, just running.

His light blue tank top hangs low on his perfectly sculpted body. His glossy sweat keeps his chocolate locks from straying out of place, dark brown hair perfectly contrasting his light mocha skin that I bet tastes as good as it looks. Legs of a marvellous length beat down effortlessly on the black marked tread mill below. Light brown freckles adorn his perfectly pointed face, they look as if they have been meticulously painted on with love and care. Then there are those eyes, I could happily, willingly get lost in those bright cerulean pools. The light bounces beautifully off of those lakes radiant and dazzling.

I see his little glances at me, he is probably thinking about how horrid I look. I shouldn't even be here but where else is there to go. Home? There is no home anymore, hasn't been for a while, not since that day.

I live alone with my foster parents, not even they see, I guess I'm good at hiding my pain. I have had to be strong for so long but I'm not quite sure how much longer I can take it. It eats me from inside out, its never ending. I'm not even sure if you can call it a feeling its more of a numbness.

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As the water falls down from the fluffy white clouds, nails of the brightest blues and silvers pour down. Like the heavens have shed their magic, raining it down upon the world, thoughts of him fill my head. I know we are meant to be together, I see him everywhere at the academy at the shops and in the streets, I feel his presence in the rain. Everywhere I go it feels like he is calling to me, and yet we have never shared a glance. I tear my gaze away from my tattered window pane to my damp arms. They glide through my skin like a skater on ice. The gleaming silver meets the pale snow white of my skin. Watch as the thick red liquid drips from the freshly made incisions that litter my wrists, pain soaring from them like and like a wild fire it spreads through my body filling me with a sick sense of relief. Blue to red, cut after cut the crystal-clear water cleans away my blood, his essence ridding me of my inner turmoil, of my inner hatred for myself. I squeezed my eyes shut, as tight as I could. I see them, the memories of that night come flooding back at a terrifying speed. It was a crisp winters night, the sky was clear not a cloud could be seen, the stars stood proud alongside the magnificent moon, on a background of the deepest purple. Her body lay still on the kitchen floor, red slowly seeped from all over her body, staining the stunning white tiles of the kitchen floor, and matting her once honey yellow hair into a deep crimson mess. Her lifeless body twitched and jerked with every new incision made.

He didn't stop, no matter how loud I pleaded he just kept going, carving into her skin with a terrifying rigour.

Light from the moon bounces off of the tiled floor illuminating his face, red splatters covered his face, eyes filled to the brim with a rampaging untameable rage, and his smile wider than that of the Cheshire cat. The knife he wielded was a shining silver, its smooth surface clearly reflected my fear. The beaming blues and reds jump from wall-to-wall and bring the horrific nightmare in front of me alive. As the police men, adorned in their inch-thick Kevlar, heavy helmets and shields, carry her body past me I see, I see clearly engraved into her once beautiful porcelain skin 'Mother of a monster'