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He has this destructive kind of beauty. It's like when you see a car crash, and you are absolutely terrified to see the full picture but you can't pull your eyes away because it's all so full of chaos. That's what he is. He is chaos.
His eyes seem to bore holes into yours when he looks at you, and you can feel it sting, making tears form in your eyes. When his fingertips cross your cheek, it feels like it might be the last time, and it drives you mad, because if it were up to you, you'd never leave his side.
Every word that passes his pair of pink lips, you hang on to as if your life depends on it. It's like every time he utters the words "I love you." You're on a cliff, and as soon as the words roll off of his tongue, you lose your grip and you're suddenly falling.
It's this hauntingly agonizing ache in your chest that lingers when he's gone, doing god knows what with others that satisfy his deepest cravings, that give him the fix that he needs.
The truth, is that he knows you're good. He knows that he's damaged, fucked up and broken and the things he wants, the things he needs, are far too unthinkable to ask you for. He can't hurt you, it would break him if he did.
"Why can't you just come over? We can watch a movie, order food, anything you want." You say into the phone, trying not to sound as desperate as you felt for him. "I have rehearsals tomorrow, I-I can't. Maybe next time?" He says, a lump in his throat as he speaks.
"No it's fine, I'll figure it out." You say, sitting on the edge of your bed, your fingers idly fiddling with the soft strands of your throw blanket. "Is the random girl next to you really more worthy of you time than I am?" You say, as calm as the breeze outside.
The line goes silent for a moment before his smooth and rich voice speaks again. "Why do you think I'm with someone?" He asks, a little bit of an accusing tone in his words. "I just know Bill. I can feel it, the way your breath hitches and the way your words come out. We're not dating though right? So fuck it, have fun, I'm not stopping you." You say.
The scariest part about it all, was how incredibly nonchalant your words sounded. You almost sounded humorous, and it made him feel sick to his stomach, because he knew that you were hurting. He'd known you long enough to know that the deadliest poison was the calm tone that swam through the voice of a broken soul.
What you and Bill had was complicated. It was never just a sexual thing, there was an evident, real feeling. He had met you a year after having his heart torn to pieces by a woman whom he found bed with his best friend. He felt anger in his chest, and sadness, and his mood would waver at times. He'd be happy and on top of the world, and then absolutely fucking broken the next.
