Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

Black Ocean

Seaton,

I've heard it can feel good. I hope it can, and with you...I know it. I've dreamt of it, and it's hard to dream of something that is so hard to conceive. There's been nothing, no one, with me except Charlie and...I know it doesn't have to be like that. Show me. Please?

This is begging, I think. Something I could never do out loud. But I don't know of any other way to tell you just what I want, because it takes so much for me to even put two words together. Saying 'I love you', that was difficult, and a few months ago, I would have thought it impossible, for me. Because it sets you up for rejection. But I do, I love you, Seaton, and I have, since...well, I can't pinpoint the exact moment, just that somewhere in there I realized it.

It wasn't from the moment I saw you, I know that much. Because the first time I saw you, I was terrified. I still am, to a degree. Of the power you have over me, the way your opinion of me matters like no one else's ever has. If you hate me, I hate me, and if you love me...maybe there's a chance...that I could see something else besides Him in the mirror. What's more...I think you're scared too. Of hurting me.

Don't be. There's too much fear between us, too much hesitation on both our parts...okay, mostly mine. But I could never see you as a Charlie. You can't see him in the mirror, not like I see Alfred. It's not fair to you. And it sure as hell isn't fair to me. Don't be scared of this.

I've heard it can feel good. Please, Seaton...make me feel good. I think you're the only one that can.

Love, Jayden

-

I'm not even sure if it happened.

It's the day after, the murky paleness that comes just after a storm, only there was nothing. Or perhaps they're was. I'm not even sure anymore. God. He confuses me so much.

I... don't know what to do.

I don't know what I did. If I did it. Because he said... nothing. He just held me like he'd been doing and put me to bed, not even saying a word.

His arms were warm.

That's all I really know for sure.

-

I wrote him a letter. In Chemistry class. Just to pass the time, because I didn't want to think about chemistry or senior year or college or... anything. I was thinking about him, about what I said and what he said and what I want and what he wants.

What I think he wants.

Maybe.

The letter is folded and slightly crumbled now, that was almost a week ago. It's worse than awkwardness, because at least when there's uneasiness it's an admittance that something happened. Something significant actually happened, damn it, and that's why you're acting strange. But he isn't acting strange, and it scares me because I was never good at reading him and I... I can't breathe sometimes, when I try to figure it out too much.

Sometimes I think he might love me too. And sometimes I'm convinced he hates me.

I don't know what to do. Is it that what I said wasn't significant, or that it didn't even happen at all? Surely it must be one of the two, but I can't even...Fuck. This isn't fair. At all.

I still can't find that fucking painting and I've been sitting here all night.

Sighing, I lay down on the floor and start taking looks at each painting again and again... he's working on another one, right now. It's of the ocean. Only the water's black. That one's not about me. It's... fuck, I hate this, what am I supposed to do?