Breathless...

𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗹𝘂𝘀𝘁

Trigger Warnings: suicide, self hatred.

(Please check out my new poetry book, and snowbaz one-shots <3 )

Baz's POV

I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that Snow jumped up to protect me in the middle of class. . . since when did he start protecting me? We were enemies. . . we are enemies, and he hates me, he's supposed to kill me—he will kill me. . .

But as he bumps our shoulders, and gives me a lopsided grin, I feel my heart flutter, and my breath quicken at the very sight of a smile on Simon's plump pink lips.

           Crowley, I'm damned.

I manage to walk behind Simon to Mummers without completely losing my mind, or being caught staring at his arse. It's a miracle that Snow is oblivious enough not to notice my obvious infatuation with him. Then again, I'm relieved he's never noticed.

Suddenly, Simon turns on his bed to face me, sunlight splaying over his freckles. He catches a glimpse of my emotions in my eyes, I'm certain of it because he immediately looks flustered, and bites his lower lip, a deep rosy flush taking over his golden cheeks.

I gulp and jump off my own bed as soon as I realize; and in an attempt to look slightly normal, and not like I saw a goblin, I try my hardest not to teleport out of our room. But Merlin knows I need to get away from Snow before I confess, or he reads it in my face. . . I have a feeling my grey eyes will betray me.

I find myself racing to the catacombs in desperation, not just to get away from Snow, but also because of my insatiable blood thirst. I slow down a little when I enter the abandoned structure, and slowly stalk my way in. Instead of burning a fire in my palm, I leave it dark. Allowing my vampire senses to take over my body, my fangs sliding out as everything comes into an inhumanly sharp focus.

Deafening blood rushing through veins. Blinding light, even in catacombs shrouded in the dark. Overwhelmingly bitter, and metallic stench that comes only from dried blood on ancient walls. And the thunderous heartbeats of every creature hidden in the crevices, a deep-rooted terror glazing their eyes. They sensed my presence. . .

I step forward into the swirling dark, after catching mice and banging their heads against the wall. Then I let my fangs sink in.

I could feel the animals' blood swish in my own body, giving color to my pale skin, giving life to my dull grey eyes, taking away whatever peace I can never seem to find.

I can't seem to retract my fangs though, it's taking too much energy and even though I just fed. . . some part of me is so exhausted. . . I collapse to the ground.

I catch another rat, and just as my fangs reluctantly pierce through, it squirms and I bite into the wrong nerve, spraying blood all over my face and my white Watford shirt. "Fuck," I breathe. Too much reluctance.

I lay in the dark, leaning against the dusty, ancient wall. My mind flashing back to memories before my mother died, before the Mage took over Watford, before I turned into a monster. . .

There was once a time where sunlight seeped through these very halls and my mother chased after me into the nursery. Even without my vampire abilities, I was always quick on my feet. I remember her breathy laughter when she would finally catch up to me, tickling my squirming little body. I remember laughing. I remember the adoration in her grey eyes.  

She'd never look at me like that if she found out I was a vampire. . .

Dripping off my chin and fangs is the thick, crimson liquid that is witness to my monstrosity. My breathing is shallow ( I don't actually need to breathe, it's simply become a habit. To blend in. ) and my eyes are half-lidded. There is no way I can return to the comfort of my bed and the agonizing comfort I feel while staring at Simon.

I'm covered in blood and my fangs simply aren't retracting. . . I'm too exhausted to bother getting frustrated.

So I lay there and my mind slowly wanders back to the Chosen One. As it always does.

I ponder over what would happen if he realized how I felt. Facing the fact that I'll never get to kiss, or hold, or love Simon Snow is difficult enough. . . it kills me everyday. But if he knew I love him. . . I don't doubt he'd look at me with disgust instead of hatred and malice. And it already hurts like fucking hell, when all I've wanted since I was eleven fucking years old is Simon, and his love, his attention, and his affection. . . All I want is for him to love me. It's all I've ever wanted.

And I know it's miserable and pathetic and weak. And I know that I'm a monster who sucks the life out of other creatures for my own selfish survival. And I know I will never deserve love, but I want him. . . he's the only one who sees me.

Sure it sounds insane, that my arch-nemesis is the only person who really pays attention to me. No one else knows half the things he has somehow observed about me. He can't read me, but he recognizes my behavior clearer than even Dev and Niall, and definitely my family, if they can even be called that. . . but I guess the only attention I deserve is negative.

I'll deserve the Sword of Mages, Simon's sword, ablaze, lit on fire with a spell I will have to perform not only because fire is the only thing that can kill me, but also because it requires a deep, unconditional love to work; I will deserve the love of my tragic life, pushing his sword into my aching heart, a heart that only longs for him, a heart that loves him.

It hurts. . . how every thing I hold close to me, everything that makes me feel alive: Simon, Fire and Magick, they will all kill me in the end.

I didn't even deserve my own mother's love, she ended her life because she was like me. . . a vampire: a cold, cruel, killer.

And Crowley knows I'm so fucking selfish for not killing myself too. Maybe my life is a tragedy simply because I didn't end it when I was supposed to. I don't deserve to live. . . a monster like me will never deserve to live.

And yet, I can't help but stay in this world, at least until the boy I dream about every night ends me. I can't resist Simon. . . I don't care about living, but Simon, I need him. . . he's the only good thing I will ever have, even though I don't really have him, do I?

Cruelly ironic how the only person who makes it worth living, wants me to die the most. He's told me as much.

And yet, I want him so fucking much it hurts. . .

I should kill him. But I'm aching to kiss him.

           He should kill me.

Finally put me out of my misery.

Like my mother would've.

Maybe I should kiss him, and then he'll certainly rid the world of me. . .