Paper Cut Lover | Kylo Ren

TWENTY-ONE

The plastic covering flicks against the visor with a loud snap as my polished fingers pry it open with the silent hush of my sudden anxieties. 

The vanity mirror in the passengers side of Percy's car might as well be shattered for the way my eyes lurk back to me, doesn't seem as if they belong upon my face. I don't look like myself – And not just because I have covered every imperfection with a thick layer of make-up, but because where my soul once shined, seems to have even dimmed the gleam of my irises and the blood beneath my flesh, seems to have forgotten how to prick to my cheeks so warmly. 

By holding my cold fingertips upon the, what-should-be, grey of my under-eyes, I hope my icy-chill can freeze the tears, just for one night – But once my chin begins to tremble at the person looking back at me, it doesn't take long before that murk in my gaze, begins to drown beneath the glaze which sits upon my waterline. 

The breath I sharply inhale, shakes and quivers in the silence, the same way a rock would skip upon the surface of a pond – But this tremendous grief that my own ignorance has cursed me with, isn't merely a still pond, it's a thrashing and violent ocean, where storms rise and hurricanes wreck havoc, and the pain isn't just a rock which creates the rippling movement, it's a giant boulder which only crushes me beneath the tides. 

All for pleasure, I have been gifted nothing but pain. I thought once, that I found pleasure in the pain, but only now do I realise that there is nothing to compare between either of their treacherous differences. Kylo Ren, my fucking Professor, snatched the pleasure away, the moment when his lies were brought into the sunlight, which hid behind his thick and brooding clouds – And now that his clouds are gone and the warmth of the sun has returned, the only thing that he left me with, is burning and ferocious pain.

I shouldn't have even come. I should be back in my dorm, tucked tightly into my stiff bed, crying into the pillows where his fingers once gripped into...

I shake my head and curl my hands into the parting of my thighs when I see Percy finally make his way from out of the gas-station and back to his car, which I patiently wait in, with tears drying in my eyes and cold drinks upon my knees which are safely hidden into a crinkled, paper bag. 

"Alright –" Percy practically sings as he huffs into the drivers side and punches his keys into the ignition, twisting the engine on in one motion before turning his bright face to mine, "You ready?" He asks, cocking a dark brow. 

No – And he knows that too, and yet, he still doesn't pressure me into talking about it. 

I force a tight smile onto my face, masking the devouring melancholy, "Yes," I lied. 

The air felt so suffocating as Percy lightly tapped his thumbs upon the steering wheel to his music, that it could resemble the static of a hot summer night, where my limbs are twisting in the heated bedsheets, flipping my pillows over and searching for refreshing air. I feel nauseous and I haven't even sipped from one of the alcoholic drinks that I hold against my legs, and I don't plan on drinking from them either – I didn't wish to take the chance of smothering the pain, only for it to intensify with the deceiving mask of intoxication. 

I begin to chew on my bottom lip when I start to recognise the neighbourhood streets that Percy turns down, familiarising my settings to be affiliated with the many times that I had foolishly joined Percy with his dimwitted friends, much like tonight, to James Green's house – A boy who, at one point, I had to battle with to maintain my title of Percy's best-friend, in high-school

Percy's hand-break clicks in the soft silence of a quiet engine and his truck halts against the curb, facing James Green's childhood home – Which by the looks of it, seems to be missing the strict parents of his, who had always owned matching cars of blue, but only one is parked in the driveway which is now littered with rubbish, silver cans and red cups.