See The Rust Through Your Playground Eyes

What do I say? What do I do?

I pulled away from him, retracting my hands from his hips. I ran my hand through my hair. I probably looked guilty, that's how I felt and I turned to him and looked in to his beautiful eyes. Once so bright, now dull and hurt. And it hurt. How atached I was to him, how I could feel his disapointment. How I could see it in his eyes, the moment he realized what had happened, how his eyes widened and his face dropped, how his eyes filled with tears he wouldn't let fall. I could see his heart break.

He walked to the sofa and sat down, his back to me. I stood there, not knowing what to say or do. Is there anything I could do? I'm an asshole. I knew he liked me -and I like him too- and still I go and sleep with some girl I don't even know.

I walked to the sofa slowly, not sure if it was the right thing to do, then I sat down next to him. He was sitting with his legs crossed like a little kid, looking down at his lap. I touched his knee, he flinched.

"G-go a-away." he muttered.

"Frankie, I-"

"G-go a-away!" he got up and locked himself in the bathroom.

I sat there, dumbfounded. What do I do? Should I stay and wait for him to come out? What if he doesn't want to see me? Does he even realize what's happening?

Analyzing this, he shouldn't be mad. We aren't a couple, even if I want to, so I didn't cheat on him. But I broke his heart. I didn't think he would be this upset.

I heard a soft sound come from the bathroom, it sounded as if he were crying and it broke my heart like you have no idea. I felt as though I had just killed someone. I might as well had.
I had -with the idea of protecting him- obliverated his heart, betraying his trust and friendship. I knew he liked me, hell I liked him even more, and what do I do? Go out and fuck the first slut I find. I hurt him horribly, rejecting his noble feelings and expecting him to not care about, not understand what I did.

I got up off the couch and left the room, locking the door behind me. Leaving a crying Frankie and any hope of fixing my mess behind.

When I got to my room I just stood there. Looking around the vast black room and hating everything I saw. I threw my things on the plush black couch and turned to the window. It was snowing. Such a beautiful weather for such a depressing situation. I leaned against the side frame, admiring the view.

I want Frankie. Here. With me. Looking out the window and making me feel like there is a place in the world where I belong, like I'm not just another piece of meat. That I matter. He makes me feel like that, like I matter. Like I'm special, cared for. I sound like an obsessed school-girl.
I sighed and turned away from the window. I looked around the room, wanting everything to just go up in flames, me included. I walked to the bathroom, turning on the lights and coming face to face with the huge vanity mirror.

I stared at myself. Hair messy, bags under my tired eyes, shirt and tie undone. I looked horrible. And I felt worse. Then there were the disgusting hickeys on my neck. No, I don't think all hickeys are disgusting, I'm completely okay with getting marked, just not by some random whore. For example, I would love for Frankie to bite me. The only problem is that he probably doesn't want to have anything to do with me anymore, if he ever did.

I was very angry with myself now. I ruined what could have been the best thing that ever happened to me.

I punched the mirror. Watching parts of glass fall and blood drip down from my knuckles. I backed away from it and just stared at my distorted reflection in the broken, bloody mirror.
To hell with this. I was too angry to care.

I went back in to the room, throwing things and breaking practically everything I touched.
About half an hour in to my wrath I heard a soft knock on the door.
I hadn't even realized my room was almost completely destroyed. There where papers everywhere, broken lamps and glass.

Luckily my bed space -which was what was destroyed- was sperated from the living area and nobody would notice.

I walked out of the bed room, locking the door behind me.

There was another soft knock, "Who is it?" I asked, my voice raspy.

"M-me."

I smiled at the beautiful voice, knowing perfectly well who it was.

I opened the door, looking down at the small angel in front of me.

"Frankie." I sighed.

He looked up, eyes wide and cheeks tear stained. When he saw me his eyes widened even more, he looked worried.

"W-what h-happened to y-you?" he asked. He ushered me in to the room, closing the door behind us.

Once inside he sat me down on a plushy black sofa and took my hands in his. I looked down and saw that they were covered in blood and glass. Then he reached up and touched my cheek, "Y-you w-were cry-ing, d-does it h-hurt?"

I was crying? I didn't even notice. I didn't have time to answer, he left and came back with a small bowl of water and bandages. I'm assuming he found them in the bathroom.

"Y-you b-broke the m-mirror?" he asked.

I nodded, he sat down next to me and started to clean my hands. He carefully wiped off all the blood, slowly picking out all the glass and then wrapping them with the bandages.

When he finished he put away all the things and sat with me again.

I looked over at him, his big beautiful eyes, his perfect skin, his pink lips. Every little detail made him even more gorgeous.

"W-what?" he asked nervously, cheeks blushing deep red.

"You are beautiful." I found myself answering.

I think it took both of us by surprise. I could feel my cheeks heat up and see his turn crimson. He looked down at his lap, frowning, and brought a hand up to his chest, pressing it flat over his heart.

We sat in silence for a while. Neither of us knowing what to say.

"Frankie, I'm sorry."

He turned to me, "F-for w-what?"

I stared at him for a second. What was I sorry for? For trying to not think of him? For sleeping with someone else? We weren't even in a relationship, I didn't cheat.

I settled for, "...for making you upset."

He didn't say anything and for a second I didn't think he would answer, "...w-what h-happened?"

What do I tell him? The truth? I shouldn't lie to him, that's for sure. But, can he understand it? Can he realize what and why I did?

"I had sex with someone." I blurted out.

I immediately knew I shouldn't have said it. It sounded horrible and, what if he didn't know what it was? I did not want to have 'that' talk with him. It would be so awkward. I would be willing to show him, though. I'm so going to hell for that.

"W-who?" he asked timidly, "Y-your g-girlfriend?"

I almost laughed, almost. Me, a girlfriend? I hadn't wanted to date anyone since I was fourteen. That was when I realized I hated almost everything. Plus girls would all but through themselves at me-they still do-, so it's not like I had to make an effort to have sex.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"B-boyfriend?"

I wish, "No."

"W-why d-did you?" he asked.

"...because I was angry and wanted a distraction."

He inched closer to me, sitting up on his knees, "F-from w-what?"

He was really close now. I had my head leaned back on the couch and he was running his fingers soothingly through my hair, I had my eyes closed.

"...from you." I whispered.

I felt a pair of soft lips on mine. Kissing me, light and innocent, insecure, afraid of rejection. I kissed him back, just as soft and innocent.

This is all I wanted, this is all the distraction I ever needed. Just him, just his company. To remind me I'm still here. Just that, a kiss. A kiss to keep my monsters away.

I've felt so much better with him around. So alive. Now I feel my heart beat and it seems real, because it beats for him. Now I want to live. For him, with him. I want to be there for him, even if just as a friend. He's so young and I want to help him grow up.

I want to live, for him.

Notes

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