Sociopathic Tendencies
He's Never Lost
It’s nearly 2 am in the morning; the moon is shining full and bright over a city, and through the open window of a slowly aging apartment. Inside a young woman, somewhere in her twenties, sits at a wooden writing desk, her brown hair falling over one shoulder as she scratches furiously at the paper in front of her. Occasionally, an eye liner blackened tear falls to the parchment staining its surface.
Her paper reads, “I know you told me you would hurt me, you would use me, but I decided it was worth the risk- loving you. Your own brother had warned me, begged me not to go with you, but I ignored him, let you do whatever the fuck you wanted. And god, I have no idea why.
You warned me, told me I’d end up hating you, and you were so right. I’m tired of waiting for you, when I know you’re out enjoying yourself. I’m tired of having everything I do be done to please you; and then feeling like absolute shit when I don’t.”
The woman’s chest rocks with a sob as she attempts to breath. She goes back to writing as her music player in the corner of the room repeats its song.
“It’s quite clear you never, and were never going to, care about me. No matter what I do for you, it never feels like enough. I’ve wasted so much of myself on you; my love, my time, so many of my firsts, and now my tears. I’m done.”
As her pen touched the paper again, her door closed with a bang, startling her. She whipped her tear stained face around, seeing the person she’d just been writing to, “S-Sunstreaker?” she asked, her voice a broken whimper.
The blond haired man looked up, his face distorting as he took in her features. Her eyes were set back in the smeared makeup, black lines making marks across her face; the woman’s hair was wild and tangled. She watched as disgust flashed from his brilliant blue eyes, only to replaced with something she didn’t recognize from him. Sunstreaker stepped to the cowering woman, his head tilted to the side, shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes, “Di?” he asked, carefully closing the space between them.
Suddenly the woman’s trance like state broke, and she reached back to the desk, hurriedly attempting to get rid of something. Sunstreaker reached forward, leaning over her seated body, to grab the paper off the desk. As he brought it to his face to read it, the woman whimpered once more, a pained expression painting her face.
When he read the last two words on the paper, the blond man looked at the trembling woman, “You really mean that Dianna?” Though soft, his voice was emotionless as he spoke.
In distress the woman tried to speak, sputtering over her words, without a clue on how to answer. She was stopped as Sunstreaker brought his lips to hers, capturing them against his, and holding her tightly in his arms. The paper was clenched in his hand behind her back, wrinkled against his fingers. As he pulled away, he ran his other hand under her eyes to dry the tears. Then, abruptly he stood, his face serious as he said, “I’m sorry you feel that way then Dianna,” before turning, leaving her stunned at the desk.
But as he reached the door, he stopped, his head down, “You’re wrong though, I did care. That’s why I stayed away, I couldn’t understand it.” He waited at the door in silence, seeing if she would act, and when she did not he stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed quietly. Sunstreaker reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a simple silver necklace, nothing but a chain with a small charm hanging from it. It was clear that the jewelry was handmade, its links carefully welded closed, each one looping with one another. He stared at it, cussing himself as he walked away.
“W-wait!” Dianna’s broken voice called out echoing in the silence of the city night. Sunstreaker turned, barely grabbing the small woman as she flung herself into his body, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I-I’m sorry, Sunstreaker! Please don’t be mad! Please?”
Slowly he brought a hand up, running his long fingers through the woman’s hair, carefully untangling it as he did. He let out a soft, short chuckle, tilting her head up with a soft tug to her hair. Once more he pressed his lips to hers, gently working a response from her. He could taste the salt from her tears on her lips, as he was sure he could taste the electricity on his. He separated them slowly, running his tongue lightly over her lips before pulling her head to his chest.
“If anything, it should be me asking you for forgiveness, Di.”
Her paper reads, “I know you told me you would hurt me, you would use me, but I decided it was worth the risk- loving you. Your own brother had warned me, begged me not to go with you, but I ignored him, let you do whatever the fuck you wanted. And god, I have no idea why.
You warned me, told me I’d end up hating you, and you were so right. I’m tired of waiting for you, when I know you’re out enjoying yourself. I’m tired of having everything I do be done to please you; and then feeling like absolute shit when I don’t.”
The woman’s chest rocks with a sob as she attempts to breath. She goes back to writing as her music player in the corner of the room repeats its song.
“It’s quite clear you never, and were never going to, care about me. No matter what I do for you, it never feels like enough. I’ve wasted so much of myself on you; my love, my time, so many of my firsts, and now my tears. I’m done.”
As her pen touched the paper again, her door closed with a bang, startling her. She whipped her tear stained face around, seeing the person she’d just been writing to, “S-Sunstreaker?” she asked, her voice a broken whimper.
The blond haired man looked up, his face distorting as he took in her features. Her eyes were set back in the smeared makeup, black lines making marks across her face; the woman’s hair was wild and tangled. She watched as disgust flashed from his brilliant blue eyes, only to replaced with something she didn’t recognize from him. Sunstreaker stepped to the cowering woman, his head tilted to the side, shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes, “Di?” he asked, carefully closing the space between them.
Suddenly the woman’s trance like state broke, and she reached back to the desk, hurriedly attempting to get rid of something. Sunstreaker reached forward, leaning over her seated body, to grab the paper off the desk. As he brought it to his face to read it, the woman whimpered once more, a pained expression painting her face.
When he read the last two words on the paper, the blond man looked at the trembling woman, “You really mean that Dianna?” Though soft, his voice was emotionless as he spoke.
In distress the woman tried to speak, sputtering over her words, without a clue on how to answer. She was stopped as Sunstreaker brought his lips to hers, capturing them against his, and holding her tightly in his arms. The paper was clenched in his hand behind her back, wrinkled against his fingers. As he pulled away, he ran his other hand under her eyes to dry the tears. Then, abruptly he stood, his face serious as he said, “I’m sorry you feel that way then Dianna,” before turning, leaving her stunned at the desk.
But as he reached the door, he stopped, his head down, “You’re wrong though, I did care. That’s why I stayed away, I couldn’t understand it.” He waited at the door in silence, seeing if she would act, and when she did not he stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed quietly. Sunstreaker reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a simple silver necklace, nothing but a chain with a small charm hanging from it. It was clear that the jewelry was handmade, its links carefully welded closed, each one looping with one another. He stared at it, cussing himself as he walked away.
“W-wait!” Dianna’s broken voice called out echoing in the silence of the city night. Sunstreaker turned, barely grabbing the small woman as she flung herself into his body, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I-I’m sorry, Sunstreaker! Please don’t be mad! Please?”
Slowly he brought a hand up, running his long fingers through the woman’s hair, carefully untangling it as he did. He let out a soft, short chuckle, tilting her head up with a soft tug to her hair. Once more he pressed his lips to hers, gently working a response from her. He could taste the salt from her tears on her lips, as he was sure he could taste the electricity on his. He separated them slowly, running his tongue lightly over her lips before pulling her head to his chest.
“If anything, it should be me asking you for forgiveness, Di.”
♠ ♠ ♠
Yeah, it's kind of sappy, and most likely out of character but hey, I like it.