Status: it's all already written ♡
Remember When
☾ I'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER ☾
♡
It got to the point that I was accelerating so quickly with my self-improvement regime that I’d been blowing Preston further and further behind. I was selfish; I didn’t realize that Preston was such a fucking good liar that, when it seemed like he had worked through everything and had been working through everything, he was actually silencing more and more of himself with another deadly slash against his hidden flesh.
Preston was covered in scars. Mentally, but especially physically. The huge, ripping scar on his back from when he was scratched numerous times was from Daddy; the jagged scars on his upper thigh from when he tried to run away and got caught was from Daddy; but the perfectly aligned scars trailing down the front of his legs and stopping just at his knees were from Preston. And so were the ones on his upper arms, on his belly, on his shoulders, and even vertically between his barely-defined pecs.
They were perfectly even, as if he’d taken hours to get them just right, and this showed me so much more about his inner workings than any story he’d ever told about Daddy ever did.
♡
I was at my highest when Preston was at his lowest. So when Preston actually had the audacity to smile into my face and say, “Goodbye, Charlie,” everything crashed down so hard within me that I could barely breathe.
“I’ve done my job, I’ve done my job,” he told me over and over, waving me off and out of his world forever when I broke down and begged him to stay.
“This wasn’t a job,” I cried out to him. “This was my heart.”
I never got to say I love you before he was ripped from our own little planet, just between our separate ones, permanently.
♡
I thought that when he left I’d find those bottle of pills again and take fifty of them, but it was like he fixed me so perfectly that I didn’t even dance on the topic of death.
I missed him -- I miss him -- but I’m sure, even now, he’s out on that Californian beach somewhere, telling stories about his once-life in Kansas to another broken girl.
A broken boy to a broken girl: some ‘beautiful’ love story that is.
♡ ♡ ♡
It got to the point that I was accelerating so quickly with my self-improvement regime that I’d been blowing Preston further and further behind. I was selfish; I didn’t realize that Preston was such a fucking good liar that, when it seemed like he had worked through everything and had been working through everything, he was actually silencing more and more of himself with another deadly slash against his hidden flesh.
Preston was covered in scars. Mentally, but especially physically. The huge, ripping scar on his back from when he was scratched numerous times was from Daddy; the jagged scars on his upper thigh from when he tried to run away and got caught was from Daddy; but the perfectly aligned scars trailing down the front of his legs and stopping just at his knees were from Preston. And so were the ones on his upper arms, on his belly, on his shoulders, and even vertically between his barely-defined pecs.
They were perfectly even, as if he’d taken hours to get them just right, and this showed me so much more about his inner workings than any story he’d ever told about Daddy ever did.
♡
I was at my highest when Preston was at his lowest. So when Preston actually had the audacity to smile into my face and say, “Goodbye, Charlie,” everything crashed down so hard within me that I could barely breathe.
“I’ve done my job, I’ve done my job,” he told me over and over, waving me off and out of his world forever when I broke down and begged him to stay.
“This wasn’t a job,” I cried out to him. “This was my heart.”
I never got to say I love you before he was ripped from our own little planet, just between our separate ones, permanently.
♡
I thought that when he left I’d find those bottle of pills again and take fifty of them, but it was like he fixed me so perfectly that I didn’t even dance on the topic of death.
I missed him -- I miss him -- but I’m sure, even now, he’s out on that Californian beach somewhere, telling stories about his once-life in Kansas to another broken girl.
A broken boy to a broken girl: some ‘beautiful’ love story that is.
♡ ♡ ♡
♠ ♠ ♠
didn't end the best way but this was a spur of the moment type of storyi hope it was enjoyed nonetheless, though.
♡