every me and every you

Without you I'm nothing

It's irrational because it can't be physical but it feels like it is. It's a thousand pins being pricked into your skin. It's the feeling you get when you are left to tuck yourself into bed instead of your mother doing it. She kisses your forehead and wishes you sweet dreams before smiling and turning off the lamp. "No Brian."

That was the feeling that constantly ran though my mind due to the events that occurred exactly four years ago, November nineteenth at approximately four minutes past four- a Tuesday- when I caught the boy after school had finished. "No Brian, I can't let you do that, I'm sorry," his voice was monotone and disinterested. To be perfectly honest, I expected no more than that; they were all the same- dull eyes and even duller words. Something in my head told me to speak up and expose the fact that I knew he was lying. He wasn't sorry. "There's no point in me staying in your room anymore if that's all you want. I will not sleep with you Brian." I liked what he did next: he stood up, picking up his backpack as he rose, and walked out. I needed that time to take in everything that was said considering the first time we spoke he talked to me. "No Brian."

I wasn't in pain as such; I was more numb than anything. I don't know whether it's the burnt smell from the candles that were somehow calming (and the complete opposite to the chaos that was going on inside my mind and body) that made me feel this way; I wasn't complaining though. What use would complaining be? She'd come for me if I started to complain. I just knew she would, she always does, and being the miserable, lonely unemployed twenty two year old that I am, I complain a lot. She doesn't really do that much, but she mocks me. Her bright coloured hair and clothes radiate positivity and happiness, whereas the black mop that sits atop my head and my dirt and food covered attire are the opposite. It's as if she's the sun that's full of pride and judgment because she's doesn't have the darkness that I have inside me that somehow makes me stronger. She thinks that she's better but really we're no different- predator and prey are equally as scarred as each other.

"Why do you still hate him so much?" her voice spoke while she absentmindedly filed her nails for the sixteenth time today. Her voice broke the thick silent air that envelops us, "it's just what he does." You don't understand. He caused everything to fall apart, like a bouquet of flowers that have been left to wilt and wither away, resulting in all beauty disappearing and leaving it in darkness. Leaving me in darkness. He caused everything to fall apart like dark storm clouds rolling over the sky and leaving me in darkness.

I hear the screeching of trains running on tracks as I got closer to the station. South Kensington, I just needed to get out that's all. There was no real reason for me to travel. "Jesus fuck Brian keep yourself together its no big deal there's plenty more fish in the sea and all tha-" crash, trip, oof. I hit the ground with a thump after falling down god knows how many stairs. "Fucking faggot!" the figure I crashed into shouts at me. I lay on the ground, curled in on myself being trampled on by just about everyone in London. Except I didn't. Something- someone grabs my arm before I can fall. "Brian?" I turn to face my savior- I know that face I swear. I swear I do, I swear.

"Stefan?" my mouth moves seemingly without my brain telling it to. Stefan. The pure angel. The sun. So beautiful and addictive, he makes you feel all warm, but he hurts you. He burns. The painful pleasures, the bitter sweet. My first love, but my first rejection.

"Hey Bri, long time no see, eh?" he awkwardly laughs and scratches the back of his neck. He always did that when he was uncomfortable.

"Yeah, ha-ha," more awkward laughter. "Look, I've got to go,"
Brian what are you doing- "but I have a gig at the pub just down the road this weekend"
Shit Brian, stop- "and it'd be great if you could come along"
Brian Brian Brian- "I guess we could catch up after."

Touchdown. The crash. The point of no return.

I hate it when my brain talks for me. Can't you be considerate and think about how I'd feel for once? This is the boy who broke my heart brain, stop it. Well he's less of a boy now, more of a man with muscles and facial hair and a toned sto-

"Uh yeah sure. I guess I'll see you then."

It's just the rule- we had to have an awkward hand-to-stomach-handshake-hug-collision before walking in opposite directions and hanging our heads low, or at least I did. I wasn't ashamed, more upset with myself for having no control of my brain and potty mouth. I need another cigarette.