Duplicity [h.s]

72

optional but good to play this song (the chain) for intensity when when see the *

Harry Styles

I let the strong liquor coat my throat as it went down like water, warming my chest and leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. My legs were extended out in front of me, knees popped in the air. The light breeze blew through my hair, bottle on one of the wooden slabs between my legs. I stare along the train track I was sat on, eyes wondering on this bright day.

Over in my distance left, she laid beneath the tree I carved earlier. It was the same tree we fucked under only an hour ago. She was passed right out, sleeping like an angel on my flannel shirt. Her knees were curled slightly, flat hands under her cheek with her long blonde hair danced in her face. That yellow sundress just was long enough to cover her in all the right places.

I hate yellow, but I'm finding myself to be okay with it when it's affiliated with her. My middle finger is painted the obscene colour after all, and the crazy thing is I don't mind it. It reminded me of her when I look at my hands, and the fact her middle fingernail is black means she might think of me too.

The bottle came back to my lips as I tossed back another gulp of the whisky, shutting my heavy eyes for just a moment when it washed down my throat. I really shouldn't be drinking this much, I need to drive us back at some point. But today has been a rollercoaster of pain and warmth—that all is grounds for a drink.

She saw me have a panic attack today, and she found out about one of my dark secrets. I never planned to tell her about my mother, and how I murdered her. Everything I told her was true, I was just a child and I didn't know any better. I barely remember it, but it still haunts me. If I wasn't drunk right now, these thoughts would possibly send me into another panic attack.

So no wonder why I have a problem.

I never wanted Aven to know what I did, but she has a way of making me open up without even saying anything. There's a very slim amount of people in this world that know what I did to my mother, less then I can count on one hand. Now she was one of them, and for that reason alone I needed to drink. I craved a line or two, but I'm trying to contain myself when it's just her and I.

She also watched me have a panic attack and almost witnessed me without my shirt because I was just that feral in the moment. I remember her standing in the hotel suite I destroyed, watching me in silence as I was trying to hold back anything I could to not scare her away. My body was burning up like a fatal fever, I was ready to explode. But she turned away and went behind the door when I threw off the piece of clothing with no moral control behind it. I didn't want to take it off, but I had to.

That's the thing; she understands my boundaries. I know I'm more difficult than many, hiding behind shadows with secrets and unexplainable issues. She is a glimpse of golden light in my life, but yet doesn't try and shine that on me. She has never pushed or prodded for personal information, she lets me confess it when I want to. Either that or she just doesn't care to hear it, which could be a big possibility.

She's sweet, kind, and silly but so incredibly mature for her age. She's warm, charismatic, and has a beating heart that sounds like no other. She's a little careless, but not reckless like me. She's strong in ways she doesn't realize, comforting in more ways than one. She's an angel walking on earth, and I'm not being metaphorical.

But as much as she embraces all these traits with a smile on her face, I know she has other profound qualities she just keeps hidden for the sake of others.

She's sad.

She hides behind her bright smile because she wants to please people and make them feel better, people like me. All those traits I just described are what she wants me to see, and although she is those things, she has another side too.