Do Not Go Gentle

Chapter 2

{ And another one bites the dust... but why can I not conquer love? }
- Sia

〰〰〰〰

They say it's hard to lose a chosen one... yet I do feel as lost as Alice in Wonderland here. It seems to me that the important parts of things wear down and break first, much like how our minds are not ready for the decaying of our hearts and lungs. I was branded and beaten, and though I chose this fate for myself, I do not know whether I am the deceiver or the deceived.

I hardly touch my breakfast, eating only enough to rid of my pounding headache; not enough to vanish my persistent nausea that always seems to be biting at me vaguely. I pick at my toast and eggs... pulling apart bits of the scone in front of me. My neck-tie feels too tight... the lace tipping my sleeves scratching my wrists at every move.

Sebastian stands stoically by my side, my chin resting on my palm as I push my half-eaten plate to the side. He moves to take it away, just like always. I sit back, grabbing my walking stick from its resting place propped on the table. I watch Sebastian as he exits to the kitchen, his tailcoat disappearing behind the swinging double-doors. I suppose I cannot blame Sebastian for acting the same as he always has... for I am not giving him any special treatment of my own; staying as emotionless as possible... as usual.

I sigh slightly, going over the day's schedule in my head. An arduous amount of paperwork awaits me in my study, it is sure to be tedious task... its promise silently menacing. Why must the queen expect me to deal with so much death? So many bodies laying underneath the midnight moon... I cannot bear to hear them cry any longer.

As my own Mother lied underneath that moon... as my own Mother cried alongside my Father as her skin burned and her eyes turned ashen. She sang me to sleep. She wanted me to come with her. I want to go with her. I want to go with Sebastian. I want to go.

I hear the demon's footstep reproaching and I know what his next words will be.

"There is paperwork waiting. Shall I escort you to your study?"

I stand.

"Yes."

I begin to climb the dusty stairs leading up into the upper floors of the mansion, the heels of my boots clicking against the wood.

I pass the same portraits I pass every single day, yet their haunting image never ceases to send a shiver down my spine. A portrait of my Father... my Father's Father... a long line of Phantomhives that never lived to see another day; a long line of noble patrons that may still be awaiting their next meal. Their expressions match their deaths; secretive and disturbingly curious and surprised.

As we reach the door to my office, I step aside to allow Sebastian to push open one of the large and heavy doors leading into the vast room, his eyes avoiding mine as mine avoid his. I step inside, handing my cane to Sebastian as he is to put it in its rightful home. I stride over to my oak prison, reluctantly sitting on the luxurious throne.

Even amongst a sea of wealth and well-being, I still feel as though there is so much missing; perhaps a loving touch coming from a source accepted. I suppose I will always be a failure of sorts, for even though I have the world accessible to my fingertips, I still feel as though it is all inadequate. As if I am foolish enough to believe that any certain emotion would prove productive enough to serve life to my living.

The rest of the day passes silently. My busy hands distract my wandering mind as I do the same tasks I accomplish everyday; no new news from the bother-some queen leaving me to realize that no matter what, the world will still turn and these walls will still crumble around me. I cannot stop this manor from burning; for it already has.

After picking through a dinner consisting of some type of soup and a fancy french bread to accompany it (I wasn't really listening), I order Sebastian to draw my bath. It is in this time that I despise myself and him most, despite my poor attitude surrounding the rest of my days. For it is this time that I am made to become bare and be washed clean by such an dirty being... I am made to be reduced in size and demeanor as his hungry eyes watch me. Though we both know that I am as unclean as always, and this kind of filth can never be washed away. See, there is this clouded sense of doubt regarding whether I trust Sebastian enough not to consume my soul right then... though I do. I do trust him.

His crimson eyes scan my pale skin... his own colorless hands brushing against the scar on my back... against the brand that I can never escape; that will never be clean. His ebony hair shines in the light of the washroom as his features stay relentlessly in place: showing no more emotion than I am.

He lays me back and washes my hair, making sure not to submerge my face... though I'm sure he is tiring of me and would love to do so. Perhaps he would like to tie my neck-tie even tighter as well; I am prolonging my revenge to the point of decay. But I do not think he understands that I have almost gone mad with the hate flowing through my veins... I cannot stand my mind any longer, for what it thinks of me is monstrous.

He washes my hair and body silently... slowly... and I pray that he is not repulsed. All I want is for him to deem me beautiful; for if a fiend of hell can do that much, I at least must be worthy of the hate I bestow upon the weak. I must be worthy of what I give. I must be worthy of an imaginary love.

But perhaps he does love me... perhaps he loves me so much as to act the opposite on the snap of my fingers. Perhaps he understands the notion of letting me command my own happiness. But if that is true, he must know that I am not happy. He must know that I loathe myself the way I'm sure he does, too.

I stand, letting Sebastian wrap me in a towel to dry. I walk into the wallpapered closure of my bedroom, and sit on the edge of the bed, trying to rid myself of this unbearable numbness. Sebastian drys me, and slips my nightshirt on. It smells of him, as all of them do. I am glad that he's never thought oddly of my order to use his dress-shirts as pajamas, for sometimes it is enough to calm the nightmares, if only for a moment.

And as he begins to stand, I stop him; grabbing him by his tie.

"Wait, Sebastian."

There is so much I need to say. There is so much I know will never be said, though I know I must make him understand. I let my facade crack if only for a moment, for in this moment I am desperate to tell him everything.

I am desperate to tell him that I do indeed love him. I am desperate to tell him that I am sorry, but I have given up. I am desperate to tell him that if, in another life, we could have been one for more than just a day, I would be happy. I become more and more desperate in my mind and I need to tell him.

I need to tell him that it is all becoming too much. I need to tell him that though I am young, I have seen the world through his eyes. I need to tell him that there is an entire flock of birds flitting around my lungs as I begin to whisper these things to him.

So I do. I tell him. I whisper. I lean in and press my lips to his gently. It is not like our first; a sloppy, passionate kiss that sent my mind into a frenzy. It is not like before, because now there is an entirely new meaning resting behind my tongue. I let my lips linger because I want him to know. I let my hand wrap around his neck because I want to feel his pulse. I want to know that he is alive. I want to feel alive.

In this moment when time freezes and my eyes flutter closed so that I do not see his, is the moment wherein I finally feel the breath enter my lungs. I finally can feel the warmth in my body, and it is all I need. I want to begin to mold our lips together. I want him to slide his tongue along mine as he pulls me closer... but I pull away.

I pull away because it is all too much. I pull away because I begin to feel that sting behind my eyes again, and I cannot let this confusing creature see me cry, though I may seem all the more confusing to him. I pull away because I cannot bear any more of an attachment to this creature. I pull away. I pull far away. I pull away because my Father's gun is under my pillow, and this demon must not know that his meal has already been spoiled.

I pull away.

My Father's gun is under my pillow... do not look.

Do not feel.