Page 55 of Apathy
I took the same path as the other day, expecting her to be at the merry-go-round, but she wasn’t there.
“Skylar!” I called out, but the only answer I got was the sound of the wind and rain around me.
Goddammit! Where the fuck was she?
I started heading toward the tent we fucked in, when a lone figure standing in front of the Ferris wheel, or, well, what was left of it, caught my attention. Her back was turned to me, her head upturned, staring at the sky, letting the rain wash over her.
What the fuck was she doing?
A lone lamp that still worked in the park illuminated her, showing the soaked hair and soaked clothes. I was already freezing from the wind howling through the night, but she was as still as a statue. I knew something was wrong.
Her pants clung to her like a second skin, showcasing her curvy backside and lean legs. The sweater she wore rode up, her lower back exposed to my eyes, and I wanted to drag my tongue over that creamy skin, chasing away the rivulets of water collected there.
With a lead weight in my gut, I closed the distance between us, stopping just behind her. She must have heard me when I called for her, so why didn’t she respond? I looked up, trying to see what she was looking at, but the only thing I could see were the dark skies and the tops of the buildings belonging to the park.
“Sky,” I whispered and placed my hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, didn’t gasp, she didn’t do anything.
Her arms were in front of her, and when I looked down, I saw a see-through bag she was holding. I didn’t have to be a genius to know what it was. I was around enough people who chased nothingness day in and day out, to know that she was doing the same. She was running from something, but whatever it was, tonight it brought her to me.
Or, well, it brought me to her.
“Isn’t she perfect?” she started, her velvety voice like a caress over my skin. “She is perfectly imperfect.”
I moved to the side and looked at her face, seeing the smile touching her lips, but tears welling in her eyes.
“Who is?”
“Her.” She looked up. “Abandoned, destroyed, but still so beautiful.”
I looked up again, finally seeing what she was looking at.
A lone ballerina perched on top of one of the buildings. Half of her face was missing, the edges rotting, showing only the metal wires holding her together. The other half was still smiling, stuck in time, stuck in the moment.
“She could be an angel, or she could be a demon, but she’s still standing.”
Something in her voice pulled at my heart, blurring the lines I drew a week ago. Sadness laced her every word. Grief and despair were visible on her face, and I fought with myself. I fought against the pull she had on me, because I wanted to erase all those things.
Funny, less than a month ago, I wanted to see her suffer. I wanted to see her on her knees, begging for salvation, and now I couldn’t bring myself to push the knife deeper, to hurt her more.
“Sky.” I took a hold of her hand, the sound of the bag scrunching beneath our fingers echoing around us. “You’re soaking wet.”
“I wanted to get clean.” She smiled and looked at me. “I wanted to wash it all away. My sins, my memories, my past, present, and future. I wanted to wash it all.” Suddenly her smile disappeared, replaced by a frown marring her beautiful face. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t wash them away. They’re too deep, Ash. Their claws are too deep inside.”
Her hair was plastered around her face, the dark rivers from ruined makeup a stark contrast against her pale skin, yet she never looked more beautiful than she did now. Broken.
She was broken and I hated it. I was supposed to break her. I was supposed to make her beg and cry and plead for her life, and somebody else beat me to it.
Or do you maybe hate it because you don’t want to see her broken?My subconscious argued with me, grinning at me, taunting me, because we both knew I was lying to myself.
I didn’t want to see her like this because I didn’t want to break her. I didn’t want to see her tears, her wounds and bruises, her despair. Fucking hell, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. But I couldn’t let my heart, or my body, decide for me. This was only lust, only a temporary fix, a temporary escape from the fucked-up world.
I couldn’t choose her even if every nerve ending in my body screamed at me to do so. She wasn’t mine; she would never be mine. A year from now, I would be her biggest regret, because by then she was going to learn all of my secrets. I couldn’t let her in. I couldn’t give her my heart when there was nothing to give.
I could give her my body and my lips. I could give her nights but never days. And I could never think of her as mine, I just couldn’t. I made a promise, a vow, and I was planning to fulfill it. A pair of eyes as blue as California skies could not mess this up for me.
She looked at me as if I could give her the world, when in reality, I was going to be the one that would shatter it. I could feed her lies to prolong what we had, but that was it. That was all I would be capable of.
She thought that sins coated her skin, but it was me. I was the sinner. I was the damned man, and once everything was said and done, she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.
