Broken IlluminationsShe wasn't a very happy girl. She hadn't been since she had been small. She was dark, and broody, angsty and anxious, intellectually intelligent and socially stupid.
And then she met him. The one.
He was smart, funny, quirky, quick on the draw, but slow to remember past happenings. He was talented in music, and enjoyed editing video. His favorite color was blue, and he harmonized with any and everybody he could find.
She studied him carefully, because he fascinated her. It was a rarity for the girl to find him unhappy, and if the boy wasn't his usual bouncy self, it wasn't because he was sad, but restless. Even in his restlessness, he was always cordial and wholly inviting, which is why he was almost never alone.
Overwhelming to him, surely.
Her constant watching and studiousness of his form and personality wasn't meant to be strange, but that was the way most people viewed it. After all, it was not normal to gaze at someone so intensely.
It bothered her that they made fun of her for it, but she was a creature of intellect. She needed to study to learn, for learning was one of the few things she enjoyed in life.
She loved how the boy's lips would pull back to reveal perfect teeth when he smiled, and she always took special note of his right canine as he did so. It was slightly darker than the rest, and thus her eye was drawn to it. His eyes would sparkle when he laughed, and whenever he stood to converse with others, if his hands were not shoved in his pockets, he would fidget with whatever was available to him.
The girl was always wholly amused by the boy's fidgeting, as it was a trait she herself carried. She could not help but point it out, as he would, at times, choose to manipulate the oddest objects. He would play with his own tie, or rub the cuffs of his jacket, and he was not above scratching at or counting the bricks of the walls. He'd thumb the papers stapled upon the bulletin boards or stroke his own fingers, and if he could find nothing else to futz with, he would pace.
The boy was an enigma.
He held within him a purity she had never known before, and she was absolutely positive that nobody else she would ever meet could match his holiness. She was even afraid to touch him, for she felt that this would sully his sacred form.
He was for looking, not touching. Sometimes she believed she wasn't even worthy of gazing at him. Longing for him.
The boy was incredibly patient, dealing with her quirks and wildly changing moods. She was like the seasons, her emotions cycling from summer to winter, all in a single day.
He did not mind. He took it all in stride, and with a grace that she hadn't even known existed.
In the warmth of her summer the boy laughed with her. In the panic of her fall, the boy held her to keep her safe from the wind and cold. In her winter, the boy coaxed her to share her frigid secrets, and offered to warm them with the fire of his heart. And, it was because of the boy that she found her spring, and rebirth.
The girl felt guilty that she put him through all that, for she was nothing more than shattered glass, waiting to slash him, and make him bleed. She was dangerous to the sacred child.
"I will break you," she had whispered to him.
"No, you will not break me. I promise," he had told her.
"I will! I will break you, because I am broken!" she had cried, her breath caught in her chest.
"You are not broken, you are wonderful," he had replied gently.
She had believed him then. She couldn't bring herself to think that he would lie to her. The boy had never lied to her before. The boy kept her safe, and made her feel wanted.
And that made her hurt all the more.
Everyday she saw him was torturous to her, for she could not touch his face, the way she so longed to do. To caress his jaw, and thumb the scar that resided on his chin. She could not hug him the way she needed and wanted to hug him. It was not an option to do so. She could not press her forehead to his, and share with him every secret and hurt she had ever experienced. She could not hear every secret and hurt he had ever experienced, because those words were not meant for her ears.
Her heart broke every time she saw the boy, for he was the light in her darkness, a beacon in the fog of her consciousness, but he was not something to be possessed, and could not belong to her. Her stomach twisted in knots every time her brown eyes met his, and she saw kindness and compassion, instead of the usual repulsion and disgust.
Her entire body wept every time she left him, for it hurt her more to be without him. Even though she burned and her entire being was in agony being so near to him, she felt herself dying when he was away.
But the girl was being selfish. The boy needed time away from her, and she felt it. Forcing herself to acquiesce to his silent request was impossible for her, and she knew the only way to save him was to keep herself away. He did not have to say anything. He was too kind to say anything, unaware that it was ok to be selfish at times.
It was not fair.
The boy was her light, her hope, her faith. He was her shelter, her food, and her water. He was a part of her life.
The girl always felt sick to look at him, for she wanted to spirit him away, just for a few hours, and have time with just the two of them. Just time to talk and be normal with somebody. She wanted him to notice her, the way others were noticed, but she knew better. She was wrong for him, even though he made her better than she knew she could be.
She loved the boy.
She was not in love with the boy, but it was not the placid platonic love she had felt before either. But the girl was not one to say "I love you." She had trouble enough admitting to the boy that she needed him.
It was all she could do that night not to cry when she had admitted to him that she was broken. It was all she could do not to throw herself into his body and scream "I HATE YOU!" because she loved him. It was all she could do not to collapse in his arms and cry at the utter unfairness of it all.
She swallowed her feelings. The big black mass of love, hate, anger, need, and desire. She had to. She would lose him if she didn't.
She could lose him anyway.
He was becoming the other half of her soul, melding his spirit with hers. She felt him bandaging her wounds, closing the emotional holes that others had created. The boy was healing her. He was mending her from the inside out.
She would break it. She was a saboteur, and could not help herself. She was getting too close, and she was afraid.
She wrote stories for him, and music, though she didn't know why. She was not something to be noticed, and she didn't want to talk about such feelings, for she could not have that talk anymore. The talk that told her why it wouldn't work, or couldn't work. The talk that gently told her she was unwanted again.
Unwanted because she was broken. Nobody wants something broken. It has no worth, and no use.
She would hurt her other half before he could hurt her. Before she could hurt him more than he would ever hurt her. It was all painful...excruciating, but she did not know what else to do with herself.
She knew even as she wrote that it would make or break the fragile friendship that had been cultivated. She knew that it was the endgame, and would test the bond that had been forged.
She knew that this could break the illumination that the boy had created in her life.
She knew, and now he knows.