Running AwayMature

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He had always had the drive to fix things. This time, he was driven to fix her. Not that that was a particularly good plan of action, but it was the first thought that had come into his head upon seeing her. Well, to be honest, it was the second thought. The first thing that came into his mind when he had set eyes on her was the deep desire to have her, and only her, for the rest of his life. Now he wondered if perhaps it would have been wise to find out more about her before pursuing that idea. The fixing part had come later, after they got into bed and her insecurities wouldn't even allow her to take her shirt off in front of him. He wanted to help her realize the beautiful person she was, inside and out. He wanted to show her that what she saw was not even a dim reflection of the amazing girl he knew she could be. He wanted to lift her up and carry her away, to a place in her mind that would allow her to be happy.

More often than not, what we want tends to be the opposite of what we can realistically have. People are always building up beautiful hopes and dreams for themselves that they subconsciously know they can never achieve, and then when when they reach the end of their lives without reaching those goals and aspirations, they feel as thought their lives were an utter failure and the end up dying with that thought upper most in their minds.

When she awoke, he was sitting on the edge of the bed holding a glass of water. She looked at him, or rather, look right through him, and accepted the water in a dismal, halfhearted kind of way. Like she was doing him a favour by drinking two tiny sips of the water from the glass. He looked into her empty eyes, and his throat burned because he knew he didn't know her anymore.

The cough syrup, it turned out, had been boiling on the stove because it smelled pretty, in her explanation. And she had gone to the basement to overcome her fears, and when she realized she couldn't do that sober, she just happened to find a bottle of vodka stashed away in the corner that had helped calm her down. She didn't remember the part where she had been sobbing in his arms, saying she didn't mean to, and that she was sorry. He had the suspicion that she knew exactly what she had been talking about, but was afraid to tell him. But he couldn't accuse her of lying to him. All he could do was nod, and say it was okay, and tell her to go back to sleep, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, and gently getting up and quietly leaving the room, not quite totally closing the door behind him.

The stove and basement needed cleaning up, but he didn't really feel like he had the energy to do it at the moment. Instead, he went out of the house and, locking the door behind him, began to walk briskly down the road, in no particular direction, no destination in mind, just walking, and then suddenly running, trying to go so fast that the thoughts would stream right out the back of his head and fall on the sidewalk behind him like autumn leaves tumbling from a tired old tree. He ran and ran, forgetting where he was, until he didn't know where he was. Stopping for breath, he glanced around to see that he was surrounded by unfamiliar buildings and street names. He slumped against a telephone pole and let himself sink to the ground in exhaustion. He didn't know what to do. He felt like he had to relinquish his feelings for her, and somehow move on with life in a normal way. But he didn't want to abandon her... he felt he couldn't possibly, he loved her so much. But how was he supposed to keep doing this? If he loved her, wouldn't his first and foremost wish to be to get her help? He had tried to convince her before to stop drinking, and she would say that she would, for him, because she loved him. But she couldn't... it was beyond her power, and she refused professional help. Basically, he was at a loss.

He sat against the pole for half the day. The sun crept higher and higher in the sky, scorching hot and angry. He regretted leaving her in the house by herself, but he didn't know how to go about getting back. His thoughts had blinded him on the way to this place, and now he was at a loss are to how to retrace his steps. He should be home, making her lunch. She would probably want grilled cheese today, because it was her favorite food to sober up with. But he couldn't make himself move. He finally was starting to feel at peace, finally beginning to see things in a new light. Finally he felt he knew his mistakes, and hers as well, and had managed to differentiate between the two. He wasn't blaming her, he was just putting the proper blame on himself, and not all of it. He realized that maybe he couldn't fix everything, and maybe she wasn't fixable. Maybe it wasn't his place to fix her, or even her wish to be fixed. This thought in his mind, he was comfortable.

He was comfortable. So comfortable, he was floating. Floating and happy, and not guilty anymore. Just, peaceful. Maybe all he needed was this little break. This pole to support him, the sun beating down on his face, this silence, and the fact that he had no idea where he was, all combined to give him a sense of absolute tranquility.

It was then that he blacked out, the whole world inverting itself upon him and flying though his mind at the speed of light, creating kaleidoscope patterns more beautiful than anyone else would ever have the privilege to behold.

The End

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