The Broken BeastMature

When you hold a broken heart in your hands, all you can do is wish the tears away and look forward, towards a brighter future.

The tendrils of mist were slowly sailing into the starlit sky, mingling its thin existence with the sailing grey clouds. The moon was already at the throne of the sky, where it outshined and towered over the nearest stars, which were barely held a candle light flame compared to the moon. The sky this night had a mystifying beauty to it, as if an omen of good faith and wishes, as if everyone in the world was praying for this particular sight of the night and the gods in heaven, if they may exist, had answered their prayers. The wind blew occasionally and, with its gentle caress, made the leaves of the trees swayed in a slow dance, providing almost an echo or a whisper of nature. 

A sad sigh slipped into the aura of tranquility and words that pierced like sword were delivered from beloved lips into the heart of a young and frail girl. He was holding her against the wall, pressing his body close to hers, and whispering words of comfort in her ear. She was shaking her head slowly, suppressing sobs that would have otherwise erupted from her chest, and, the saddest sight of all was that, she was clinging to him as she would cling for dear life, begging him not to utter another word of truth and just kiss her and love her.

Her thick, dark eyelashes were dampened and her mascara was running down her face, like black tears on a rose. Her lips were quivering and she felt cold. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest, silently crying. He stroked her black, straight hair and rocked her in that small sliver of a place. After several minutes of silence, he tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face for him to see her. Her large, watery eyes were remnants of her shattered heart, glassy and lifeless. Metaphorically speaking, it was like pieces of broken glass floating in a pond of blue. He caressed her cheek and pressed his lips slightly over hers. She grabbed a handful of his favorite band shirt in her fist to prevent her from breaking down again.

"Lucy, look at you," he said kindly and sorrowfully, "why do you always have to look so damn broken?" 

This was a question neither of them could answer, only silence was best to described what they felt for each other at that moment: a dark and eternal void in their hearts. He placed his lips against hers again and kissed her, but after a minute she pushed him away.

"Why can't you see past that Rick?" she asked in a broken voice brimmed with tears and anger; anger at his sudden rejection of her, anger at his blindness that they were perfect for each other and that they belonged together. "If I'm broken then heal me, make me better, and fix me. Please Rick, just stay with me, you don't have to go... just stay, we only need each other."

He smiled grimly and stroked her arm; they were now a forearm apart. His fingers ran down the length of her arm and lingered on her scarred wrist, tracing circles on the healing skin. "Because I'm broken too, and two broken human beings can't ever dream of fixing each other." With his free hand, Rick took Lucy's hand and pressed her cold fingers against his equally, if not more, scarred wrist. "I love you Lucy, never forget that." He broke loose of her limp embrace and left the room of the motel they had rented for a night.

Lucy couldn't feel or move; she was too tired to do anything, too tired to beg him to come back to her. Their time was over; they had tampered with Life for so long they now needed some rest. They had lived a shattered dream filled with thorns of despair and rivers of illusion, they had walked in a world with memories worn thin to the point where they would snap at any minute's notice and jeopardize their foundation over the brim of existence, and worst of all, they were in the razor-blade thin line of Life, on one side stood the always comforting angel of death and on the other side stood the fake and miserable life they lead.

After several minutes of numbness, Lucy said to herself, "Rick left, so maybe I should leave as well." This was perhaps the most right-minded decision she had made during the entire night. Her worst decision was deciding to come here, to this motel upon Rick request, only to see him go. She scooped up her jacket and went out the door; the night cold wind was refreshing but definitely not a healer for the heart.


The End

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