Water deceives the mind by making you believe something that is not true. It distorts the image you produce for objects, and forces you to acknowledge the different perceptions of every day life. What you think is reality may be nothing more than something dipped under the cool surface of liquid, your eyes sending false images back to your mind and telling you to believe something. Imagine your life under the critical surface of water, and ask yourself if what you see is true. If your life was brutalized, maybe there's a chance that what you see becomes more clear. My life was ruined through the gentle surface of water, showing me the true colors of everything I thought I had known. After so many years, I got to see what was my reality. I got to witness what my life actually was without all the polite curtains and the barriers that were my thoughts blocking my way.
Somewhere in my collected mind, I had allowed myself to wander and start to believe things that couldn't have possibly been true. I had wanted something that I thought would make my life complete, and instead, all I received was a handful of lies and a lot of hurt. I had received exactly what I hadn't wanted, but when I acknowledged this, my mind shut down and made me vulnerable.
I was lost.
When one's lost, they normally seek the one thing that would make them comfortable and safe again. I searched for that one thing that made me comfortable, and found the one thing that could hurt me most in the long run. That one thing that would take me to the top of passion and to the very bottom of breakdown. I had foolishly run off to that one thing, thinking my life would suddenly shift and all the pieces would fall into place with the snap of my fingers.
I had found love.
I had found a love that was begging to be tortured by the both of us, allowing two shattered souls to meet for those long nights just to let Lady Fate sit back and laugh it up as everything crumbled around us. Questions started forming in both of our minds, I'm sure, about if what we were doing would have worked out. Questions so hurtful to two love-struck teenagers that we ignored them and wrote the pain off as a regular occurrence.
Like most things gained, it started out wonderfully with gentle touches and meaningful caresses of lip against lip. We met on the harder nights when a nightmare would appear or the rain would fall outside of our cold bedroom's covered windows. It wasn't completely about the joining of bodies when we first began because that wasn't something we felt we needed. We both needed a friend to turn to, to talk to, to hold, to love...
We needed numerous things that we thought we could give each other.
I would dream of the nights when he would need me rather than the other way around. I would lie in my bed and stare at the door, willing it to open and the hallway's light to show his beautiful form standing there, but it didn't happen much. My hopes slowly began to drift as I would fall asleep with my white door burned into my mind. The white door that never opened unless I was the one to open it. The white door that always kept me away from him.
Sometimes I would feel guilty climbing out of the bed and leaving my bedroom just to travel down the hallway and stop outside of his room. He would always know I was out there, too, because his door would slide open and his tired eyes would lock with mine. His eyes always burned so brightly when I showed up outside of his room, but as time passed, he started looking depressed and angry whenever I came.
"What do you want?"
I could never answer him, and sometimes he ignored me and pulled me into the darkness of the room. Sometimes he let me love him underneath his covers, never with the lights on. Sometimes he would offer me a small smile and tell me to get some sleep so we can spend some time at the park the next morning. Sometimes my heart would slam against my chest when he would make plans for us.
Sometimes I would die outside of his room from him closing the door on me and telling me to fuck off.
Sometimes I felt like crying.
Love's gentle touches and soft kisses in the darkness were replaced with mutual anger. The first time he hit me, I can remember the exact feeling of bliss I got from hitting him back and seeing blood drip from his nose. He had fallen to the carpet and just... stared... at me like I had committed life's ultimate sin. He stared at me until I felt guilty, and then he started screaming and calling me ever immature name he could think of.
At the time, I had tried to write it off as just a fight, but the pain started to settle in my gut when I would show up at his room and he would always take me in. He would take me in and let me love him, but he tainted it by whispering those same harsh names to me as we made love. His nails hurt so bad against my shoulders as he snarled threats at me, warning me to never tell anyone of our relationship. It was enough to make me fear him at times.
I wrote it off as nothing because afterwards, the whispered threats would die off and they were always replaced with an even softer phrase.
"I love you."
And I would return it, because I meant it.
We both meant it, and I knew this.
What we thought was a one-time mistake, we repeated again. The abuse became more and more often, returned just as quickly from myself as it was from him. The smallest thing would set us off, and I would suddenly find myself sitting on the kitchen floor with a busted lip and a black eye, watching him cry until he drifted off to sleep. Gathering his body up in my arms after a fight was one of my deepest passions. Feeling his soft breathing against my neck as I slowly made my way up the staircase to the nearest bedroom so I could hold him and find sleep myself.
We would wake up in each other's arms, and we shared that simple smile that only lover's share. Normally after those mistakes, we would talk about absolutely nothing until we both were laughing and smiling about the whole situation, but nothing seemed to be going right like it used to be.
We met only after verbal fights, making up in his bed like that was the most likely thing to do, and it probably was. The physical fights always ended up with one of us crying on a floor somewhere, the other following up the physical with emotional and verbal until the vulnerable one fell asleep.
But, we loved each other.
We both knew it.
I couldn't deny him anything, but when I look back at everything, I wish I would have done something sooner. Maybe if we had seen some kind of counselor, we would have been happier. Maybe we could have lived life until we were both old and frail, always meeting up after bridge just to lie in bed together and talk about the food channel or something.
I wonder if I had done something, everything could have worked out.
The day everything went wrong, it had started out like the day before, and the day before. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and he even kissed me before we went our separate ways to work. I had smiled at him and thought that that was why I had fallen in love with him in the first place; random acts of affection that couldn't be returned in such a way by other people. Not only was I happy because everything seemed to be in order, I was happy because before he could climb into his car, he shouted back to me and invited me to a nice stroll at the park.
Let's go to the lake, he said. Maybe feed the ducks or something.
And I had replied that it was a date, and that I'd meet him there after work.
He had looked so beautiful on that park bench as he waited for me, a loaf of our bread dangling from his fingers. He hadn't noticed me drive up, and I was very grateful for that so I could watch him without his guard up. There were dark shadows underneath his eyes from stress, and for the first time in weeks, his shoulders were relaxed and he looked to be at peace with himself. I had moved towards him and accidentally alerted him by kicking a piece of gravel from the parking lot.
So beautiful.
He tilted his head and smiled at me, holding up the loaf of bread with a wordless cheer and climbing to his feet to meet me halfway. I felt light-headed when he leaned over and kissed me, leaving me flushed and breathless. I remember that I hadn't felt that way in years, and for the first time in a long while, I was happy.
I grabbed his hand as we started to walk towards the lake, and he didn't pull away. Instead, he wrapped his long fingers around mine and playfully swung our joined hands with the motion of our walking. We laughed, and everything was perfect.
The ducks flocked around us as we appeared with the loaf of bread, us sitting at the water's edge and feeding the beasts with such childish glee it was amusing. When we ran out of food, and the ducks knew this to be fact, they splashed back into the water and floated off to seek more food. Unfortunately for them, the park was empty most of the time except for a few people who came to make out. Taking a quick look around, we wrote it off that we were part of that few, alone on our side of the lake. He shrugged as one of the ducks looked back before heading off with its friends towards the other side.
"Good luck!"
I smiled at his comment and wished the ducks my own silent encouragement, but before I could think much of anything else, he had me in his arms and was kissing me softly like we used to do. His strong arms wrapped around me with tight desperation, making me feel safe and warm. Making me feel loved again. All I could do was return the embrace with my own strength, making it much more personal.
I hadn't wanted him to pull away, but he did and jerked his head towards the water. I followed his gaze, my fingers clenching at the nape of his neck, and finally nodded. He must have thought I misunderstood, because he voiced his question instead.
"Swim?"
I nodded again and winked, smiling as he stood and yanked me with him. Together we stepped up to the edge of the water, and then treaded in to about knee-height, just enjoying the view for a few moments. Those few moments were shattered as he gave an immature laugh and a gentle shove against my back. I could only force out one gasp before I hit the water and broke the surface, clouding my vision.
Underneath, I heard the sound of him leaping into the water after me, him joining me in the world under the surface. Resurfacing for air, I saw him completely drenched and floating a little distance away from me. He paddled over to me and brought me into another strong embrace. The desperation was back, and I tried to pull back to tell him that his hands were hurting me, but he held me to him. I leaned against him to try and get away from his grasping hands, probably leaving bruises on my back from the pressure alone. I wanted to tell him he was hurting me and I was having trouble staying up.
He allowed us both air and pressed his lips against my cheek, nipping slightly at my skin. Gasping, I tried to swim away from him again, tried to laugh at him and tell him to stop acting so silly. I saw the dark glow in his eyes, and knew that he wouldn't have stopped even if I had wanted him to. Most of the time he never got that look unless he was really upset, or about to beat me to within an inch of my life.
When he's in that state, the only option I have is to try and overpower him. Make him stop.
His kisses grew more forceful, his teeth clinking against mine as he slammed his lips to mine. Without even having to see, I knew he was bruising my lips, and I didn't really care about that at the time. All I cared about was trying to figure out why he was acting that way, and trying to put decent distance between the two of us so the pain would stop.
When he loosened his arms, I tried to slip away and found myself falling towards the water again. Forcing his name out made him stop briefly before he breathed softly and watched me float nearby. I pushed my legs down until the tips of my toes bounced against the bottom, my face barely above the water. My breathing was slightly rushed as he put his warm hands against my shoulders and pushed.
My vision was ruined.
His angry face turned into a rippling version of sadness, reflecting back to me through the water. I placed my hands around his wrists and tried to pull them off my shoulders, confused at the time about what he was trying to do. He watched me from safety, putting pressure into my flesh until everything snapped into place and I began to panic. I moved my hands up his arms, pushing against him until he gave me this wild-eyed look and pulled me through the water just to slam me deeper down.
The feeling started as a dull throb against my lungs, kindly warning me that what was happening should be fixed soon before something really bad happened. My mouth opened and closed as my panic started to form into a mixture of fear and desperation. I thrashed against him until he held me against his chest, forced his beautiful eyes to meet mine, and made his lips form the words I needed to hear.
"You hate me now."
"You hate me now."
"You don't love me anymore."
"What did I do wrong?"
"You'll leave me!"
"You hate me!"
"I love you!"
"Don't leave me!"
"Why can't it be like before?"
"Love me again."
"Love me like I love you."
"Don't leave me."
"You hate me."
The water blocked the tears from forming in my eyes, blocked the tears from spilling and showing him how I really felt. The soft caress of it against my face was like those happier times with him in the kitchen, him running a finger down my cheek to wipe up some of the pancake batter that had gone astray. It reminded me of the times when we would meet together rather than having me practically beg for him to allow me to sleep in the same room as him.
It reminded me of when he would say he loved me with such ease, it seemed like it was a greeting or a good night exchange.
Even through the rippling surface of the water, I could see the fear in his eyes as he held me down. I could see the desperation and his own panic. Somewhere in the times of good and bad, we had both started to feel like the other was drifting away. Our love for each other was keeping us from putting voice to this fear just in case it was true and one of us would leave. I was foolish because I thought he loved someone else, and would soon realize this and leave me bloody on the kitchen floor.
He was foolish because he didn't know me as well as he thought he did. I hadn't let on like I should have, and we both made the same misunderstanding and hurt each other because of it. We both thought that physical pain could keep us together, but it was forcing us apart. He started believing that I would leave him, so he avoided me and tried to hurt me.
Might as well make him hate me before I grow to hate him. I couldn't stand to hate the one I love, so maybe it would be best if he separated himself.
Why did he think this way?
The burning started to hurt, redirecting the pain to my heart and to my mind. Too hard to concentrate on words when one's trying to focus on preventing the oncoming explosion of one's chest.
In panic, one believes the facts.
In panic, I couldn't come to these conclusions.
In panic, my judgement was clouded with fear, that being brought to life in the form of the blue lake that held so many memories.
My mind screamed at him, tried to tell him that I did love him and my hate wasn't for him but for myself. I reached up and tried to caress his soft cheeks, but ended up leaving nasty red marks across his beautiful skin. He returned my panicked gaze like he was below the surface of the water, and I started to believe that he was. Maybe I was holding him down, causing him pain, underneath the blue waters.
I knew this wasn't true.
I knew I was the one who was in pain, silently begging for air.
I knew I was the one who was trying to reassure him how I felt.
I love you, Duo.
Please, believe me.
I don't hate you.
In panic, my lips parted and water flooded in.
I fell into darkness.