In-between destinies
Regulus PoV
I never believed in love at first sight. It doesn't sound real. How can someone fall in love with just a superficial glance? Isn't love supposed to be an overwhelming force that sweeps everything away without remorse or regret? How is it possible that such energy, such devastation, is born and lives from a solitary gaze? Many have spoken to me about a spark, an instant connection between two souls that is so intense it makes the air around it shimmer with electricity, and many others have spoken to me about a group of dancing butterflies that settle in your stomach and sing about desire, happiness, and soulmates. I never believed in their tales; I didn't think they held even a breath of truth.
I never understood love, not back then when I didn't believe in it, and not now when it has become the ruler of my own life. Love is an emotion too complex to fully comprehend. But even when I can't fully grasp it, not even claim to understand it in small amounts, I can assert that love is as guilty as it is innocent in the trial that is the story of us.
From the beginning, we were destined to fall and break. I was Regulus, and you were James, and we all know the inevitable fate that Romeo and Juliet have already sealed for those whose names start with R+J. But against all odds and against all warnings, we ventured together into this madness called falling in love.
I can't remember exactly how it happened. I can't recall when you first showed me that I wasn't an emotionless monster, that you dragged me into the land of the living and taught me to feel everything and be free. But what I have memorized and etched into my skin is the day you finally convinced me that I'm capable of suffering, the day I took all those emotions that were once my wings and turned them into shackles.
We rigorously went through each and every stage of a tragic infatuation: One, the encounter. You had my favorite book in your hand, I approached and asked you what you thought of it, you told me it was the fourth time you were reading it, we delved into an analysis of those words that had captivated both of us, and then, before leaving, you offered me your book. Inside were your annotations, and on the last page, written in beautiful cursive handwriting, was your name and address: "Write and I will respond." Two, getting to know each other. From our first conversation, I knew I needed you in my life. I became obsessed, I must admit. And then, when you answered that first letter, covered with your thoughts and your soul, my stomach was filled with dancing butterflies. So maybe it wasn't love at first sight, but it was definitely love. Three, falling in love. From our first kiss, we knew our time together was limited. You warned me of the ending, you spoiled it for me, and in response, I told you about my grandfather's death and my inability to grieve, I told you how I loved him and how I didn't miss him. I told you I was a monster making deals with the devil, and you smiled and said, "You're not a monster." We became inseparable, a knot of hands, hearts, and entwined souls, all tenderness and warmth. The world began and ended with us, and nothing else mattered. I was drowning in your presence, intoxicated by your kisses.
One night, you recited a poem to me about two lovers who reunite after death. I found it tragic, but you, on the other hand, told me it seemed quite beautiful and asked me if I could imagine loving someone so much that you'd prefer to die by their side than to keep living without them. That night, I couldn't answer you.
Today, I answer you with my actions.
Four, the ending. We were prepared to fall and break. We walked slowly and cherished every step we took together, but eventually, we reached the precipice, our time ran out. You fell, letting go of my hand, crashing to the ground, alone and dead. I remember your last words, whispered to the wind: "You're not a monster."
In a twisted way, I think I enjoy the pain. It's a reminder of my humanity. It's a throbbing confirmation that I'm not a monster. In a twisted way, I think I've summoned this pain. I've sought it out. I've prayed for it so many nights, by the grave of my deceased father, which has never received even one of my salty tears. I believe this has been God's attempt to answer my persistent prayers. And in a twisted way, I'm enjoying it so much that it's almost unbearable.
I'm a masochist in this hell of sorrow, selfishness, and self-flagellation.
I drown in our memories, willingly. I choose to let them soak me and pull me down with them. Or maybe, I just let them fill the room with red water, and I remain still, wishing to drown, trapped by the shackles of pain I've placed around my arms. I've never learned to swim, and I've never been happier.
The ghost of your smile and your shining eyes haunt me. They invade my dreams and deny me the dark peace of a quiet mind. They're the reason for my madness. Your silhouette, present and scattered in every dazzling sunset, becomes my driving force. Your voice, a whisper in the air, accompanying the sing-song voices of birds and the chirping of crickets, becomes my knife.
My blood, the invading water.
I know I'm enjoying the pain. The pain in my heart. The poisoning of my soul. The emptiness of my body. The scars that refuse to heal. The numbness and the dizziness. It's overwhelming and soothing, burning and drowning me simultaneously, as confusing as it is addictive.
People hurt themselves all the time. Some do it because they believe they deserve it, some do it accidentally, and others, like me, because they need it.
We need it.
I'm on the floor of my bathroom, lying there, curled up on my side, clutching my stomach. Blood around, over, and beneath me, on my arms, the hose, filling the growing puddle that threatens to become a river. I'm drowning, I'm drowning. I've never learned to swim. I've never been happier. The metallic liquid fills my lungs, taking them over; I can't breathe, and it burns.
I roll onto my back, coughing.
I open my eyes, blinded by the white lights that seem to take over everything. I think I've achieved it. And then I see you, the ghost of what you used to be, and I know I've achieved it.
We need it.
You look as imposing and beautiful as ever, your eyes shine, your skin glows, and you look so... alive. You gaze at me and smile, offering me that sweet and innocent smile that has always made my knees weak, and you extend your hand. But when I try to take it, to finally be intoxicated by your company once more, you recoil, frightened. Your eyes shine with terror, and you let out a piercing scream that will haunt me until the end of my lives. You cry for help, but there's nothing around. There's no one.
I don't understand what you're fleeing from, why you're screaming, what you need to be saved from. For a moment, I think I'm the monstrosity you're running from. But as our gazes meet and the air shimmers with electricity, I remember that I ceased to be that despicable being the moment I understood that I loved you and was going to lose you.
You back away, colliding with an invisible wall, abruptly falling into your tomb; you're trapped.
You scream and beg, "SAVE ME! SAVE ME!"
Your voice reverberates on the walls, an infinite echo that settles in my torn eardrums. In my mind, you keep screaming, but in front of me, you've vanished. I saw you disappear, I saw you agonizing: you were suffocating. Stuck, imprisoned in my place, I watched through the swirling waters, distorting my view as the earth swallowed you and consumed you, one clump of soil at a time, you and your soul. You vanished, taking with you the river of blood from which I couldn't escape. Oxygen reclaims my lungs once more, rushing through my pleading branches. My blood breathes, becomes vitalized. The colors I lost in the growing river return to me. I return to myself, and I understand:
YOU'RE SUFFOCATING!
I break the chains that bound me, my legs trembling under the weight of my body. I can't recall how long I've been trapped in this white room, how long I've lain on this floor to cry and suffer.
I will save you.
I can't comprehend how my body functions, how I can make my way through the doors of my house. The faint light of the moon and stars surprises me. The trees dance intensely in the wind. Lightning illuminates the sky. Tears of a weeping god fall to the ground.
My legs carry me through the endless streets. I cross a thousand landscapes I would normally pause to steal. The River Acheron runs beside me, whispering of deaths and desires for lives. I could swear I'm moving faster than its current. I run against time and feel myself falling short of it. How does one win a fight against a destiny that ensures its existence, without dying in the attempt?
At some point, I reach the end of the river, which welcomes me to the land where your body resides, the land I once lived in. Where you agonize and do everything but live.
"Good evening, welcome," a shadow greets me, extending its hand, "One drachma per journey."
I don't respond. I don't even question who or what it was. Much less what it was doing there, offering trips across the river, on such a preposterous night. The river kicks and thrashes in anger.
I venture into the cemetery, moving away from the roaring river. I find your grave, and I've never acted so desperately. They say love drives you to madness; it blinds you and poisons your reason. I love you, and this love is destroying me, destroying my intelligence, my sanity, it's destroying me and everything I once was. I love you, and not having you tears me apart.
A pile of dirt rests behind me. The first small rays of sunlight illuminate the box in which we enclosed you. I swear I can hear your muffled screams. Your voice reverberates in the air, an infinite echo that settles in my torn eardrums. I free you from your prison, I remove the solid, opaque bars that deprive you of light and air.
I see you, your eyes open and full of life, and I can't hold back, I throw myself into the hole that captured you. I lie down beside you, embracing you. You don't say anything this time, but you look at me, and I can touch you. You don't flee, you don't scream; you breathe. I nestle my head against your shoulder, intoxicated by your scent, loving you. You live, and finally, I can sleep again, sleep captures me, and I've never been happier. The comfort of your grave hypnotizes me, your arms embrace me. This early morning, for the first time since I lost you, I sleep. We sleep together, knowing that tomorrow we'll wake up to a life filled with love and beating hearts that we've always dreamed of having.
Sleeping beside you feels like the soothing tides of a boat crossing a river that sings songs of death and desires for life.
Sleeping by your side feels like the relaxing tides of a boat crossing a river that whispers songs of death and desires for life.
Sleeping by your side feels like knowing that my heart hasn't beaten in eons, and yours in weeks. Like knowing you haven't breathed in weeks, but I will tomorrow.
Sleeping by your side, and knowing I won't wake up by your side, is the reminder of a deal with the devil that condemns me. Sleeping next to you is the whisper of a demon rejoicing in the treaties it has signed.