No Happy Endings

It's hard to sleep. Even when the booze has flowed deep as a river, sleep doesn't come easy. Not for me. Never for me. Too much guilt. Too much crap clogging up the highways and byways of my restless mind.

It's always been like this.

Always since her. Since a piece of my heart died. Sound of a gunshot. Screaming anguish. Never ending pain that eats into my soul harsh as acid.

You can't drown pain like this. There isn't enough booze in the world.

There aren't enough women to make me forget other things that need forgetting.

Things like pale skin under the moonlight. The flash of steel, scent of blood. Cold violet eyes that seem to stare right into my soul, or right through me. Through the lies whispered to myself while I'm awake, truth that fill my nightmares with too much pain.

Staring out into the darkness, the light of Tokyo obscuring the stars, the white-noise hum of the house, the quiet, silent house where my team mates sleep should comfort me. Instead they increase my awareness of just how fucked up my mind is, how hopeless it is to yearn for something unattainable.

All the liquor in the world can't drown my pain. All the meaningless sex can't numb my misery, the wounds branded into my heart, into my very soul by the death of love.

The birth of a love unrequited and unspoken.

One that can never be admitted anywhere but into the silence of my own mind, whispered across the boundaries of my own soul.

I'd named him and doing it changed me in ways that were beyond my comprehension. Him lying in my bed, sleeping, peaceful despite the swollen lip and bruised cheek.

Beautiful.

Human.

Untouchable.

Renegade killer, loner, a bitch formed of alabaster perfection with a heart of ice nothing could melt.

The human heart is a strange thing. Learning to love that which desires no love, lusting after someone you cannot have.

Not even the pills from the Kritiker doctor help me sleep. Not anymore.

Soft tapping. A fingertip on the door.

Do I answer it? Do I finish the cigarette dangling from my mouth or crush it out in the can on the windowsill?

"Yohji."

The sound of the deep voice wraps around my mind, seeps into my brain like opium. Sleepwalker in my own waking world, fingers crush the cigarette, feet carry me to the door. Hand reaches for the knob as if of its own volition and I pull the door open. Stare into violet eyes.

I say nothing, stand there staring at him. Tired. Numb. Unsure why he would be there, why he'd come so late at night.

"Can I come in?"

Blink. Continue to stare, step aside to let him in. Watch him glide, all grace and power into my room where he positions himself in the middle of the room, his back to the couch.

The door closes, shut by an automaton unable to react to the presence of the man I want, need and can never have, never touch.

I discover my voice and ask, "What do you want Aya?"

He looks away, says nothing.

"Look it's late, I'm tired, I just want to go to bed."

"Liar." Soft whisper, accusation and truth.

A sigh slips from me. "What do you want?"

Pale beauty in the darkness. Red hair dark as midnight silk.

He comes toward me and I stand where I am, uncertain. Puzzled.

A hand comes up, touches my cheek. "What do you want?" he asks me, a sword calloused thumb brushing across my lip.

Dreaming. Slipping into the start of yet another nightmare. I want to wake up and can't. Want to make this stop before it turns ugly like the rest of my dreams. Before it can end with Aya broken and dying in my arms.

I find myself, turn my back, step away refusing to let this happen. Refusing to give the nightmare any power over me. Lucid dreaming they call it. I've been trying to achieve it for months, and failing for months.

A hand on my wrist, warm, preventing me from escaping.

Fool. There is never any escape. Never.

"Tell me this isn't what you want and I'll walk out. Never come back."

My mouth opens. This is it. I can end it now. Stop the nightmare from happening.

But my tongue is frozen to the roof of my mouth. My voice trapped in my throat. Breath locked in my straining lungs. I can't speak. Can't breathe.

The hand urges me to turn. To face the nightmare.

To face the one person I want and can never have.

Not in the real waking world.

Not in the realm of dreams.

"Yohji, tell me that you don't want me and I'll go."

I shake my head.

A hand slides through my hair, hand cupping the nape of my neck to draw me down for a tender, hesitant kiss that I do not turn from, nor do I respond to the touch of the warm lips on mine.

I want to respond. Need to, and won't. Can't.

The kiss ends and he regards me, silent, eyes cool, emotionless.

"Was I wrong about you, Yohji?"

"Yes," my mouth says, 'No!' my mind screams.

Lifeless violet eyes continue to search my face, gaze into my eyes. He nods, steps away. The door closes softly behind him.

He's gone and I feel hollow. Empty and numb. As dead inside as his gaze is outside.

I return to my window. Light a cigarette and stare into the night wishing I could have accepted his offer, wishing love didn't turn into pain and death for everyone I cared about.

If wishes were horses then beggars could ride.

And I could have a happily ever after in the arms of the killer I loved.

~~~owarii~~~~