Take Me or Leave Me [Elegant]

When I finally find my way home, it's almost four in the morning and I'm missing one shoe. They were Quin's shoes so I'm not really bothered. The wool of my shirt is sticking to the dried blood on my arms from forever ago today when I sat in that alleyway beneath the slanting sun. I could simply tear the shirt away, it'll hurt, but maybe that's the point. Or maybe I'll just shower it away. Quin's like to throw me in the shower the way I smell now. I don't quite remember where I've been. I remember meeting that boy with the muffins, some more, and then just now. I remember sweating bodies against bodies, remember the taste of moonshine, and the warmth underneath a bed sheet. I don't remember who or where. Currently, I'm standing beneath a frosted window, staring up at curtains waving in the wind, wondering if I should go inside or if I should stay out here and let my foot freeze off. It might be preferable to the freezing looks I'll get inside.

With a sigh, I pull myself up onto the branch of a tree, one arm wrapped around the thick branch, the other thrown out for balance. The entire world is spinning in circles, and I feel like if I tried very hard I could manage not to fall. I climb slowly, letting myself breath until there is no air left. My breath clouds in front of my eyes, like dust, I could be a skull breathing out. I reach the right branch, you know the one. The one I have to walk across perfectly balanced. I've done it so many times in this state that it's second nature to shut my eyes and put one foot in front of the other. That, or I could give Tarquin my broken neck for Ratmas. How romantic he'd find that, trying so hard to get back to him that I never do.

I climb inside the window, and turn to shut it behind me with a soft thud. Leaning my head against the glass, I try to cool the forehead that's heating up, my teeth numb. He'll be annoyed with the drinking. That's something to worry about later, when he actually figures it out. Staggering over to the bed, I slip my sweater off, and the shoe that's left to me. Almost fluidly I climb in and wrap my arms around him, cold hands feeling for warmth. Nuzzling the back of his head, I breath out a sigh of relief, something about being anchored to him once more making breathing easier and suddenly hurt less. As he settled in, he even smiled. until he felt the scratches upon his brothers neck, worse than goosebumps.

"I was......it's not important, Quin. What's this on your neck?

I stare at his back in hurt when he wiggles away from me, shoving me off him. He's never done that before, and needless to say it must mean he's extremely pissed off. With a sigh, I sit up and run a hand throw my hair, eyes narrowing at the slight pain when my shirt tugs on my wrists. God, that was a dumb move. I'd never done it on my arms before see, I didn't think how much it would really hurt. Still, as I feel each new sting of pain, it serves as a constant reminder that I exist. Like a drum beat, a whisper in my ear. I'm real, I'm real, I'm real. Staring down at Tarquin in bleary half annoyance, I run one long finger along his spine, enjoying the feel of the goosebumps I raise against my finger.

"Of course it's good enough, Quin, I just don't see why it matters." In annoyance, he tosses my hand away again, and in one quick move, I roll so I'm guarding him with my body, and staring down at him. He's touching his neck where I felt the bumps. Where he's telling me it's nothing. Well it's not nothing because I felt them. Now I'm annoyed too, I hate it when he doesn't tell me things. I guess the tables have turned. "'Sides, that's not nothing, just cause I'm drunk, it doesn't mean I've lost my brain. How'd you get it." I'm not afraid to admit I'm drunk, if he hasn't figured it out by now, then he's the idiot. I run my hand along the ridges again, trying to place what they are, strangely annoyed that I can't. Laughing slightly, I roll back over onto my side, almost falling off the bed. I catch myself first, my right hand flying out to catch the bed frame before I go down.

I glance back over at Tarquin, but he refuses to budge it seems, so I duck under the covers, reaching down until I find the back of his knee. Carefully, I lightly touch his knee pit, or whatever you call it, again and again. I tickle him, trying to cajole him into talking to me. His muscles tense but he ignores me. So with a huff, I poke my head back up, out of the warm cocoon of the sheets. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm ninety percent sure I didn't take anything. Well, other than the alcohol, but, you know. Yeah," I say, although I can't help noticing that I still don't tell him where I've been. I can't help wondering why that is.

Gone all day?

In confusion, I do the math in my head. I left on our walk to the training center, and yeah I didn't come back until now. So gone, I was gone all day. I stay there, quiet for a surprising moment, head barely poking out of the sheets. I almost slide back in, hiding away from Quin's accusations, but just because I hide, it doesn't mean he won't leave it alone. When he gets like this, it isn't often, but when he does, he's as stubborn as a bull. It's amazing how quickly time flies for me when I'm not with him. Suddenly more somber, I crawl back up, and lay beside him, my back barely touching his. Clenching my fists, fingers keeping my sleeves in place, I open my mouth to apologize, but nothing comes out. I can't remember ever apologizing. Maybe once, or twice. That's all.

So we lie in my silence for a moment. Quin talks, but all I hear is annoyance and anger, and sorting out the words seems redundant when they both mean the same thing. Still, if I should shut my eyes right now, the sound of his voice could lull me to sleep. People say that we're so alike, but just to be near us is to know differently. Quin's voice has always been softer while mine has always been softer. Quin's healing while mine has only ever served to bring out the worst in people. With a grimace, I roll back around to face his back, and stare hard at his hunched figure. It occurs to me that he's crying, and suddenly that's unbearable for me. With a sigh, I toss my arm back over him, although he's removed me twice now.

"Look Quin, don't be upset with me, I know....I know that I'm an asshole, and I don't mean to be one to you, okay....it just...it happens? And don't tell me you don't care, cause you do, and I'm sorry for not telling you, I'm ashamed of myself. I'm the worst."

But still, he can't say sorry.

I sit on the ground in shock for a moment, not one hundred percent sure about what just transpired. I know that a moment ago, I was on the bed, my arm and Quin, where I should be, but now I'm on the ground, and my ass hurts, and so do my wrists, and holy fuck the wrists were a wrong choice, never again. In hurt surprise, I stare up at Quin. He's never been so angry with me before, nor so cruel. I mean, I know what everyone else says about me, but I never knew he thought that about me too. I thought...I thought that he could at least pretend to understand. Then again, he doesn't know what it's like to feel as insubstantial as a gust of wind. He's stone and I'm flame and we're not the same at all. Mouth setting it's self into an easy smirk, I turn my head away from him, as if he's smacked me, and say "Glad you finally figured it out too. Everyone else already has. I was beginning to think you were an idiot.""

With that, I pull myself to my feet, albeit unsteadily, and head for the door. My skin is heated, and I am aware of the fact that my insides and outsides are all burning up, like so much ashes. When I try to turn the knob, it won't open. Crazy old bat locked him in again. Grimly, yet quietly for the most part, I step back and kick the door open with my bare foot. The door splinters and cracks, and luckily for me, a splinter embeds it's self into my foot, and there's blood, but isn't that just wonderful? I'm alive. I walk out the door without a backwards glance, and make a beeline for the bathroom, where the first aid is. Shutting the door behind me, I turn on the shower and it's cold, but I don't care, I step in anyway and let the water soak me to my core until I'm numb again and the flames burning through my veins can be safely ignored. I slide down to sit, head curling into my drawn up knees, the wool of my sweater weighing me down just like everything else.

Slowly, and painfully, I roll up the heavy sleeves, and they tear at the scabs that formed into the wool making them bleed anew. My face scrunches up when I see them, but the pain isn't a bad thing, it grounds me again, reminds me why I want to stay grounded. I spread them before me, letting the rain of the shower hit them, beat them. I feel almost peaceful.

I should have told Tarquin what I was doing, I know I'm being selfish, and I know I always will be. he's got to understand that the reason I disappear isn't becaus eof him, but it's becasue sometimes I have to say goodbye to all the colours milling about the day and the voices, and people. Sometimes I have to wave goodbye to the pain and disappear. I disappear too, he doesn't get that.

I just want to feel numb.

I sit for a while, eventually resting my head on my left arm, and I watch as the water mingles with blood and blood mingles with water. I can't help wondering where I fit in with the equation. Am I the water, the blood? Or am I the dead skin beneath? It occurs to me as I sit idly, that I would very much like it if tarquin were here. That's odd though, because I've never wanted him to see my canvas before, not liek I am now. I've always been the stronger one, I've only ever wanted him to see me as that. For just a moment though, I want to make him try and understand this. He never sees this, thinks I'm all snide remarks and confidence. If he knew how I could barely handle the idea of my not existing anymore, would he still push me away from him, still toss me out of bed. I don't mind when he does though, not when I deserve it like I do because I do. I know I do. See, you get more of a reaction when you're bad than when you're nice.

Still, it's cold in the shower and all of a sudden I'm so sad that it's unbearable and I can't figure out why I won't just go numb. Why can't I just go away like I want, why can't I just disappear? I don't want to disappear.. ?Yeah I do. I want to go away and hide, just crawl away. I feel terrible for hurting Quin. Shame washes over me like a tide of hatred and I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't know what I did, but we can be sure that I slept with someone and got completely undone. But why do I feel bad about that, why do I have to explain myself to Tarquin? He's my twin brother, yes. That doesn't mean I have to answer to him. I can't give him what he wants, and I know what he wants, but that's wrong, we both know it is.

Suddenly Quin is in front of me, and he's pulling at my arms and talking at me, but I look away, staring right past him, tugging back, trying to get him to let go. he says he wants to fix me up but what is actually left to fix? I can't think of anything that could be salvaged from this wreck of a body. I hate it, and I hate how I look like him, and I hate how we're even related because I'd like to meet him on the street one day and he could be the boy with the muffins. Rain is falling on us and it's like a scene from an old movie when I pull away from him and turn away, wrapping my arms around myself and staring at the wall instead. He called me things, said he didn't care. Did he say that? That he didn't care about me? Ow. He's the only one I care about.

"I thought you didn't care," I say dully, not looking at him, finding his gaze unbearable.

I don't bother looking at him, content to let myself shiver to death, spikes of cold hitting me and staining me with every droplet. This water doesn't clean me, it only agitates more, reminding me how I'll never be clean, how I'm stuck like this, stuck on this plane of existence. Tarquin talks to me, and he's crying and saying words, saying apologies that I could never hope to deserve even if I tried. I don't try and maybe that's the problem, wasted sorrows live under those words he says and I know I should be the one saying sorry. Why can't I just say sorry? Sorry for what though. Sorry for being who I am, sorry for existing. I wish I could change myself, but then again, I guess I don't. I'm still me, aren't I? Still just a reflection, a mirror image.

Slowly, it occurs to me like a spark, that Tarquin is cleaning up my arms, my arms that I cut up, arms that can't be explained. IN sudden panic, I try and wrench my arms away from him, wanting to roll the sleeves back down, but he holds on tightly, and methodically cleans them. In a half state of confusion I watch as he finishes and steps out of the tub. Taking the chance, I wrap my arms around me and try and make myself smaller. Maybe make myself smaller so he'll mistake me for nothing, just an illusion and leave me alone. He doesn't. Instead, he grabs a towel and starts drying my arms, carefully. I let him, staring at him warily, until I notice the red on the towel that isn't mine, because I guess I've stopped bleeding. The red isn't mine, it's his.

Quickly, I reach out and grab his wrist, movements not as slow and bumbling as they were only moments before. I carefully turn his hand over, holding tightly so he can't slip away. Blood is seeping slowly from a wound, something sharp cut it, I don't know what. For a moment I wonder if it was the door, the splinters, and I'm afraid that I've only done more damage. For a moment, I'm drawn back to a time where in training I cut him in near the same spot. I did the same thing I do now. Lifting his hand to my mouth, I kiss his palm, right on the cut. Taking the towel from him, I press it to his hand, and let the blood soak in. Still not looking directly at him, awareness of my arms beginning to blossom, and him seeing them, I mutter, "Remember the rules, take care of yourself first.......stupid." The stupid isn't harsh, not me trying to be mean, just me not hating him, not ever being able to hate him.

How could I hate my missing piece?

I stretch out my legs, finally becoming more human once again. I've always been the type to fill up space, never been the type to make myself smaller. When I stretch my legs out, I take up the rest of the tub. Waiting for his attention to waiver, I grab at his other hand. For some reason he's always been like this, so symmetrical. If it happens on one side, it's bound to happen on the other. I press the towel to that hand too, but not until I've kissed it better. "You're not fine, Quin," I say softly, averting my gaze again. For some reason I feel another small sense of guilt, I forgot about his neck because I had to throw a silly little tantrum. I guess it's true what they say about boys maturing slower, but I even though I'm older than Quin by just a bit, he's probably more mature than I could ever hope to be.

I smile at his comment, but the smile doesn't quite reach my eyes this time, it's just muscles working to lift curtains that don't reveal anything but rows of shiny teeth. I'm too tired to pretend I guess, exhaustion from all that I've done today, and all that is happening now eating away at my endurance to the point where I'm less boy, and more off than I've ever felt.

Deciding that I need a closer look, I give his wrist a sharp tug, careful not to aggravate the wound. With one pull I bring him topling back into the tub with me so that he's laying on top of me. It's slightly uncomfortable due to the fact that we're both pretty wet from my shower. It's warmer though with his heat on top of me, and I already begin to feel better with him so close. Blinking slowly, I lie my head back against the basin and breath for a moment. He's careful about my arms, I noticed, careful not to really touch them. I expect he'll ask about them, but I don't know if I'll answer.

"What happened to your neck, and don't tell me it's nothing."