don't like your little games [kousei]

We fell asleep on the couch that night, Charlotte and I, and I woke up clutching at straws.

I left the moment the snow storm stopped, the following morning as simple as that. The same routine I go through with every woman's house I find myself in; meet, spend the night, leave and wonder if I'll ever see them again and I never do because at the end of the day I know that I can't do anything like that. Feel something real for anyone or anything that isn't the promise of glory or a statue of bronze built from the ground up. "You have a legend to carve for yourself," I tell myself. I need to make something for myself that isn't build on the shoulders of fortune and that four letter last name that pins a thousand definitions onto the name Achilles.

So when I left that house I focused on the sensation of my feet crunching in the snow, the cold biting at my face and I my hand in my hair where hers once were when we locked lips. Anything to draw my attention from the sensation of losing a part of myself every time this happened and I knew this would happen. Never should've expected myself to stay -- I was being naive. I know better than to promise things I can't deliver on, so I never passed with the old saying of "see you again", I learned to stop that somewhere between the third and the fourth time.

I took the stride, burying anything I might've felt in the normality of routine. Carving of dummies, beating someone down in a spar, more meaningless outings and therapautic sex -- what's the fucking difference anymore? Telling myself I can't afford to feel, that I can't afford to lose myself to anything because I haven't earned that right yet.

I never saw her during that time either, quickly fading into another phantom to join a legion. I told myself it was better that way, what would I even say to her?

Two weeks later and I don't think anything's changed. Perhaps internal conflict is more conspicuous than I thought because this girl notices when something's wrong.

"It's nothing, trust me," I tell her blankly, trying to pin a face to a name and rubbing my temples from the latest in a line of rare hangovers. Shit, who's house is this?

"Are you sure, Achilles?" She presses, running a hand through my hair and it feels almost bland. Doesn't feel the same as it did two weeks ago and it doesn't make me feel the same.

"Yeah, I just get distracted," I shrug her hand off my shoulder and stand up. "I should go, Dad's expecting me back and probably wondering where I am." The lie's effortless, I only did this because I knew I'd be home alone and no one would be expecting me back. I just need to keep up this routine of normalcy just to forget the last time.

"See you again?" She asks and I shrug my shoulders.

"I guess."

Never promise anything when your commitment is made of porcelain. I leave with silence and a false smile. I am no Justice.

My parents once remarked on the fact that I never managed to keep a girlfriend for any longer than a month.

("I just lose interest okay,"

"Lose interest?"

"I get distracted."

"It's not school work, son."

"I focus on other things."

"..."

"I can't--")

A large empty manor to myself and I want to be anywhere but here right now.

(I want to go back--)

My train of thought is interrupted by the sound of someone trying to put their fist through the wooden door. "What the hell?" I mutter to myself, I'm not expecting anyone and I just want to be alone today. I rub my eyes, gripping the handle and swinging the door open after the second round of banging.

And there she is, Charlotte with her fists clenched and rage on her hands. For a second I'm almost happy to see her again because two weeks in stride felt as long as an eternity.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

So many things, too many to list and I don't even think to open my mouth to answer it because I have a million questions of my own.

"You know what, don't answer that, it'll take too long. How about this: how dare you? If you want to get in bed with me, stay the night, and never speak again, fine by me. But how dare you get to know me first? You had dinner with me, dammnit. And if I recall correctly, you actually had fun, do you remember that? Not to mention you got to kiss me, and unless I'm still not remembering, that was pretty damn good too. So you don't get to throw me away like a piece of trash, alright?"

I mean, since she asked nicely.

"I... well... erm..."

She crosses her arms and I suddenly realize she must be freezing, out in the snow without a jacket just to scream it me? I don't even know anymore, girls are complicated. And there's a thousand funny comments or remarks I can make right now any one of them could so easily inflame the situation to a point I cannot control, she looks in half a mind to punch me as it is.

"It's freezing out here, let me in."

I step aside, leaving the door wide open as she steps inside and past me, leaving a trail of snow and fury behind her. I stand there, idle and clueless as I let the door swing behind me. "You look cold and angry," my pulse races beneath my skin and the first thing nonsensical thing to come to my mind leaves my lips in the form of a question with a million obvious answers. "Are you okay?"

If only she knew how easy it was to break porcelain.

There was once a time I fancied myself as untouchable and styled myself before the pleasures of kingship. I was a Fray after all, we could built legends from rocks and stories from bronze and it didn't matter who we stepped on to climb the ladder. It didn't matter who crumbled before they broke and vice versa; career, pretty girl, enemy -- who cares? They were all the same, footnotes to be added to an arbitrary page in our history -my history- and to be forgotten behind the words of a better man.

I fancied myself untouchable; by the common man and by reality itself.

Perhaps that's why I expected the case above to come into play for this freezing woman with anger in her eyes and her fists balled. And as she lets on her storm, answering my baseless question formed from wonder and crossing her arms as she glares dagger sharp enough to carve my heart out. I expect the above case to come into play, that it wouldn't matter because it doesn't matter who crumples before they break or vice-versa, that's just life.

And yet for some reason it does matter because I do not want her to so much as crumple and I certainly cold not bear the thought of a break. The case seems pointless now.

I catch her gaze, her eyes wandering up to my head and recognition is not lost on me before she opens her mouth in an accusatory tone. "Was she nice to you?" She asks and my heart skips, as if I've just been caught in the reprehensible act of cheating. It doesn't make any damn sense. "The girl who messed up your hair? I think I was more careful than that."

I instinctively lift my hand and scratch the back of my hair. She has eyes like a hawk and she knows just by looking at me. I remember it now, buttoning up my shirt and throwing on strewn clothes as I threw away her attempts at comfort. "Are you jealous?" I ask, perplexed at the absurdity of it all. I did nothing wrong.

But my question, as expected, remains unanswered as she shakes her head and lets herself delve into another pool. One part can only be described as rage and another part I can only discern as hurt and somehow it hurts so damn much just to see it. But before I can so much as get a word in she asks a question that I cannot deflect and I find myself knocked two steps back into a state of permanent confusion. Why go through all of that, just for a kiss, and then ditch me?"

And she brings up a good point, there are thousands of girls in the district who would get with me and not expect a thing in return. Just by virtue of that four letter last name in correlation with mine, being a career and possessing a face better to look at than most. I didn't have to find myself on that sofa with her and I certainly did not have to kiss her, I wasn't desperate -- but I did anyway. Of course, I went with the intention of what I always do but that didn't happen and so I found myself facing crossroads and a thousand questions.

I can't give a piece of myself to someone else when I have so little to offer.

Besides, there's legacies to build and legends to raise; girls would just distract me and yet I cannot bring myself to repeat the age old lie I've been telling myself since I was fifteen.

I sigh, wondering what her speculation of my flawed reasoning is. "Look, I didn't kiss you just for that," I tell her, sticking my hands in my pockets and not breaking my gaze. "And it wasn't my intention to make a fool out of you."

It's too difficult to explain.

Nothing.

Is.

Coming.

Out.

I sit on the closest chair I find. "I just didn't know you felt that way because no one ever does."

Because I never wanted to let them, porcelain's too easy to shatter after all.

I don't move, I just sit and stare and let everything sink in. From the way her hair falls down her face and over her shoulders to every twitch of muscle. I think I see it, the rage slowly evaporating from her hot blooded skin at my soothing words, I've always had a talent for calming people down. Had this been any other moment on the horizon of time I'd smile.

I think I'd almost prefer it if she interrupted me. Screamed at me, told me to fuck off before cracking her hand across my jaw like a stone whip and storming out of my house. Wouldn't be the first time I've felt the wrath of someone scorned. I'd prefer her to do well something so I could just dust myself off and get over it. Find someone else for the week and go about my life -- it's simple that way and I prefer simple.

Instead she's actually sitting there and listening, cheeks red, skin cold and ringed by brown hair falling across her cheeks. She's sitting there and well listening to whatever I have to say, arms crossed as if she's still seething. Maybe she expected me to justify myself, tell her it was nothing serious and to get over herself. Tried that a few times, ended up with a face full of drink.

And well, I actually care this time.

So we sit there, the two of us, and the words wash over her like a soft tidal wave. I never said anything complicated, just the truth with not a single hint of complexity, I didn't spin a web of lies as easily as threading a needle, I just spoke and waited to see of porcelain would shatter. Throwing all my assumptions out the window and turned my sleeve inside out to reveal a glass heart.

I wait.

"So what are you gonna do about it?"

I almost blurt out that I don't know, I've never gotten this far before. I've never gotten past the point where there should be a drink in my face or a venom down my throat. But I hold onto my words, something she could learn a thing or to about. Nothing she says is measured, nothing she says is weighed or processed -- it's just raw and that's what's keeping me here. I nod, it's the easiest thing to do.

"I wouldn't mind hanging out more."

I grin and the next words are raw; no thought. "Neither would I."

"So long as you give a bit of notice before you decide to disappear off the face of the earth."

Is that a promise I can even keep? I've never promised, I've never tried -- I'm just a Fray after all and those have always been beneath me. I stand, walking towards the couch she's sitting on with my favorite poison; confidence. "I won't disappear," I manage before collapsing in the spot next to her. "Else you might actually put a hole through my parent's door."

I laugh, it feels nice to.