sezin

now hide away from everyone. make yourself invisible. why are you so scared for them to see? what is it that you're hiding? deep inside, you know.

you're afraid of people knowing the truth. that rotten heart of yours is begging to be free but no. you'll keep it there. away from everyone.

what if they see it? what if they figure out that underneath this pretty thing that's been prepared just for them is all emptiness?

so you do what you got to do. you present yourself with a shiny gift package, a bright smile and a bubbly personality. make jokes, flirt, and laugh at every fucking thing like you have no worries in the world. make jokes about suicide. talk about your traumas and humiliate yourself. then laugh like it's funny. don't make it obvious that you hate yourself. that you hate them. pretend you're full of life and full of love.

it's so fucking fake.

they don't know how you can't look into your mother's eyes anymore.

they don't know how you're scared of what you could do.

to yourself, and to the ones you love.

you're a natural force. you're doomed to bring destruction with you everywhere. but they don't know that.

so you try to hide it. you drink more often. pretend you're having fun until the poisonous liquid shatters your pretty mask. leave before they see how your pretty eye make-up is smudged with tears. they don't know you avoided looking at the mirror too long while doing your make-up too.

they don't know every breath you take burns your lungs. every little fucking thing you used to love has turned into a weapon, specialized just for you.

for you to shoot yourself with it.

her skin would be soft under his hand. he could trace the edge of her bra, and run his knuckles over her stomach. she would shiver under his touch, and pull him in. she would. so, why couldn't he move?

"you've done this a dozen times before. just be good. just make her happy. can't you see she needs you?"

she'd pull his hair a little too hard, her nails would cause a sting on his scalp. he wouldn't mind it, though. the pain was okay, it was pure. purer than he had felt in a long time. she'd whisper, "i'm yours." in his ear, and her voice would feel like poison. her love would feel like poison. so he'd cave in.

"i'm sorry." he'd whisper, without even knowing what he was apologizing about, and she'd look at him like she pitied him. the usual gentleness she had with everyone but him would disappear from her now icy eyes, but she'd murmur, "it's okay. you'll be fine." and her words would hurt deeper than anything ever did. but he'd smile, because, what else could he do? she could rip his chest open and yank his heart out, and he would smile. and to be honest, most of the time, that's what he felt like she was doing.

it was worth it.

he'd kiss her neck again, ignoring the shame pooling deep in his gut. he'd say "i'm yours," over and over like he wanted to convince himself more than her. her hands would travel down his back, she'd take his shirt off, and he could've sworn she loved him.

her teeth would graze against his shoulder, with her nails digging on his back, and he would still put his lips on her like she was a delicate wine glass. he'd ask for permission to take her shirt off, and try to ignore the hickeys on her chest that weren't left by him. with eyes closed, his kisses would follow the marks strangers had left and when he opened his eyes he'd tell himself it was his doing.

"i'm yours," she'd whisper, and for a moment, her eyes would look as bright as they did when they first met. he'd ignore the guilt behind them as well. "i'm yours," he'd answer, and he'd pray thay she'd never leave.

the rest would be blurred in his mind. he'd be on his knees, and he would see god in her eyes.

they'd stumble to bed. she wouldn't let him kiss her, and he could sense the anger in her touch. she wouldn't really hit him, even though sometimes he'd have begged her to do so. his eyes would fill with tears, but his heart would fill with affection. "maybe she doesn't really want to hurt me." he'd think, his eyes rimmed red, "maybe she just can't help it." still, he couldn't help but cry. and just then, when the tears were staining his cheeks, he'd find her to be proud.

and when he was inside her, her eyes would be far away. she'd look behind his shoulder, eyes filled with longing to something he couldn't give her. her firm hands on his neck would loosen their grip, and his heart would break.

The wooden floor was hard against his knees. It was almost bruising. The dull ache was a reminder of his existence. It was easy to get lost when all he could see was the golden cross. It was so high on the wall, but he couldn't help but feel like he could touch it if he wished.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he closed his eyes. One single tear fell from his eye to the cracked floor beneath him. Was he even worthy of this?

He could feel the eyes. They would watch his every move. They would judge, judge, and judge. They would make him doubt himself until he wasn't even sure if he deserved to be alive.

"I'm sorry," he managed to whisper, but there was no answer. There never was.

All he had done was search for God all his life. First, it was his father; a man so unreachable, so cold. Someone who’s supposed to care for you but doesn’t. Then, it was the seminary. He tried so hard to please. So much that he gave up on himself.

Then, it was House. He swore to himself he wasn’t attracted to him. To be fair, he wasn’t. He just had no idea how to deal with a father figure who was so... godly. Sometimes, he'd imagine him saying, "I forgive you, Robert, for all your sins." It would feel so real he could almost hear it.

When he fell for Allison, he was sure that was it. The reason he was put in this world was to love her, this beautiful creature who was just so pure. Purer than Robert could ever be. But devotion lasts only so long if it’s one-sided.

One-sided.