#aedie

elodie and aesop

(the queen and the king…)

~

"Love is like a cigarette You know you held my heart aglow Between your finger tips And just like a cigarette I never knew the thrill of life until I touched your lips  Then just like a cigarette Love seemed to fade away and leave behind ashes of regret Then with a flip of your fingertip It was easy for you to forget  Oh! Love is like a cigarette."

~

Holding the little stick of death in his hands, he took a long, drawn out puff before tossing it towards the garbage can, not giving a damn if he hit it or not. His door was locked, his head was in his hands, and he lay sprawled out across a sea of golden covers. If only he could drown in them, he wished. To be swept up and cradled by the endless comfort offered by his soft comforter, his springy mattress. To drift away beneath the billows of fabric, without a care in his messy mind. His hair caught a lone ray of light shining from the window on the far side of the wall. He'd forgotten to cover it. The shimmering tendril glittered in the lone line of light, casting a beaming glow onto the sheets. He shifted up just a bit, allowing it to singe across the back of his head until the pain got too much. For the moments in which a fiery pain went through that spot, he closed his eyes and let it harm him, let the physical pain attempt to wash away the mental. He hissed, gritting his teeth together, and rolled over until he nearly fell off the bed. He drew his knees up to his chest, letting his head fall back against the pillow. One of his fists came up and, like a petulant child, he slammed it down against his bed. However, unlike a petulant child's fist would, his left an indent that he doubted would ever fade, for it hit the springs and damaged the bed itself. He heard it creak, but it wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough until he tore up the whole damn house. What did he care? He could throw a fit if he wanted to, just like the pet that dwelled across the hall. Then he'd show her a hypocrite, he'd show them all...

But Aedan in grief was unlike that. At least, he was dangerously thoughtful and withdrawn for the first few moments, the first bitter beginnings, of said grief and depression. He was silent, caving in upon himself, a mess of broodiness and dark, haunting thoughts. Even back when he lived in Dublin, back when he was considered a Romanian vampire prince, his grief never ceased to consume him. Sometimes - many times, actually - over things that seemed trivial when one realized they could live forever. He felt as though his heart were too heavy a burden to carry for the rest of eternity, though suicide was something that never crossed his mind. He had people to care for in his life, places to travel to, women to meet and foods to enjoy. Maybe not fully, but he could still enjoy them. Strangely enough, however dark his sadness could be, he still held onto those hopes, those happy thoughts. For if he did not, the darkness would leap back up and grab him, hugging him in a claustrophobic embrace, as though he were the one responsible for keeping it dark. But after he let himself wallow in his sadness, it could go one of two ways. He could try to become happier, better, and fix the problem that was upsetting him to such an unhealthy point. And then sometimes...sometimes he would turn, seemingly on himself, becoming crazily enraged.

That was what happened now.

He leaped from his bed and stormed outside his room, opening the door without unlocking it. He shoved it, watched it cave forward, and made a quick mental note to remember to fix it. He'd probably get that done soon enough. He shot down the stairs, and wandered backwards, behind his house. When he got to a black fence he leaped over it, finding himself in a forest, surrounded by bushes and trees alike. He loved this environment, loved the way the tall trees seemed to form a canopy for him to stand beneath. He took a deep breath, hoping that the sweet scent of nature would erase her lingering sweet scent, the soft perfume that was worn on even softer skin. Soft skin that he had kissed, that he had held, that he had run his calloused palms over time and time again. Skin so soft that it was unlike the tree he slammed that calloused fist into. Skin so soft that, if he were to harm it the way he were harming the rough bark of the tree, it would be a sin of the greatest proportions. He watched leaves fall from the force of the hit, swiveling in the wind just like her red curls had turned with each motion. This didn't help him, not in the slightest. He saw her in everything he did, in everything he was.

"I just want to make it better."

"You fucking can’t without giving up what you want. Your ways. Who you are. "

One of his biggest conflicts with immortality to date was that with love. He'd thought he had found it many times over the course of nearly seven centuries. Honestly, for once he'd hoped he'd gotten it right when it came to Mistress Jacks, a vampire who had come into his life for such a brief time, yet left an immeasurable amount of footprints on his impressionable heart. And their love had ignited...the smallest ember turning into a raging, full on flame. Yet it was true that the hottest love, like theirs had been - so pure, so true, so passionate - had the coldest, most bitter end. It had been hard for him to get over it when she left. In his mind, one never truly got over the loss of a lover, be it in parting or in death. He would forever miss Jacks' presence, but someone had come along and was able to fill a void that he had sworn he'd covered up. Miss Roxie Sinclair, with her curly tresses and ocean eyes, and her islands of freckles that danced upon her soft pale skin. She had come into his life at such an unexpected time...everything about her was simply unexpected, not just her coming. She was lovely, she was funny, she had started out as his dearest friend here at Sanguine. Together they had talked, they had tickled - and oh, the feeling of her hands on his skin - and they had laughed. Laughter that seemed to last so much longer than it did, which was pretty long itself. And somewhere in between those little talks, that endless laughter, the smiles and secrets shared...Aedan's heart had repaired itself, and he had fallen for her.

And how terrible he felt for such a thing. It had hit him so hard when her lips brushed against his, and then they collided, two petal-pink, plush pillows landing upon the other as though their lives depended upon it. Kissing her had sealed his fate, had made it impossible for him to ignore the feelings that had been brewing inside of him. He'd tried so hard to pretend they weren't there, to push them as far back into his mind as he possibly could. He flirted to try and mask them, but it never worked. He loved feeling this way, loved the delight that seemed to creep up his spine whenever he spoke to her - whenever he looked at her. But he knew that he was wrong for her. He'd tried to have relationships with humans before, and how did they end? Never well, that's how. He had only turned one human in his lifetime, and not even to be with them forever. He wondered if Roxie would ever think of being with him for such a long time. He himself wouldn't mind staying with her for the rest of her lifespan, but that wasn't fair to her, to either of them. He was a vampire. A fanger. A blood sucker. She deserved a human. A boy who could give her the life and the family that she entirely deserved. How horrible it was, too, that Aedan could not be that boy for her. He had fallen so hard, he cared so much for her, and that seemed as though it would never stop. But he couldn't be with her. And he couldn't make her realize that, either.

And thus he continued to slam his fists against trees until they tumbled and broke, snapping in the middle like the string that held his sanity together. With a low growl he turned and caught a deer with his fangs, drinking it dry greedily, hungrily. He stumbled back, wiping his hand with his mouth, wondering what Roxie would think if he saw him now. Tears trickled down his cheeks, but he didn't realize he was crying until his vision - so acute, so keen - was blurred. Thankfully his nightvision was so good, for he sprinted to the pet house and to Roxie's bedroom. She was asleep. She lay curled up in her bed, those ginger curls sprawled out on her pillow. A sight so beautiful he could have sobbed. He bent down and kissed her forehead, a tear or two leaking out onto her skin. "I...I love you," he said softly, his heart panging with those words. And then he was gone, just a whisper of skin. As he walked back to his home, his head ducked down and his hands shoved deep into his pockets, he idly wondered if he were thinking too far into it all. If maybe, just maybe, he could be her ever after.

But right now, it looked so much more like a perfect disaster. Like the right love at the wrong time. 

He missed her. He missed her, and it hadn't even been a day since their little argument. He turned back towards the pet house, perhaps to wake her up, but the string of sanity had frayed too much. He couldn't trust himself. Shaking his head, he turned back, holding his phone in his hands. Her number glowed bright in the darkness...just like she did. And perhaps, just perhaps, she could be able to penetrate the abyss that was slowly bring Aedan back down...

down...

down...