SOME MEME 

          It was like a jolt of electricity, the four words his heart had longed to hear, but were they truly meant? His gaze flicked up to search Salim’s, almost sure he hadn’t heard what he had, was it some phantom that had spoken and broken the silence between them. Smoke hovered in the air from the cigarette that hung limply from Lance’s calloused hands, the Irishman blinked a few times, certain that he hadn’t really heard it. His throat and mouth went dry, so he pulled another drag from the cigarette, finishing it off and dabbing out the embers in an ashtray. Lance didn’t smoke often, stress normally caused it, another way to deal with his emotions if he weren’t able to knock them out in a fight of some sort. He was a man of many vices, violence and alcohol were the primary go to’s. But every once in a while, one could catch him with a cigarette between his lips. 

          With a slow exhale Lance leaned back in his seat more, letting his right arm rest on the back of the chair some. He didn’t mean to be so silent, Lance was sure now he had heard correctly and that it wasn’t some fantasy of his trying to pry its way out of his mind. What was he supposed to say? That he was happy his affections were returned? Then what? They’d live happily ever after on some fucking beach in Ireland. As if. They were broken creatures, monsters in their own right, the two of them had drawn so much blood and expelled so much hate, they were sewn from the same cloth. 

          Lance wasn’t the same kid that fell in love like a naive and hopeless creature, when they met at their lowest, joined a cause to get rid of their demons, only having to kill others’. It was a time of war and Salim had been his solace, the calm within the storm, something he had only ever been with his little sister. So naturally, he clung to it as if he were clinging to a lifesaver in the middle of the ocean. 

             But like everything in his life, Salim had left him and he had went back to drowning like the HELPLESS bastard that he was. Struggling with his demons alone, life was a battle and Lance was an everlasting warrior. He remembered every face of the people he had hurt, every name of the people he had killed, it was his penance. The marks on his skin were to remind him of the monster he had become. Lance wasn’t the same. But then again, neither was Salim, their lives had gone in different but possibly equally as destructive paths. What did it even mean to love anymore? It wouldn’t be the same love, like when they were still young, posed under the stars on watch. Or in the streets of London, too close to home for Lance but still an enjoyable event, because he had been with Salim. It wasn’t that kind of love, no matter how much either one of them longed for the days when the darkness hadn’t consumed them. 

                                         What broken unlovable creatures. 

            Lance swallowed the dryness down, forcing his unsteadiness down as well, composing himself to express no reaction yet. He was good at that now, distorting his emotions into something they weren’t, been hurt too many times, done it mostly to himself, always had a problem with falling fast and hard, such a sucker for love. The sodding idiot love too hard, always had, always would, it would ultimately be what killed him; a broken heart. That love, the one they had, it had been left on a train. What a fool. 

                Panic had filled him, urgency as well, it was like someone had cut a piece of him from his person and had walked away with it forever. Not ‘til now did Lance know what it was that he’d been missing, whatever had been left of the good inside of him had vanished the same day Salim had. That dryness was worse now, he almost coughed, but kept it in his throat. The memory playing against his skull like it had just happened only yesterday. He was still in love with Salim, Lance was certain he always would be, to have those feelings returned made his chest ache, if love wasn’t the problem, then why had Salim really left in the first place? 

               His calloused hands pawed at his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open as well. Delicately Lance pulled an obviously aged piece parchment, what it might have been at one time was forgotten but the words that had been hastily scrawled out on it were still decipherable. Lance inhaled like he had been holding his breath the whole time, perhaps he had been, pale gaze dropping before he slid the parchment to the middle of the table. The last thing he had of Salim, or so he’d thought, it still brought a lump to form in his throat, ravaged with the dryness of it already. 

         Lance leaned back again, staring at the parchment, it had been opened many times over the decades, thumbed at in a drunken and lonely state, it was the last reminder of the good he had been. In his darkest moments it was this reminder to keep holding on, that there was light in this world. The memory of Salim had gotten him through so much, what would the presence of the man do now. What did it mean to still be in love with one another? The ideal of each other, the facade that they could be happy? Was that why Salim had left? 

            That was his ultimate question, if love had not been enough to stay, if Lance hadn’t been enough to stay then what the fuck made Salim leave.  It was one of the main things that had always haunted Lance, the devastation of being left alone with nothing but a short scrawled out note on a piece of paper. Two words— two little words had destroyed him more than the absence, the abandonment, ‘I’m sorry.’ was all he had gotten compared to the vast amount of time they had spent with one another, the poems and songs, they’d shared, the experiences. All of it had meant nothing, he had to convince himself of it, to hate more, to detach himself from feeling ever again. 

            His tongue flicked out of a parched mouth to lick at his lips, words unable to form, so he remained silent, staring at the piece of paper for a long time, almost nervous to look up and ask any of the questions he had from so long ago. They say time heals all wounds but after more life times than Lance wanted to recall, his wounds were still as fresh as the day they had been inflicted. Finally, his gaze clawed upwards, searching, pleading, begging for something, if Salim truly meant that he still loved Lance, then he’d get something, some kind of answer. It should have been water under the bridge, but they were broken creatures, they’d always bring back the venom of a wound.

              Bringing the small note out had not been an attack, Lance genuinely had questions he wanted answered, perhaps now had been the worst of moments to bring it up, but he was being open, he’d always been that way. Wore his fucking heart on his sleeve, barred to everyone, he’d become so used to the stabbing pain of a broken heart that he almost expected it by now. Which he was sure would be no different now, feelings would be hurt, old wounds reopened, if they pursued the offered topic. The questions still unspoken, but his eyes, they were doing the talking, the pleading; why? was I not enough? all the questions were hurtful and they laced his blue gaze. 

              More than questions, though, there was love a return in the statement declared, of course he still loved Salim, why would he carry a reminder of their separation with him for so long if he had ever fallen out of love. A part of him would always belong to Salim, no matter how much time separated them, no matter the darkness that was consuming the both of them. One thing would always be for sure, Lance would never stop loving the man before him.

It was late, or early for the Russian, she’d only been out on the town for a few hours and still she hadn’t gotten a prospect. In her frustration, she had shortened her dress by a fraction, she was more than used to the frigid air of the winter season. Nothing was colder than mother Russia, or her heart for that matter. Entering the bar the petite woman shifted her bag further on her shoulder, eyes carefully scanning the men that were pressed against the bar drinking away their sorrows. It was their sorrows on which she preyed upon, taking a deep breath and pressing her breasts up more Phelia moved forward, slipping past a rather intoxicated group of young men who whistled at her as she passed. Her interest, however, was not on college kids who couldn’t afford her. 

There was a tall man, dark and had a beard, likely some sort of business man from the look of his attire, this suited her needs-- for now. Putting on her best and most flirtatious smile Ophelia moved over to the spot next to the man where there were a few open bar stools, hand running lightly against his arm as she posed to show off her assets. Yes, she was painfully obviously using her body to get what she wanted, it was all she knew. He wouldn’t know any different, by the looks of it he’d had plenty to drink, the red in his cheeks was enough to give that away. Perfect. 

“Hey there handsome,” Phelia all but purred, Russian accent masked by what she hoped was a normal American one-- something she had worked on since moving to the states. There were still some tells, like her r’s and a’s, but only someone from the country or was familiar with the language would peg her for being a native Russian. Her hand smoothed out a spot on his suit as if he needed it, gaze flicking up from said spot to his face to flash that pearly white charming smile. “Mind buying a girl a drink?”

It wasn’t the most subtle of attempts and it had certainly gone wrong, but Phelia was hoping with the amount of alcohol the man had consumed would help in obtaining her a night full of cash. She was good at her job, manipulating men into thinking it was okay, that this was just a deal between two people and she would definitely make it worth their time. And she did, Phelia was a master of her craft, selling her body; selling the complete disaster that was her fucking body, was her craft and god damnit if she couldn’t be a sane and normal person then she would be good at this one thing.

The man sized her up, eyes moving down her body and outfit, or lack thereof, in a most appreciative manner before he came back up to meet her gaze, scoffing loudly as he brushed her off, making her step back a few paces, the rejection obvious in his face. A scowl graced her features before he even had a chance to express his rejection.

“Get the fuck off me you slut.” The man barked, a little too loudly for Phelia’s liking, her brow furrowing with her temper as the man threw back the rest of his drink and tossed what he owed on the bar before he shoved off to leave. A low huff left the woman’s lungs before she cursed under her breath at the retreating and teetering man. 

“Get me a double scotch.” Ophelia said, sliding onto the bar stool, pushing her hair out of her face with an annoyed air about her. It was getting more and more difficult to get clients during the winter months and she had that itch she had to take care of, not to mention rent. “Fucking prick can shove it up his ass.” The woman muttered to herself as her drink was given to her after an I.D. had been produced.

       What had she thought? When this all began, when she made the choice to change Salim forever. Took away that right to a death and the freedom from what he wanted released from, instead, Hazelle had been selfish, she’d kept him with her--- the only light, the only kindness, the only love she had ever felt. When she was trapped within her darkness, he had been the one to pull her out, no one, had ever dared to do such a thing. How could she have let that go? Hazelle was, after all, a greedy monster, all she did was take and take and loved the other person to their death. It had happened to her family, ‘though their cruelty had been a significant reason in their death, but it had been Hazelle’s fault they all hated her. Even now, as Salim spoke, the moment falling into silence as the raven-haired woman tried to process what had been asked of her. 

         The truth was, she’d not been thinking, not of Salim, not really-- all she could think of in that moment, when she was to give him what he wanted, was what her life had been up to the time she met Salim and she could not take it if that was how it was to return, without Salim. So she kept him, making excuses that she did it because she loved him, which, she did, fully, completely, and always; spinning tales of fantasy, as if they, two miserable beasts, could truly be happy together. How fucking delusional had she been. Shifting a bit Hazelle ran a hand over her chest, as if she could really feel the pain of her thoughts in her dead heart. Taking an unneeded deep breath she flashed a smile, a guilty act, her pale eyes averted the ones which would haunt her forever. 

        Of course she knew it wasn’t enough, she wasn’t enough, those were dreams, fantasies of a silly girl who grew up in a time when knights were scoundrels and ladies were treated less than dirt despite the romantic measures many went to in order to wed another. But she had not been sane, a tainted and dirty woman, beautiful though she may have grown to be, no one wanted to marry or love a being who was tormented by the darkness. Her mother had constantly reminded her daughter of such things, standing in the sitting room gazing out at the people who passed by in the street, muttering that the reason no one came to visit them was because Hazelle was a damned girl, one married to the devil.

        “No, of course not---” Somehow her voice had returned to her, the thoughts she’d followed down into the darkness were clearing but they still steadied her in her guilt. A glance at his face was enough to damn her straight to hell, if she weren’t fully prepared to go there for the other horrible things she had done in her life. “I never thought this would be enough, I just hoped--- like a foolish, selfish little girl--- seeing life for the first time, that maybe it would work out... I thought--” Emotions filled her throat and Hazelle had to pause, unable to keep them from touching her gaze she looked away again, her jaw taut now to keep from sobbing. “I thought maybe-- just maybe.” Hope was a silly human thing, something she’d never lost despite what she had been through, it was the only thing that had helped her to keep what little sanity she had. 

          She couldn’t finish, not now, the emotions were too thick in her throat, Hazelle was afraid that if she opened her mouth the lies would pour forth, trapping him again, guilting him into staying, pleading for him to love her always. Never had there been such a selfish and manipulative person. And she had done it all this time in the name of love. What a cruel monster she had become, truly, she was as they had said when she was a child. A fucking monster.

         Stupid, selfish woman, believing she was enough, that this moment would not come, she’d done plenty to put it off-- the reckoning for taking his choice of a human death, for being selfish, for all the manipulative things she’d done to keep him and all the sinister things she did in between. “I thought--” Hazelle snipped, voice hurt, emotional, and almost angry, at herself more than Salim. “I thought that maybe I could give you what you wanted, what we both longed for, but I was wrong. I do nothing but destroy.” 

           A moment of silence followed, the burning sensation of tears streaking down her cheeks was enough to make her move, though, breaking the silence as she removed herself from the room-- like she should have removed herself from his life. But she didn’t want him to see her cry, see the guilt that could influence his bright heart. Because she was a corrupting darkness.