Title: {._your guardian angel ;;
Description: -- jaden. duh.
aiden lestrange - September 3, 2007 07:15 AM (GMT)
Yes! you are the ruin--the ruin--the ruin--of me. Literally. Dickens always did make sense, even if he hadn’t meant to. Aiden was quite sure that the muggle author, brilliant as he had been, had never intended Headstone’s words to means so very much to a seventeen year old young man in an entirely different situation, but such was life. Whether he’d intended to or not, his words, crafted and weaved and spun so very intricately, struck a darkened chord in the brilliant boy, forced him to think of blue eyes and innocence no matter how hard he tried to drown them out, toss them away. They always came back, crept into his mind at the most unexpected of times and poisoned his peace with their promises of love and happiness and something other than the cold feeling of cement slick with his own blood and occasionally some skin. It was a funny thing, seeing your own blood on the floor and feeling your skin peel off and watching it boil as the heat got too close. Funny feeling, too.
Even now, as he hauled himself down corridors and concealed his scars, images of her danced in his head, trampled across his thoughts and made it impossible to think of anything else but her and her purity -- it kept him walking, kept him breathing, kept him from collapsing in the middle of a crowd due to exhaustion. If he could just take that other step, one at a time -- don’t go too quick now, just that one, and then the next, and the next… -- then he’d be able to continue, and Avery’s ‘work’ would be for nothing, because he wouldn’t hear him scream and he wouldn’t see him give in. Pain be damned, Aiden Lestrange was the epitome of stubborn, and he refused to let a broken old man living through his son see him give up. It was more likely -- and he meant this truly, wholly, completely -- that he’d die at the twisted man’s hand before he actually gave in.
It was about her, as most thing he did were…but it was about him, too. Underneath the reluctant nobility that he’d tried so hard to deny, there was a touch of defiance. After the first lesson, it had become something else entirely, companied with the refusal to kill an impeccable purity such as hers. Aiden had never been an obedient boy, even in being the son his father had always wanted, he defied, he rebelled and smirked in the face of their authority. His father had always resented him for being stronger -- it wasn’t a hard thing to do really, for his offspring had simply been born better, born with that extra spark that everyone desired and so few actually attained. Of course, he’d never particularly voiced that fact -- what good father would do such a thing, right? -- but everyone who had taken a breath of the same air as the father and son had known.
The tension, the slight distaste, it was palpable and thick and sure; much like his cousin’s envy and Jada’s unconditional something-that-he’d-rather-not-bring-up-again. Her quiet belief in him was enough to make him sick, make him nauseous to the point of a high fever and a constant choking on his own vomit. He deserved it as much as he deserved the minister’s friendship ( He could still remember the last flicker of pain in Alastor Shacklebolt’s eyes as he died and he saw it every single time she smiled at him, the boy’s dark eyes and cold skin reminding Aiden that he would never, ever deserve that smile. Ever. ) There was something terrifying about her kindness -- she’d seen him spend time around her brother, who she knew was not among the nicest of people, and surely she had heard what all of Hogwarts had to say about him. Still, she trusted and she believed and she liked. It was nonsensical and for those reasons, it was also the most terrifying thing he’d ever felt.
To be trusted and liked in such an unconditional way -- it was only a matter of time before he fell short of her expectations and bruised that perfect heart. At least by shying away from her he gave her a chance to get away, an opening to run far -- far, far, far -- away from him before he could do more damage. Taking a shallow, quick breath, the quiet Slytherin took a moment and leant against the wall, ignoring the high-pitched yammering (‘How dare you, young man, this frame is new!’) of a portrait who had deemed him entirely too heavy to be weighing down the bottom of her frame by leaning his head against it. Tucking Our Mutual Friend into his back pocket, he curled into his position against the wall and bit his lip. The pain was something he could deal with -- scars, cuts, bruises and broken bones didn’t sting forever. The exhaustion was not. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, lugging around a useless leg and hauling yourself to class despite the fact that you were almost sure one of your ribs was shattered.
Healing charms were a very useful thing as of recent times, but Aiden didn’t have the ingredients to conjure a cauldron of skele-grow, and he knew it wouldn’t be a smart idea to ask anything of the nurse, or the potions master. He healed what he could, he slipped into the comfortable façade of a glamour charm, and he stumbled off to class -- that was how his life was now; stumbling, breathing slowly and trying not to bump into anyone too hard. I have no resources in myself, I have no confidence in myself, I have no government of myself when you are near me or in my thoughts. She didn’t have to be near him. The simplest of things set it off -- her brother, a line in a book, being in the library, seeing the students at the ravenclaw table, a certain author he knew she liked, a poem he’d never liked but she had always adored, a bright smile. Someone would smile at him, and he’d make an off-handed comment in his mind at the fact that her smile was brighter, truer. Beautiful.
And you are always in my thoughts now. When he was with her, his self-composure was non-existent, his cool façade was suddenly too warm, and he had nothing -- but it was the most fulfilling nothing he’d ever been in possession of, and sometimes he toyed with the idea that in this case, nothing meant everything. Because really, that nothing didn’t quite feel like nothing. He knew what nothing felt like -- it was settled up in his heart with regret and guilt every second he was away from her. When he was with her he felt nothing that felt conspicuously like everything and all that was in between and when he wasn’t with her felt nothing that felt nothing. Either way, he could see no happy ending. Everything was bound to become nothing once he let her down, and if he continued to be around her; he would let her down, that was certain.
He wasn’t sure he’d live through the next step or the next crowd of people rushing to class -- he wasn’t sure he’d live to see her smile one more time or read another book, sure if he was doing the right thing or if this was all wrong in thousands of different ways, but he was sure that he’d let her down. She was an angel, and all he could do was rip her wings away. He was talented at tainting innocence like hers, but he could not be expected to keep it safe. Not if he was around it. He hoped, he prayed to people he didn’t think existed and begged the divine powers of whatever-the-fuck-controlled-his-sad-pathetic-life that by staying away, drawing a barrier between them, she would remain safe. Away from him, from his darkness and his idiocy and his cruelty and his let downs. He wasn’t sure what it was that made him sick with the urge to throw all caution to hell and spend time with her again.
It was an urge he denied, a feeling he shoved down, but he’d still yet to figure out whether it was the natural high he sometimes felt around her, or the nagging, sickening terror he felt when she said something innocent and oblivious and kind. Naturally, he liked to think it was the elation she brought to his oh-so-icy-heart with a simple greeting, but often times he wondered if he’d become a bit of a masochist. It wouldn’t really surprise him if he’d begun to get a sick pleasure out-of-the-way his organs twisted when she made quiet little joke about him being a hero, her hero. Perhaps he actually found satisfaction in the clenching of his stomach when he remembered that he had been kissing his mission -- his task, his assignment, his nothing ( his everything. ) It would certainly explain why he kept dreaming about her, dreaming about happier times and different places, torturing him with possibilities that weren’t even possible and a happiness that he knew he could never reach nor be worthy of. His dreams caused more pain than Avery ever could.
Pushing himself off the wall, ( ‘Finally, finally, you move,” cried the highly offended maiden, shaking her straw colored hair with a disapproving glance at the exhausted boy. “Better not have made me slant, you little twit.” ) he kept a hand braced against it to support his own weight as he limped -- struggled, stumble, fell, threw himself -- down the empty corridor. There was a loud, incessant throbbing that he’d come to accept was his brain pounding against his skull and insisting that he sit down for a moment, buckling under the strain of trying to keep him coherent as well as moving and functioning. Heavy dark eyes fell across the hallway before him and latched hopefully onto an old, neglected door. His head throbbed urgently, nearly propelling him toward the door, and his legs protested with a weak, silent cry. He wondered briefly if he was in a quiet enough hallway to just let go and throw himself on the floor right here, right now, but the door seemed brighter when he looked back toward it, and he knew there was a certain safety behind it.
Doors closed, doors kept prying eyes from prying and doors were good to lean against. Doors didn’t yammer in your ear while you tried desperately not to start crying like a weak little girl because it hurt to breathe in a certain way. Sighing quietly, he shifted and bit down hard on his bottom lip ( The taste of copper would have flooded his senses if his taste buds hadn’t been dulled to the taste of his own blood over the more recent weeks. ) One foot slid out in front of the other and he forced the rest of his body to follow along with them, diligently ignoring the screams of protest from all his limbs. To the room, the empty room, and then he could sit, and take the charm off, and relax. For a few minutes, just a few. He’d wait until that disturbing clicking his ankle every time he stepped forward subsided, and then he’d leave and make his way down toward the dungeons.
It was the end of the day, and damn it all if he wasn’t going to go straight to the common room and sleep for the next five years. The dreams he knew would come could go screw themselves -- he was tired, exhausted, dead. The room was closer than the agonizing pain in his legs had thought, and eventually he was there, leaning against the door frame and staring down at the floor with a vacant look in his dark eyes. He was torn between feeling weak at the sharp sting of pain running up his spine and reveling in the fact that Avery had still yet to hear him scream. There were weaker people, he knew, but he still felt…helpless. Useless. Worthless. He’d spent a good deal of time telling himself that the worthlessness he felt had nothing to do with ocean blue eyes and white smiles, but then it had gotten tiresome and old, and he’d given up because it was more obvious than Jacob Longbottom’s insanity.
It had everything to do with her. The uselessness throbbing through his veins was directly connected to the fear that if Avery gave up, killed him…they’d give upon tricking Jada. If he was no use to them despite his intelligence because he wasn’t willing to hurt her, then what would they do to her? He didn’t want to even think about it -- thinking led to imagining and his imagery generally came back to haunt him during his sleep. Laying a hand against the dusty threshold, he gave it a gentle push and ignored the loud thumping his head gave at the agonizing creak of the door. Heaving himself past the arch of the doorway and into the silent, abandoned room, he stayed silent. He was in an empty classroom on the fourth floor, and the silence was…deafening; made him feel like every movement he made was too loud, too quick and too harsh.
Aiden’s eyes trailed up to find a desk at the end of the rows not too far from the door, and he decided to fall apart there, shifting slowly over toward it as quietly as he could. In his determination to get to the desk, he blatantly neglected shutting the door behind him -- there was no one on the damn floor anyway, so what did it matter, right? (In about three minutes, it would matter a great deal, but his brain had been too busy screaming in pain to tell his ears to listen to the footsteps behind him. ) Hauling himself into a sitting position on the long bench before the desks, he let out a quiet groan, feeling his ankle click in place as he put pressure on it and then let it go. Shutting his eyes softly, ( Shutting them tightly hurt a great deal considering the black eye he was nursing. ) Aiden released the glamour charm he’d been holding all damn day.
He was a smart guy, talented even…but there was nothing more difficult than attempting class work while struggling to keep up a glamour charm as well as ignoring the shifting of your ribs every time you took a breath. Trying though it was, it was absolutely necessary. Without the glamour charm, Aiden was a mass of cuts, bruises, scars and broken bones. Disturbingly graphic ones, marring his smooth features and making him the stuffs of nightmares to half of the first years he passed by. Thankfully, he knew extensive glamour charms ( It was the side effect of knowing quite a few high-maintenance women. ) so he’d pulled the incantations out of his mind and covered up his visible injuries. Unfortunately, the pain was something he couldn’t do away with. The only upside, and it really wasn’t much of a good thing, now that he thought about it, was that he was quite used to pain, so all was…well, no, all was not well.
Aiden clenched his fist, only to release it with a silent grinding of his teeth. There was a cut across his palm that was literally killing him -- he’d never known how hard it could be to write until the quill kept poking his gash every five seconds. He’d nearly cried in the middle of Potions class. He gave a sigh and let his eyes fall on a visible scar, still in the healing process -- the skin around it was all a sickening shade of pale pink, puckered and tightened and ripped. He honestly couldn’t remember how he’d gotten that one. It reminded him of the Sectumsempra curse, but he could never be sure. Avery was a creative man, and sometimes he resorted to muggle tools in an attempt to prove his point. They were not death eaters fighting for pureblood supremacy, and they were not above calling on the twisted mind’s of some muggles to procure results.
The Morte Incarnate stopped at nothing, fell to no one’s feet and had no limits. To think, had it not been for brown hair and sweet smiles, he would still be one of those people, ripping into the flesh of other’s and smiling at the rush of blood. But that was not his reality. It had been, at one point, but a few seconds of being near her and he was a different person. The things he’d done made him sick, the things he was expected to do seemed impossible and could only merit refusal. Suddenly he wasn’t good for anyone, let alone her and her beauty, and suddenly everything he’d known was a lie, a horribly weaved web of deceit. His life, in all it’s pathetic glory -- from his arrogance to his cowardice to his fears and his shortcomings -- was all a lie. The only truth he could find came wrapped in a small frame filled to the brim with undeserved trust and some sense of affection.
Even that truth, as honest and pure as it was, hurt. It was the burn of worthlessness and not deserving her, the knowledge that he’d once set out to hurt her that made her truth so painful, so terrible and horrifying and fear instilling. He was pathetic -- he was the prime example of a useless coward, the villains in books that always got what he deserved ( Sometimes, when he wasn’t feeling so self-loathing, he liked to think of himself as the silent, unsung hero, who really wasn’t all that bad in the end, and was just reluctant to change his whole world around. Sometimes, he wished he was in one of his damn books. ) Wincing at his betraying thoughts, he looked up from the floor and stiffened considerably, the hand tracing the puckered skin freezing in position. Blue met black. ( Once upon a time, before beatings and innocence and promises and refusals, they had been hazel. ) He should have closed the door.
No sound jumped from his mouth, no angry cry nor impassioned plea. He fell silent, eyes boring into hers as he lost the ability to shut them. How was she here -- had she followed him, for Merlin’s sake? How had he not known? Staring at her with an unreadable mask on his face, he swallowed. The glamour charms were off. His finger began tracing the scar on his wrist again in guilt. She could see all of it, and he wanted to kill himself at the slight twinge of pride and happiness he felt. ( Now she’ll know what you mean to her, how you’d do anythinganythinganything just to keep her safe. She kissed you, cornered you in the library and kissed you --that must’ve meant something and now she’ll see how much it meant to you. Maybe…Maybe she’ll…) He ignored his thoughts, disgusted with his own selfish desires. This was all to keep her safe -- letting her see the truth was not part of the plan and could only end badly. He swallowed again, breaking eye contact. I have never been quit of you since I first saw you. Oh, that was a wretched day for me! That was a wretched, miserable day! No it wasn’t. It had caused pain and lies and sadness and it had been the brightest day of his darkened life.
jada vaisey - September 9, 2007 09:18 PM (GMT)
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Whenever given the choice between following someone or straying on your own, Jada had always taken the latter. She had always found Robert Frost’s belief, that the road less traveled made the best path to follow, was true. Often it was where others feared to tread you found your heart’s content. Funny how things worked out that way, she had hardly known him and then the next day she couldn’t get her out of her mind. Everywhere she turned she looked for him instinctively. If only to simply send him a smile to him for the day, that was enough for her. Actually, in truth, just seeing him okay was enough for her. Whenever he looked content, so was she, for whenever they got alone time he sometimes changed. He could be sweet and kind, but then change and suddenly be cold and uncaring. She didn’t understand it but she understood there was a reason behind it.
For this reason, Jada thought she wasn’t good enough for him. She wasn’t enough to make him happy so she didn’t try to express her feelings as much as she had done in the past. Maybe not saying anything at all would be the best course of action for them. Jada could handle silence, some days she preferred it to the company she kept. And yet with neither love nor hate, Those starts like some snow-white, Minerva's snow-white marble eyes, Without the gift of sight. Jada looked up from her book momentarily to look around. (Like I said, it was instinctive.) Her blue eyes quickly found what she sought, he disappeared through the entrance into an abandoned corridor. She bit her lip and weighed her options evenly in her head. Looking around at the various people passing by she quietly slipped unnoticed to the edge of the wall by the entrance.
Jada waited there for a moment until the opportune moment to pass through the threshold. There we bowed us in the burning, As the sun's right worship is, To pick where none could miss them… And she was through, it wasn’t as hard as she made it out to be. No one noticed a Ravenclaw with their nose in a book, people knew not to disturb but still. She felt the need to be as sly as he had been going through. She quickly pulled out her wand and cast a silencing spell on her shoes so they wouldn’t make a noise as they moved. Sure this was wrong, but one; she wanted to be alone with him to apologize, yet again. And two; she was curious as to why someone of his social status was slinking off to be alone. With Aiden there was always an edge of mystery Jada was compelled to solve. Today was no different as she followed several yards behind him.
Why did she feel such a magnetic pull to him? It baffled her because never before had she ever been interested in the opposite sex and he came along… Now she was stalking him. Jada halted in her tracks, oh Merlin. I’m stalking him… She stood there staring wide-eyed at the floor having come to terms with what she was doing. She shifted her weight and turned her shoulder back to the door, maybe she’d just turn around and go back. This wasn’t necessary at al- The scraping sound coming from up ahead broke her train of thought. Jada squinted to see what made the noise. She couldn’t make it out so she reluctantly moved forward with curiosity. Surely the noises couldn’t be coming from Aiden… Jada held her book to her chest, clinging onto it for security as she slowly got closer, but never enough for him to notice her.
In the short time she had known him as dearly as she did she had always screwed up in some way. Even now, as innocent as her curiosity was, she was in short following him without his knowledge. That was wrong as well. But she never knew what to do around him, he understood everything she used against people to confuse them with her hidden meanings. He read the same books she did so he understood everything she could say to him. And when she did try to be honest with him he put up his own wall that she couldn’t penetrate. He knew she couldn’t, that’s why he put it up she was sure. She wished he could be honest with her, but Jada also understood that there were some things people wanted to keep to themselves. But Jada’s mind drew larger conclusions with this idea.
As she got closer to him she suddenly realized he wasn’t moving, but instead he was slumped up against a portrait. Jada quickly ducked into an alcove to hide herself. She pressed her back up against the wall and closed her eyes. She silently wondered to herself why she was hiding. Why didn’t she just go up to him and announce her presence. In the back of her thoughts she knew it was because she was still partially curious as to where he was going. But didn’t that fall under invasion of privacy? Jada let out a sigh and opened her eyes. Leaning forwards slightly she looked at Aiden from around the corner. He looked to be in pain, but she couldn’t see any reason why he’d have to be in pain. He looked totally healthy. She bit the corner of her lip before leaning back into her shadowed space, her body pressed against the wall.
She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. He was such a mystery to her that she couldn’t understand, let alone solve. He never let her in. Sure he’d open the door, but he’d step outside it without ever offering her to come in. She wanted to know what it was that he so desperately tried to hide. Why he wore the masks he did. She knew they were masks, how else could you explain him being as nice and endearing as he could be one moment before turning around to be a complete dick the next. Even her brother wasn’t that instable, and she had seen him in his best moments before. Jada released her lip as she leaned forwards once again her baby blue eyes looking over at him. She knew. She knew, even if she wouldn’t admit it, that she liked him. How far this like went she couldn’t tell you. Well, she knew, of course. But if asked she’d lie. She’d deny any sort of attachment she truly had to him.
But how else could someone explain this sort of mental thing she had for Aiden? He was never not on her mind, whether it was because she was cursing him for being so cold, or thinking about how wonderful he had been that day. He was medicine yet at the same time he was poison. They both knew that. But she preferred the former. Maybe she was the same for him? She helped him be someone else, and when he was someone else his poisonous features came out. Jada shook her head and leaned back again. Nope. He definitely didn’t feel the same way as her. If he did he wouldn’t belittle her as much as he did. She was just a companion, someone he could ridicule. Jada looked down at the book in her hands and flipped it open to a well worn section. Like some up-ended boulder split in two, Was in her clouded eyes; they saw no fear there. She seemed to think that two thus they were safe. Then, as if they were something that, though strange, She could not trouble her mind with too long, She sighed and passed unscared along the wall. 'This, then, is all. What more is there to ask?'
Jada smiled to herself, unknowing of how true the statement was for her life. She closed away the comforting words of Mr Frost and rolled the book back up in her palm. When she did finally lean out to check on Aiden once more she found that he had already picked himself up and went along on his way. She swallowed hard and removed herself from the wall and alcove, stepping back into the hallway. With her fist still tightly wrapped around the novella she walked forwards, lightly biting her lip as her eyes scanned for any sort of presence around her. Jada frowned in quiet concern as she made her way to the nearest door way. With her free hand she gripped the door handle, turned and thrust with her hip to get it open. No one. Disappointment was a strange sensation as it flooded her veins. Her expression twitched between annoy and confusion before she tried to block away her emotions.
She didn’t need to conflict things with emotions she didn’t understand. First she had to find Aiden again. Why? She didn’t have a damn clue, but something told her, deep inside, something was wrong and she needed to find him. The pull, the desire, in her stomach was so strong and lurching she followed along further opening door after door in an attempt to find where he had gotten to. She stopped for a second and looked at the portrait he had previously been using for leverage. Her eyes met the woman’s in the portrait. She huffed some uncaring statement at Jada (“If you think I have suddenly become your personal leaning post young lady, think again. I will not tolerate being used like an inanimate object!”) Jada had to walk away before the urge to tell the woman she was inanimate and had no right yelling at people got to great to control.
Further along she went, stopping at every spot that Aiden could’ve slipped through and taken another path. Each one ending with Jada closing the door once more and walking away with doubt seeping further into her mind. Maybe she had lost him… Maybe she should just turn around and go to her common room with all the other students. Something cleared those thoughts from her mind and she was urged once again to move forwards. Her grip on her book was tight still as she finally reached a door that was open. She stepped backwards out of view instinctively as she took a moment to chaste herself for being so obviously blind before she stepped forwards. Her heart was pounding as her eyes sought out her certain individual. There he was. She let out a quiet sigh of relief before she noticed anything out of the norm. Jada was never one to be particularly observant upon first glance.
As her eyes cleared up slightly she saw it. She saw it all. Her eyes skirted between his split lip to his black and blue eye to the cuts lining his arms. Her eyes widened softly and her heart felt as though it were going to stop altogether in her chest. She couldn’t understand. She had seen him a moment ago, he looked fine, if not for the obvious discomfort that lined his features. But three minutes previously he certainly hadn’t been as destroyed looking as he did now. She was numb. She couldn’t think… And she didn’t know what to do. He still didn’t see her… She could turn and pretend like she hadn’t been here at all… Or she could say something, but what? Was this the big secret? Was this what he had been trying to hide from her? Her brow crossed in confusion and her eyes darted around the room wildly. No one else was here, unless they were under an invisibility cloak. But those wounds didn’t look all too recent, at least recent in the sense of the past three minutes. Plus- had it had just happened she would’ve heard him, wouldn’t she have?
While no other coherent thought made its way through her mind she did know one thing: She wasn’t going to leave him. Ever. She didn’t have it in her, and she never would. She wanted to help him but she didn’t know how. If this was what the big secret was, she knew now… Did that mean he’d still have an excuse to lock her out and throw away the key? He had to let her in now… Jada mentally groaned and pressed a hand to her face. That was an incredibly selfish thought. He was obviously very, very hurt (for what reason? She wanted to know) and she was thinking about getting closer to him. She dug her fingers into the corner of her eyes until it hurt before she dropped her hand back to her side. She stared at him some more and reveled in how strong he was. She wouldn’t have been able to put on half the façade he had done.
Her eyes took in every cut, bruise and scar… Why would someone ever do this to someone? What reason could you ever have to practically kill a person, but keep them living (as this was Jada’s interpretation of this scene)? She knew now that she wanted to hug him. She wanted to tell him it was going to be okay because now she could help him. Sure he was smart, but she was smarter… She’d be able to do what he couldn’t. She could fix him, heal him… Make it okay. She was determined to do it. Nothing was going to stop him damn it. She felt the wetness along her cheek finally. She reached up and brushed the tear from her cheek. She never wanted to see Aiden like this ever again, she knew that much as well. Another tear fell, and then another, and yet another. She brushed each one away trying to save face. He wasn’t crying and he was the one dealing with it all.
She was still trying to warm her muscles once again and move them forward towards him when suddenly his black eyes shifted up and caught her in a penetrating gaze. Suddenly she couldn’t think all over again. It wasn’t because the gaze was an angry one, or that of embarrassment… it was something else. He was ashamed (which to Jada was an entirely different level of embarrassment). But what did he have to be ashamed of? He was so strong to her… To be able to be like that and… She wiped another tear from her cheek. They came slow but steadily down her cheeks. She wasn’t going to be able to stop them any time soon. Slowly she gained momentum once more and her foot lifted itself off the floor and she moved forwards. It was a hesitant movement but she did it none the less. Then again, her foot lifted and fell a pace in front of her other foot. Slowly but surely she made her way across the room to him. She stopped short of the desk and stared down at him (potentially the only time she’d ever be the one looking down at the other).
She licked her lips quickly before she looked away to gather her jumbled thoughts. Turning slightly she made her way around the desk and sat down next to him. She set her hands on the desk next to him. She looked at how porcelain and untouched hers appeared next to his calloused and broken ones. She swallowed, much like he had done before she reached out her shaking finger lightly tracing the wound. Feeling the scar under her fingertip made it all the more real for her. This was real and it wasn’t going to turn out to be some horrid dream she was about to wake up from. Her eyes shifted and she looked down at where she was touching. Her hand was shaking violently still so she pulled away afraid to hurt him further more. She dropped her hands to her lap where they proceeded to toy and twist her skirt out of nervous habit.
She couldn’t think of anything to say right now… First she had to calm herself down, he seemed better off then she was as it were. She wrapped the material around her fingers as she stared down at it. Finally she drew the conclusion that she was being terribly childish and straightened up, swiveling her head to see him. She licked her lips once more before she bit down hard on her lip. She reached out slowly and caught his chin with her hand. Without much force she turned it so he was facing her enough that she hoped it didn’t hurt. Still with small movements she dropped her Robert Frost book on the desk in front of them before she moved her hand to catch his cheek softly. Her hand, holding his chin, slid out from under there to the other side of his face so she now held it between both her hands. Now that she was up-close to him she could take in every cut and bruise. He suddenly seemed so fragile to her, that it was terrifying.
Her thumb ran along his cheek as her concern eyes locked with his. She didn’t understand any of this. But she was certain she had been sent to help him. What else could explain that strange feeling of need to follow him? It had to been something greater hoping that she’d be able to get through to him… She could, couldn’t she? She gnawed lightly on her lip as she looked over his face. If his face and arms were so bad she wondered what the rest of him looked like. Had that noise she had heard earlier, been him dragging a bum leg? Merlin, she hoped not… The tension between them, for a first, was high strung. She released her sore lip and caught his eyes with her own once more.
“Why?” She whispered to him. It was a question that bore no specifics because she was asking him a million questions at one time.
Why was he hurt so much? Why did he let it happen? Why hadn’t he told her? Why did he keep it a secret? Why didn’t he seek help? So many why’s and she wanted to know them all… Her hand moved slowly to run along the bruise. She did it gently knowing that any pressure would cause him pain. She dropped her finger away from it and her hand returned back to where she was holding his face. She didn’t want him to look away. She didn’t want him to lie to her anymore. She wanted the truth. She wanted to know everything… He couldn’t hide it from her anymore. This was his moment of truth. Her heart--is given him, with all its love and truth. She would joyfully die with him, or, better than that, die for him. She knows he has failings, but she thinks they have grown up through his being like one cast away, for the want of something to trust in, and care for, and think well of… Aiden was right- Dickens had it right.
aiden lestrange - September 18, 2007 11:39 PM (GMT)
It felt strange; drowning. There was a distinct feeling ( ‘no-room-to-breathe-lung-crushing-spirit-shattering’ came to mind. ) about it, coursing through his tar-infested veins and demolishing any sliver of freedom, hope, survival. Cornered -- he was fucking cornered. Bright blue oceans had chased him into a two by two space, pushing him further down and father away from his security zone, his carefully erected walls; built to keep everyone and anyone outside ( -- or maybe it was inside, he could never tell anymore. ) His eyesight was clouded by the murkiness of the water, his moments were sluggish and painfully jerky as it was never the easiest thing to do; moving your limbs about in waters so deep that if you hit the bottom, there was no chance of coming back out, not ever. He’d hit the bottom about twenty seconds ago. Now he was just falling, falling, falling into nothing.
Okay, so maybe Aiden wasn’t actually drowning in any ocean ( It was easy to confuse her cerulean eyes with the bluest of oceans, temperamental and beautiful and refreshing and suffocating. ) but he certainly felt like he was, despite his sitting position and the very obvious lack of water in the room. Those were all technicalities as far as he was concerned. The important components that went along with the feeling of drowning were the inability to breathe, the idea that you were being dragged down and down and down until you could no longer see the surface and the fact that it was one of the most unsettling things a person could ever feel in their life. Someone had once told him that drowning was a peaceful sort of death -- like coming home. Fucking liar. There was nothing peaceful about being ripped away from the surface, clawing back toward the fresh air and safety even though you’d never get to it.
Coming home, yeah, right. ( Then again, Aiden’s ‘home’ was never much of a peaceful place, so he supposed that his home could be associated with the feeling he was going through. ) There was nothing peaceful about this feeling, staring into her clouded blue eyes; never mind the fact that he was leaning on his leg in a highly awkward position that was five seconds away from making him burst into tears. Anyone who found stinging, burning, suffocating pain to be peaceful was clearly not in their right mind. Sanity, however, was highly relative, so he could never be sure. What he considered sane was very likely to be considered crazy by others -- opinions were a very complex concept. The complexity of different viewpoints and ideas, unfortunately, was not the boy’s main concern at the moment. Instead, he was much more preoccupied with the fragile girl standing in the doorway.
She had followed him.? ( Followed by a question mark for the sole reason that the idea of Jada Anne Vaisey ducking behinds walls in a secret agent manner and stalking someone was a cross between highly amusing and unbelievable.) Apparently, he mused, midnight eyes trailing cautiously up her small form. He would have been openly amused if he wasn’t more or less bleeding out against the empty desk. There was a very obvious deer-caught-in-the-headlights look about her, her wide eyes larger than usual and a slight look of sheepishness gracing her soft features, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. ( He wished it was that simple -- send her away with the threat of no desert and all was well. ) At that moment, he felt something that was torn between peace and chaos at the same time, worry and relaxation, just by looking at her and seeing the innocent intentions written all across her face. He’d never be able to tell you quite what it was, regardless of how long he lived.
And then she saw him. ( really saw him, bruises and cuts and scars and all. ) She let out a sigh that was more like a whispered breath of air, and then the eye she’d been drowning in earlier focused in on him, widening as she looked him over in silence. He shattered, cursing himself for deciding to rest, deciding to walk into this classroom and for not closing the damn door. (There was a part of him that was irrevocably pleased with himself for making such a mistake, bringing her here without knowing it. It was the part of him that Aiden more or less tried to ignore. ) This was something he couldn’t brush off, lie about until it went away. It would be impossible to pull one of his mind games and make an sarcastic, flippant comment about getting into a fight with the school owls because he’d neglected to feed his own and they had banded together in an attempt to reprimand him.
He wasn’t sure how he’d expected this whole situation to turn out. If he was being completely honest (Something that he still wasn’t entirely used to. ) he had never really…thought about it. It hadn’t been the kind of decision that’d involved hours and hours of internal debates piled upon lists of pro’s and con’s. Aiden had never actually thought about what making the decisions he’d made would mean for the future. ( Well, for his future. ) He’d never really thought about the situation at all. It’d been a split-second realization, walking away from Jada one day after he’d realized that he could never do what had been asked of him. He certainly hadn’t sat down in his room and thought about it -- should I ruin her, should I leave her be? Of course, he’d debated his feelings for her, debated his worthiness -- but he’d never once debated whether ignoring his orders was the right thing to do. It wasn’t debatable. It was one of the few things he’d ever been sure of.
He’d never entertained the idea that she would actually…discover the truth. No, Aiden had pretty much assumed that this…thing would go on until he eventually died, Avery taking it much too far on one occasion and taking the boy’s life. He’d been prepared to die quietly, trapped into a corner of a torture chamber. Jada would never have known anything. It’d seemed the most logical of conclusions. ( For such a smart person, he could be very hasty at times. ) The possibility that she would one day happen upon him in his true form and want answers, because he knew she was going to ask him about his appearance sooner or later, was something Aiden hadn’t considered. What was he going to tell her? What could he tell her ? Somehow, he didn’t think ‘We’ve been betrothed since birth and I’m part of one of the most notorious organizations of dark wizards in existence’ wouldn’t go over very well. ( He wanted to think that the confession of protecting her and nearly dying for her would soften the blue, but Jada had always seemed to hold truth on a bit of a pedestal. ) He doubted there was a general statement in existence that could explain this away.
Was she crying? Merlin, she was crying. He’d thought the constant stabbing pain of a bum leg was bad enough, but her tears were something that his now very weak heart couldn’t stand. Coupled with the hell he’d been through, the few tears falling from her eyes were enough to bring back that drowning sensation and it was only a few seconds before he fell back down toward the bottom, flailing uselessly in an attempt to get the slightest bit of oxygen. He knew Jada well enough to know why she was crying, and the knowledge of that made him hate himself a little more with each passing moment. He’d made her cry. ( In reality, it was Avery’s fault that she was hurriedly wiping away the liquefied sadness, but Aiden had begun to develop a bit of a guilt complex since his conscience had been born. ) She was standing there crying, and it was his fault. If he’d just been honest --maybe if he’d never approached her that day in the library ( Merlin, that was a terrifying thought; not knowing her. ) or maybe if…Fuck, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore.
Before he could think (-- which, coincidentally, was a pretty hard thing to do when trying to ignore the thousands of stinging cuts on your body and the girl who you were staring at in the doorway. ) Jada was moving out of the doorway and closer to him; one foot in front of the other in slow and shaky steps. Fortunately for her, Aiden was all but chained down to the desk by a useless leg and an exhaustion that was simply unrivaled. He wanted to run, fast and far away; but he wasn’t quite that strong. ( He wasn’t sure anyone was. ) If there was one thing that made him feel even more weak than he’d already felt, it was allowing her to see him, like this -- broken, useless and pathetic. He never allowed anyone to see him in a state of weakness, and yet here he was; weaker than he’d ever been before and rooted to the ground in front of the one person he was trying to be strong for.
In the few seconds it took her to move across the room, Aiden wondered what had become of himself. Memories of who he used to be were quickly becoming blurred, and he knew that sooner or later they would be lost completely. He would never be the same person, and he marveled at the idea that a single person could change him so much and in so little time. To be fair, Jada was no ordinary person -- unique in every aspect, in her beauty, in her nature and her demeanor, but still. The fact that all she had to do was smile at him and he was sent into a haze of dreams and hope was both terrifying and fascinating. She was just that special, he supposed. Jada was a species all her own, her undeniable brilliance capable of turning another’s world upside down with little to no effort. He doubted that she was even aware of what she’d done, both to him and for him.
His eyes remained focused on her own as she moved, and by the time she was standing in front of the desk, he could see the glittering flecks of silver in her eyes. Jada was in possession of the most beautiful eyes he’d ever come across, hands down. There was something absolutely entrancing about them, and the pure, undiluted shade of blue seemed to be a testament to the girl’s own purity. Her eyes were expressive, told you almost everything you could possibly want to know about her within one or two glances -- or maybe it was just him. He could always swear that her eyes showed him everything, but Aiden had always been good at reading people, observing their body language and their tones. Besides, Jada had always been honest to the point of being innocently blunt, so maybe he’d just imagined the flashes of purity and brilliance and beauty in her eyes. Or maybe they were exactly like he thought they were.
The second she looked away from him, he wanted her to look back. ( Er, excuse me,but I was quite content staring into your eyes, thanks. ) But she was moving again before he could catch her gaze, around the desk he had claimed and claiming the empty spot next to him. His throat tightened for reasons he couldn’t remember and he shifted as much as he could without crying out in pain, both hands falling limp and his leg stretching out in the slightest bit to a more comfortable position. He tried to ignore the slight scraping noise it made, seeing as there was no way he was going to be able to put any pressure on it now. At this point, Aiden was just waiting for his body to fail, give up, call retreat. There was only so much the human skin could take, right? He’d been counting on a few more meeting or so, and then, he’d figured that he’d just give out, his body would stop functioning under all the strain. At least it’d be over, right?
Dying sounded like a happy alternative to this. ( By ‘this’ he meant the broken skin and black eyes, not the being so close to Jada that he could smell her perfume. ) If he ignored the shame and the current situation he was in, along with the still very present sting of his own injuries, then he found he could just enjoy being near her, feeling the heat from her body drift off toward him in the small gap between them. Forgetting all the complications in his life was pretty easy to do when she was sitting next to him. If he concentrated on her hard enough -- just her, not on her last name or the implications that it came with, but just her and her distinct beauty -- the gash across his stomach no longer sent stabbing pains through his abdomen every time he moved or bent slightly. The weighted, heavy feeling of his leg faded away to an overall feeling of lightness, weightlessness. Problems disappeared, a rare sort of happiness came into view.
But then her fingers were dancing lightly across the scar he had been staring at moments before, and all the oxygen ran from his body in seconds, leaving him stiffened and suffocated. Reality smacked him across his bruised face and he came back down from the sheltered little cloud he’d elevated himself to for a moment. The complications were back -- his dishonesty, his mission, her blind faith -- and his steady breathing was gone. A finger traced the broken skin and he hissed quietly, pulling in oxygen as quickly as he could in an attempt to calm himself. It wasn’t so much that it hurt, although it did, but he knew the sudden change in his breathing pattern had a lot more to do with the physical contact then his injuries. He could save face when it came to his wounds, grit his teeth and bear it; but the effect she had on him was something he’d never been able to control.
She yanked her hand away, tossing them uselessly in her lap and fidgeting with her skirt in what he assumed was a nervous habit. He stared down at where her hand had been on his skin, too frightened and ashamed to look up or in her direction. Jada seemed to be as conflicted as he was, although he was considerably better at not showing it. ( Lying to the world was not something to be proud of, he reminded himself. ) It stung to know that she was only this conflicted because of him ( -- and yes, there was a little satisfaction and hope paired with the sting, knowing that she cared enough to get as upset and unbalanced as she currently was. ) and he added this onto his list of things to feel guilty for. Lying, hurting, avoiding, ruining. All his fault, all things he’d done to her that he could never forgive, never let go of, never fix. He was the damned; the lost; the hopeless. ( She was the salvation; the searchlight; the hope. )
Jada made the first move again, her hand locking into place under his chin and forcing him to look at her. It was funny, how determined he’d been earlier to catch her gaze, and now all he wanted to do was look away before it drove him insane. Aiden made a feeble attempt to avoid her eyes even then, onyx orbs flitting downward to the book in her hand and then all the way past her to the other side of the room. Anything not to see what was in her eyes, anything to avoid the truths he wasn’t sure he could handle. Eventually, her grip on him tightened ever so slightly and he relented, letting his dark eyes fall on hers. His insides clenched at the emotions he saw fluttering across the wide blue oceans she had for eyes. Once again, his breath was sucked away from him and he froze, staring back at her and losing the use of his own lungs.
Startled by the sudden ‘thwap’ of Robert Frost against the desk they were occupying, Aiden twitched visibly, breaking eye contact and glancing down at the offending object. He really needed to pay more attention, as he had now been reduced to an excitable little kid that jumped at the slightest noise, recoiled at any sudden movements. Regardless of his attention span, he would have been disturbed by it anyway, his mind distracted by the louder than normal pounding of his heart in his chest and the thousands of way she could explain this to her without making her hate him for the rest of her life. Not speaking to her was hell (Fortunately -- or unfortunately, he wasn’t sure which -- he’d been born and raised in Hell, so he knew how to live in it. ) but knowing that someone as angelic as her hated him, despised him would surely be the end of him. He couldn’t live with that, regardless of how much he wanted to protect her. Her hatred would shatter him.
Caught up in his own nervous ramblings, he failed to notice her moving again until her satin soft hand came up to cradle the side of his face; small and delicate against the harsh angles of his shadowed face. Unconsciously, he leaned in to her touch, relishing in the feeling of her hands on his face. It was unsettling, how her soft, feather light touches seemed almost holy, musical, elegant. She was afraid of hurting him. He doubted he could go through more pain than he was at the moment, but he resisted the urge to tell her that the only way she could make him shatter was with her disgust, not her hands. ( Although if she slapped him, that was bound to hurt pretty damn bad. Thankfully, Jada wasn‘t the abusive sort.) Her other hand slip up to cup his empty cheek, all but cradling his face as she ran her eyes over the damage. He could barely sit straight, wanted nothing more than to just lie down and sleep and he knew it was highly visible on his face, through his body language and for once; in his eyes.
His eyes stung with tears he wouldn’t allow himself to shed and it took all his self-control to keep from shutting his eyes and leaning in to her hands even further. As ridiculous as it sounded, he felt safe with her. He was the one protecting her, and even though he knew he was about to ( It was inevitable, even though he didn’t want to face that truth yet. ) confess to her things that could change the tentative relationship they had formed; all she had to do was look him in the eyes with unbridled concern and affection and run her thumb along his face, and he felt safe. It didn’t seem possible, that she could melt away all his problems with one touch and yet all of his problems seemed to revolve around her; the center of the damn world ( -- of his world. ) There was a thick tension in the air, all the lies hanging between them, courtesy of one Aiden Lestrange, but still, he felt sure that the only pain he could find here would be in the outcome of their conversation. Everything else couldn’t touch him, not here.
”Why?” He swallowed loudly the second he heard her voice, folding into himself and entering full on avoidance mode. He couldn’t tell her, there was no way -- what would she think? How could she look at him afterward? No, no, he couldn’t tell her all the lies he’d fed her, he wouldn’t. It would break her and in turn, rip him to shreds. It would be better if he said nothing at all, if he stayed silent until she just got his meaning and left, so he could wallow and hate and die. Alone. Still, even as he thought it, he couldn’t bring himself to avoid her question. It was the least he could do, to be honest with her, after everything he’d done, right? Besides, his damn mouthwash’s letting him brush her question off. Traitorous mind, traitorous heart. Letting out a slight whimper, his eyes fluttered closed. ”Please…don’t…I can’t…”
He was so pathetic. Weak. Useless. Forcing his eyes open and mentally cursing himself when they fell down to glance nervously at the book she’d laid on the desk, Aiden began to hate himself just a little bit more. Finally summoning up some kind of strength and attempting not to appear so horribly insignificant, he trailed his eyes back up and locked them with hers, biting the inside of his cheek before he recited words that were certainly not his own. ”How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.” He remembered saying it to her once, and now he reminded her of it, trying to catch his own breath ( -- and maybe even a sliver of sanity and self-composure. ) before he formed his own confession from his own thoughts instead of Bram Stoker's.