Shattered

Title: Shattered (Rough)
Author: ShadeOfSolace (AKA Shay361 or Shade Shavaya)
Pairing: Original, Ta'vay/Shane
Genre: Fantasy
Rating: PG-13 for self-mutilation, implied suicide, and slash
Summary: "I feel this is right. Somehow. I’m suppose to be walking down the dark paved street, as the rain drips slowly from stone roofs, hand-in-hand with this hurting, blushing boy." The meeting of strangers and how to truly comprehend the unknown.
Author's Note: I've just reread this story and decided I was proud enough of it to post it.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.


All the concepts, situations, and characters in this story belong to me. Please don't steal! And comments always make the writer happy!

Shattered (PG-13) Short Story Slash (male/male)


He melts from the crowd, headed toward the door quickly, as if the mass of bodies is disturbing him. I don’t know why I notice him instead of the others. He’s intriguing somehow. I watch him, idly sipping at whatever it was that I put in this glass. He stops at the door’s threshold and turns back, as if reconsidering. He sees me staring. I’m not ashamed and I don’t look away.

His smile is…pleasing to me, if that could be the word. It is a hopeful glance, coupled with the shy way his gaze drifts to the ground and then-he bites his lip in what is most likely an inner reproach. I smile at him, comforting. I hope he sees it as comforting. He moves away from the door and suddenly, we lose sight of each other in the crowd. I am saddened for the briefest of seconds-but we will find each other again. I try in vain to remember the exact way he looks, the color of his eyes, the fairness of his skin. Why does a random stranger mean so much to me? But he won’t be a stranger forever, no-I’m sure we will find each other again.

~~~~~*~~~~~

Long, dancing fingers intertwine with mine as my other hand comes up to brush away the strands of wispy hair falling against his face. His eyes slide to the floor and the faintest blush creeps onto his cheeks. I wonder how he can be so innocent. He’s seen too much, I realize with a start. I don’t know how I know, but it is there all the same. He has seen too much. Too much pain and suffering. His own? I don’t want him to hurt. I place a light kiss on his forehead and watch closely for his reaction, but the only thing he gives me is the deepening of the scarlet spread across his cheeks. It will have to be enough I guess.

We sit in silence. I stare at him, hopeful, and he never meets my gaze. But his hand never leaves mine. I want to pull him toward me and kiss away that sad smile, that innocent blush, but I’m afraid. Afraid that he would break-how fragile. Do I even know anything about him? To assume he’s in pain? To comfort him? It was only half an hour ago that I first saw him.

His gaze meets mine in a sudden breathtaking second and I know that I want to make him happy. Happy with me? He squeezes my hand in his own and brings the other to gently touch my face. I bend into the contact and kiss him palm lightly. His emerald eyes shatter and grow dark. He turns from me, as if ashamed of what he’s doing. I hear his sharp intake of breath and then he leans forward and whispers in my ear, "Follow me?" The first words he’s said to me. His breath tickles my ear and I close my eyes briefly, to revel in his voice, smooth and warm, yet with an underlying tone of…of what? Regret? Shame?

He kisses my ear and waits for a reply and I can see he’s tense. I can’t disappoint him. I lean back so I can look into his eyes and I tell him yes with a small smile. He smiles back, but it is disheartening, sad. His hand still in mine, he leads me from the party, from the house full of my friends, from my life-it seems like. This doesn’t feel real, I tell myself, it’s all a dream and I should be waking up now. But I’m not. And I don’t want to.

Outside, the ground is wet from the previous rain. The pavement is filled with puddles that reflect the moon and stars above. A slightly cold wind is blowing. I want to stay here. I love fall nights, cold and eerie. But his hand is pulling me forward. I wrap a hand around his waist and ask him where we’re going. He smiles and tells me that I’ll see. A part of me wants to be worried, to be afraid, and it is fed as we walk into the darker parts of town. How could I have left with a stranger that I have known for no more than an hour? But I don’t let its reason win me over. Above the fear, I feel this is right. Somehow. I’m suppose to be walking down the dark paved street as the rain drips slowly from stone roofs, hand-in-hand with this hurting, blushing boy.

Why is he hurting, I wonder, and I want to ask him. The sudden desire to know all of his pain overwhelms me. I need you to tell me…tell me all those horrible stories that make you cringe, tell me what makes your eyes shatter and how I can see so much suffering in them, tell me why you’re ashamed. Why won’t you tell me? Can’t you tell I want to know?

He leads me to a small unkempt park on the outskirts of the town, through cracked gates and up to a platform lined with benches. He sits down and begs me silently to join him. I do. We’re sitting close, curled up like a couple who has been going steady for years. Both his hands are caressing my one and wisps of sandy-colored hair have flown from behind his ears. I can’t stop staring at him, but he won’t look at me. Why do you refuse? You think I can’t see what’s in your eyes?

The benches are cold, but dry, the steps leading up to them cracked. Grass and weeds, tall and forbearing, line the platform, rising between breaks in the stone. The ceiling is dripping, forming a puddle off to our left and the drips carry a steady beat of music against the wind and the rain-heavier now. He rests his head on my shoulder and nuzzles my neck, eyes closed. My arms are wrapped around his protectively, warding away all the misery.

I kiss the top of his head and he lifts his face to look at me. His eyes aren’t green and they aren’t dark either. They’re red, they’re blood red. I smile and run my hand through his hair.

"I know," I say, and kiss his forehead, wishing that sad, regretful look would leave his face, "I know." And I do. He shakes his head and tries to turn away again, but I catch his chin in my hand and won’t let him turn. But he keeps his eyes downcast. ‘Look at me’, I want to scream, but I don’t. He’s too fragile. I bring my neck to his lips, but he just gives me a soft kiss and moves away. I want to force it back, but his hand on mine stops me.

"You don’t feel this way," he said and his eyes are shattering again.

"I do," I say and want to take him in my arms and make everything all right.

"No you don’t. Not really. You feel it because I’m…." He trails off, as if he can’t make himself say it and I wonder why he’s so ashamed.

"I do," I say again, sterner, as if making myself believe it too.

"No," he says, and removes his hand from mine. He has moved away and, I suddenly realize, there is no contact between us. I want there to be. I reach out for him but he stops me with a shake of his head. "You only came here because of what I am. Because I made you. You don’t feel anything."

"But I’m letting you."

"I can’t."

"Why?"

"I don’t want to hurt you."

"I don’t understand."

"You will," he says and reaches to touch my cheek, but suddenly thinks better of it and stands, "When I’m gone and your world is no longer a dream…you will." He leaves me.

~~~~~*~~~~~

Five months it’s been. The sudden realization hits me like a brick. My hand stops writing on the lined paper and I sigh. Five months. Was it real? No, it didn’t seem real. It was a dream, I guess, one of those vivid, colorful dreams that leaves you breathless. But it wasn’t real. Darren said I was drunk that night. I don’t remember being drunk, but then again, I guess I wouldn’t. A hallucination then, not a dream. But I can still feel him. The scent of him, the taste of him, that cute innocent blush and all the suffering mirrored in his eyes. I sigh again, but this time in a happy memory. My eyes wander to the paper. I have to get this report done. I’ll fail if I don’t. Pencil touches paper, but no logical words come to my mind. No thoughts of whatever it is I’m suppose to write. English? Isn’t this English? I don’t know anymore. I leave the assignment there and grab a light jacket, leaving the room to take a walk. Maybe it will clear my mind. I decide to walk along the cliff overlooking the ocean. It’s a spectacular view. I am alone, no one wants to come to the sea on a cold spring day. But that’s all right. I find a lone tree sprawled on the cliff, and I settle myself against it. I watch the seagulls and the waves, the sun glittering off the beautiful never-ending surface, and I think about recent events. It’ll be the end of school soon, my graduation, my 19th birthday not long after that. And more parties. I laugh into the spring air. I like parties.

~~~~~*~~~~~

I wake with a start and practically leap from the tree. How long have I been sleeping? I look at the ocean and resister the last few remains of the sun. The moon is on the rise and already the stars line the night sky, no city lights to drive them out. I have to get home. My parents will be worried, and then there’s all that homework…

Then I see him. I stop, not sure who it is. A boy, my age maybe, sitting on the beach, near the waves. His back is to me and the distance is great, but I know. I know it’s him. I’ve always known.

I make my way down the cliff-side with expert ease, vaguely remembering all the times I scared my parents as a child indulging in the same activity. I should go home. I know if I continue I’ll lose it all. But I have to go to him. I have to be with him. I’ve always had to. My palms are sweating and my heart is leaping in my chest with anticipation. It’s a miracle I made it to the beach. I fall on my knees beside him and register the sight I find there.

He is wearing white, or he had been. Cuts and scraps run rapid across his skin, the bleeding drips onto his clothing and stains them forever. He is barefoot and his arms and legs are exposed. The blood is running in little rivers out to the ocean and the waves crash near him every once in a while, futility trying to wipe the blood away. And the tears. The tears that are streaming in rivers of their own down his cheeks. His eyes are closed and I don’t even know if he knows I am there. I don’t think he cares.

His hand is held outward and a slim dagger is placed there, pointing toward his heart. It gleams silver in the moonlight, little drops and smears of blood paint its surface. He moves it forward, but my hand is there to stop him. His eyes fly open and it is like he sees me for the first time. Maybe he does.

I want to kiss away the tears. Destroy the pain, wash him clean. "I do." I say with a small smile and brush those ever-stubborn wisps from his face. "I understand now." I grasp his other hand and the dagger falls harmless to the sand.

"Why?" it is a broken whisper, a desperate cry for something to love, something to hold and cherish.

"Yours." I say, ignoring the question, "Yours. I want to be yours, forever." I kiss the corner of his mouth and wait with worried eyes for his reaction. He kisses me back, real this time, with a repressed passion. Our tongues dance together and I pull his body closer to mine, careful for the many wounds, oblivious to the blood. We grip each other , as if afraid that the other will disappear…and then the kiss is over and we are left staring at one another. His eyes are red, scarlet red, matching the trail of blood, matching the color of his cheeks. He tries to let his eyes slide downward and a sharp "No!" escapes my lips. He glances up into my eyes, his mouth slightly parted. I can see pearl white. I smile, comforting and pull his head towards my throat. And this time…he doesn’t object.