|poeticmisery (poeticmisery) wrote in manchester_rpg,|
@ 2010-07-07 23:51:00
|Entry tags:||beth, desmond|
Wishing only wounds the heart....
Who: Desmond and Beth
What: Leaving a note
When: The crack of Dawn
Where: Outside Beth's Apartment
Magdelena stood a few feet from him. He could feel her gaze upon him, shining blue eyes soft and steady, blinking quietly, if perhaps only to distract from the monoty that would be from them unblinking, a steady rhythm to give him a moment to breathe when he had escaped the kindness of her gaze, under which it felt wrong to make any sound, any action that would disturb the way that she looked at him. There was love in her eyes there as she stared at him, and sadness as well. She looked as if at any moment she might cross that distance between them, reach out and pull him into her arms. But Desmond knew that she would not, he knew with absolute certainty that she would not move from the spot that she was at, but rather stare there, transfixed, a living statue, a vague memorial to something that was so very long gone.
It tore at his heart to look at her, and warmed it at the same time, to see her face, to remember with such unwavering clarity every detail of how she looked, the soft lines in her cheeks that came from the way that she smiled in a way that no one else smiled. There was no real way to describe it, except that it was bright, and perfect, and amazing. It was wide, so much that if anyone else had smiled like that, it might have seemed out of place, but something about the way her face was, it just seemed perfect on her. Just like the way that she moved, just like the way that she acted. She was flawless, in a way, and in that it was fitting that she stayed still, because to have her act might shatter the illusion of it all.
Leaning up against a wall that he knew wasn't there, Desmond drew his knees up to his chest and stared up at her hopelessly, watching her as he felt that familiar pain flow over him. He pressed his face into his knees and clenched them so tightly that he thought that he might break them, even know that he knew that he would not, or perhaps could not. But all the same he could feel himself aching for the desire to scream, to let loose that agony inside of him and bellow it out to the world the way that he had in his youth. But in age that scream had been slowly silenced until there was really nothing left to scream for, just a deadened feeling in his chest, and the pain that would just never fade no matter how hard he struggled against it.
"She's not real, you know." Came a gruff voice from the side of him. Desmond did not need to look up to know that the grizzled face was staring at him, looking down at him with the one good eye, while the other remained covered by the black as night eye patch that had almost always covered it. It had always been a grim reminder that regardless of what Desmond was, a part of him was, in fact, still human and still vulnerable. There was a long moment of silence that lingered in the air aftwards, so very much like it would have been, had things been different. But Desmond knew the truth, even if he did not state it out loud immediately. Instead he hung onto it until he felt like it would burst from his lungs, and then, only then did he sigh before speaking.
"You are not real either, Balthazar. You taught me how to have lucid dreams. As much as I wish it were otherwise, I know that this is what this is."
"Then you know well enough to know that I am not really your teacher, but rather the part of you that is wanting to guide you, to be something more than you are at the moment." Balthazar replied.
"Perhaps, or you are just something that my mind is trying to process." Desmond started.
"You never can really be certain with the inner workings of the mind, no one can, not even vampires who have mastered telepathy." Both of them said in unison at the exact same moment. Finally, Desmond met his gaze, and offered him something of a weak smile, but remained quiet until Balthazar decided to speak. It was the way he had learned to handle his old mentor in the past, it only seemed fitting to follow the same procedure in the dream, even if it was nothing more than a farce of reality.
"You do realize that you can control lucid dreams." Balthazar said finally.
"Yes." Desmond replied with the usual soft brevity that he spoke with when it came to Balthazar. His old mentor was not one for verbosity.
"And yet, you keep her standing there, staring at you. When you could feel her in your arms again, hold her again..." Balthazar trailed off at that point, and looked at him, Desmond looked back, after glancing at Magdelena, who was still staring at him.
"You are wondering why." Desmond said finally. "It is because this is a dream, Balthazar. Even if I held her again, touched her again, kissed her again, she would not be real. I will not insult her memory by pulling a puppets strings and pretending that it is really her." Desmond replied softly.
"Ah, but you are willing to do such to me. You always were such a flatterer..." Balthazar growled sarcastically. "Desmond..." Balthazar started.
Desmond sighed softly and closed his eyes. "Do not say what you're going to say next, please."
"It was not your fault, Desmond. I said that in life, and-"
"I asked you not to say that." Desmond interrupted.
"If I am a part of you, then even you accept that the blame does not lie with you. Why must you torture yourself like this over it? The girl that you care for so deeply now... is this what she will be to you as well? Something that you keep a yard from you, safe and untouched, something that you use to torture yourself? Do you truly think that is what she wants, Desmond?"
"No." Desmond said softly. "I will not let what happened to Magdelena happen to her. Not any of it."
"Should that not be her choice to make?" Balthazar proposed.
"No." Desmond replied quietly, bowing his head. "That is the mistake that I made last time."