Written under the influence...

It was 4 am and I was alone... well, not alone at all. I was alone in a crowd of strangers. They were all in costume, dressed to the nines, and buzzed. Some flat out, stumbling drunk. I admit, I'd dressed for the occasion myself, and have to be careful not to walk too fast too long... I can only do so much in a corset. I toyed with my collar, anxious but happy. I went with the flow of people and found myself returning to my usual spot. The basement, the table.

He was there, of course. The music was still blaring, but the basement was nearly empty. A few stragglers stood around talking, one person still wanting to buy a shirt or someshit. I wandered nearer, pretending to read something on one of the tables nearby to sneak a peek. Caught. Instantly. He was looking right at me. Fuck. I smiled and looked away, picking up a flier and trying to read it. When I glanced over again, he was two steps from me.

"Hey." he nearly whispered.
"Hmm?" I looked up at him, paralyzed as usual.
"Come up at six." he murmured and I felt him put something in the hip-pocket of my pencil skirt. With that, he turned around and walked away, back to his table.

I took that as a cue to go, so I did... I went up the escalator and reached into my pocket as soon as I got to the top. It was a piece of folded paper, and inside that, a room key. I stared at it for the longest time, letting it set in. 6 am. Room 4412.

This is speaking from personal experience.

It was early but already so warm. My last day there. The excitement of never having to return and a long summer of freedom ahead of me made my heart race, but at the same time, I was anxious. With the end of that summer came something completely new. New school, new classes, new teachers, and hopefully new friends. I hoped the classes wouldn't be too hard.

My shoulders already ached from the weight of my books, not a good sign, so I headed first to homeroom so I could drop my things. I slumped my backpack into a chair, pulled out my main binder, and decided to see what my classmates from other rooms were up to.

I stepped out of the classroom and into the hall at just the perfect moment. Scattered groups of people made their way past, chattering amongst themselves. Then he walked past me slowly, not giving me a second glance. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, on something much more serious than everyone else. But it felt like the floor came out from under me.

He was probably the second or third goth I'd ever seen up close. I was instantly fascinated, watching him walk off in his boots, blue streaks in his hair, thick silver lipstick, battered fishnets covering his pale arms. I wanted to be near him. I wanted him to talk to me. And then it hit me. It was HIM. The boy I knew when I was much younger, before I came to this school. He was the one I sat with amongst the newly planted pines, talking about nothing and ignoring our classmates. The one I spent recess with, just wandering the field with a few friends following us. I wanted to call out to him after this revelation.

But I feared he didn't remember me. Unable to stop myself, I followed him down the hall. I wanted him to turn around and recognize me, but he didn't. Surely, I had changed as well. I had grown my hair out and highlighted it. I wore tiny silver frames, and tight, well-made jeans instead of the usually dirty things I showed up to school in back then. Most of all, I had developed a figure of sorts. Finally, he came to a corner, and I gave up, just standing there like an idiot. I clutched my notebook, still rather stunned.

The day dragged by, especially since none of my friends found my story about the goth boy interesting (in fact, one of them even expressed disgust). After the teachers finished going through the motions of whatever it was they needed to do, we were released for an end-of-the-year assembly. I filed in with everyone else and found a plastic chair on the gym floor (since all the bleacher seats above were taken).

Speeches were given, awards handed out, but my mind was elsewhere. I was looking through the crowds, hoping like hell I might spot him again. Finally as the lights were turned off and a slideshow of school events began, I caught sight of him. He was in the bleachers behind me, and looking me directly in the eyes. Again, with the cold shock and floorless feeling.

I smiled as best I could and waved to him before turning back again, blushing hard and feeling a little dizzy. He had waved back. And was that a hint of a smile? I wanted to turn back around and see, but I didn't want to look like some kind of moron. So I didn't. And it slowly drove me insane over the next thirty minutes. I wanted to flirt, dammit. I turned around again, and it was the same. As if he had been watching me. Did he recognize me? I silently mouthed "Hi" at him and he mouthed back "Hey". He was definitely smiling. Holy shit. He did recognize me.

Written under a certain influence, so it may be utter rubbish and deleted later.

Say he didn't leave.

Instead, he let the mask he'd built up slip for just a moment. In that flash, I saw him in his youth. Struggling, afraid, in despair, but at the same time being able to hold his own and put people around him in their place. 'How could one stay sane after what he's been through?', I wondered. I saw who he was before the dark magic rendered his eyes, put silver strands in his hair, pointed his ears. Just someone lost and alone. A single tear slid down his flat alabaster cheek.

I didn't know what else to do... I encircled his shoulders in my arms and pulled him close. Part of me was in a sheer panic at this point, but it didn't matter. The softness of his cloak and hair against my face was strangely exhilarating, being pressed there. He went completely stiff and I felt him nearly recoil... then all at once, his arms wrapped around my back and waist. His grip was startling as he brought me closer. He wrapped his cape around the back of us. I found myself looking into his eyes again, nearly hypnotized.

Current Music: "Soul Diver" - Seabound

Maybe after that he would need time alone. To let it sink in that he had MAYBE one last chance to undo that moment he had spent most of his life obsessing over.

Or maybe he would be overwhelmed by emotion and sprung to his feet, ready to start work on our new objective. I use "our" loosely. He might have taken the pieces and just left, out to save her without me.

Or would he realize that it probably was impossible? But reward me with an embrace at the thought and effort?

Switching from a strictly nocturnal schedule had always been hard for me. I lay there in my blankets, staring upward to watch the scraps of cloud drift past, contemplating a cup of tea. What else was there to do? I reached up to toy with the newer piercings in my ear and glanced over at him for what could have easily been the fiftieth time that night. Still, he hadn't moved. I assumed he was asleep, but I couldn't tell, even though he wasn't that far away.

He had wrapped himself tightly in his cloak and hood, so that only the lower half of his face was visible. Even then, that was in shadow. So perfectly still. His back leaned against the trunk of a tree... he couldn't have been comfortable.

Finally, the urge to get up and do something was overwhelming. I sat up, letting the covers fall around my lap and waist, but I kept my eyes on him. No reaction. I turned away, pretending that he was the least of my priorities, and selected a sachet of tea from my pack. As quietly as I could, I poured some water from my canteen into my tiny kettle and arranged it on the hook above the camp fire. I snapped the tea into my tea ball and waited. Facing the fire, feeling it slowly warm the downy fur on my face, I waited.

"What are you doing making tea this late?" He murmured, his voice a little hoarse. So he was awake. And watching. I knew it.
"I can't sleep," I said softly, "Would you like a cup?" I'm sure I sounded a little too hopeful.
He paused, leaving me feeling a little awkward as I listened for the water to stir, then said "Yes, I would." I smiled to myself.

He stayed where he was, to my disappointment, until the water came to a boil. I snatched it off the hook before it could whistle and wake the others up. When it was finally brewed, he rose to his feet and closed the gap between us. He sat a modest distance away and we sipped our tea in silence. 'Should I tell him?' I wondered. 'No, best not to get his hopes up.' I fought with myself, feeling like I was missing an opportunity. I was hardly ever alone with him... and soon, their task would be over. What if he left when it was all done? Or worse... what if he wasn't strong enough? No, that's ridiculous.

I mustered up the courage and said his name.

He looked me in the eyes, his deep red to my wolfish amber. His face such a perfect mask of apathy, built up over decades of strife. He was so strangely alluring, his pallid skin and brilliant blue hair, all the hard muscle and magic.

"I have something for you... it might not work out, but..." I fished the little bag from my pack and it sort of rattled with all the broken pieces. "I thought... with [name] and [name]'s ingenuity and [name]'s ability to repair things... that maybe we could get it to work one more time." I handed him the bag and he took it, looking puzzled and as usual, a bit put off. Then he opened it, and his eyes grew wide.

"This is..." he whispered.
"Yes. It's all there. I managed to find every piece after it shattered. We just need to fix it... and then maybe we could go back for her..." I said. He fell silent, taking a couple shiny, pearly pieces out from the bag and looking them over. He turned them in his leather gloves, and I caught the sparkle of tears in his eyes.

Maybe more later...

For the most part, all I want to do is hold him.
So that maybe he'll forget being alone for a quarter of a decade for a moment or two. Hell, it's probably been a third of a decade. I can see it in the corners of his eyes. How young was he when it happened?

But aside from that, I want to see him orgasm. I want to hear his breathing change, see those harsh eyes open at the suddenness of it. See his back arch, a hint of fangs as he draws in a sharp breath, then grits his teeth. To hear the whisper of fabric and lengthy hair as it pools and dusts the floor as he writhes. To see him go rigid and fight the urge to make a sound. It would be beautiful. I know he would be quiet about it... he's quiet about everything he does. I can just see him try to grip the floor through his gloves as it takes him.

Hello, there...
Frankly put, this is a truly anonymous journal. I'll never mention who I am, where I live, or anything about my real life. That's what my personal journal is for. This journal is a secret. I won't be giving out the link, won't be adding friends, won't be joining any communities. Also, I might go months on end without posting. Being that I don't have an audience, it gives me the freedom to disappear during times in which I'm not obsessing over someone to write about.

It's for me to write out the little snippets of story that go on in my head when I should be doing something else. I've already proven to myself that I can't actually stick with a story and get it all written down. Or really bother with even putting it all in order. I can't be bothered, and I don't want to share it. But that doesn't mean I don't want to get it written down...

This is basically a fanfiction journal when you get down to it.

In closing, keep moving. I'm sure there's a journal somewhere else with loads of pictures written by some cute and talented person that would be much more interesting and relevant to you.