The words she was speaking should have brought her some sort of relief. They should have at least lifted some of the weight that had been forcing down her shoulders since she left him. She had been aching to speak them aloud for months, let alone to Brock himself. However, as the overflowing accusations poured from her lips, she felt nothing but the realization that speaking them aloud wouldnât change a thing. It didnât matter how many tears she cried, or how many times she admitted that she didnât know what went wrong, or that she felt, with all her heart, that something had shifted in him a very long time ago. It wouldnât help him see. It wouldnât stop her from blaming herself for all of it.  Even accusing him of anything caused guilt to tingle in her limbs.  She tore her hand away from her face and whimpered softly as she forced her eyes back up to see his again.  There was a strange swelling in her chest every time she was brought to see them. One which reminded her that these were the same eyes she lost herself in, time and time again; these were the same eyes which held enough dread for the both of them when she decided to end it all. These same eyes she looked into now, were the ones she had seen at their most delicate, most vulnerable states. And as she looked at them now, they felt familiar in the most sickening ways.
Her body tensed even more, jolting, and causing her muscles to scream in pain as he sent the camera through the air. The sudden action caused a peak in her anxiety. For a split second, for an awful, heart wrenching, breathtaking moment, she thought he was going to hit her. For an even more breathtaking moment, she realized, in that sliver of time, that she wouldnât have blamed him if he had. She deserved it; especially while daring to utter the words she had.  She did this to him. She is the reason for this entire mess, and she knew it. She lived every single day reminding herself that the Brock she fell in love with was in pieces. Not only that, but he had turned into something she never thought he could be. Something darker than she ever imagined before. That realization; the depths of her guilt made her swim in her own self hatred. It caused her stomach to turn over on itself again; as if remembering for the first time now, she realized that he was really here. He was demanding her attention just by standing there.
She felt relieved that he got rid of the camera. Â The relief she did feel was shallow, but there. Â Relieved that, despite the intense offset she felt when catching him taking the pictures to begin with, the camera had now sailed through the air; more than likely not surviving its landing. Â An incurable side of her twisted within her: he loved her. Â Of course he wouldnât be taking these pictures of her if he didnât have to. Â Of course him following her, threatening her, threatening the people she spent time withâ all of it, was all out of love for her. Â And now he disposed of he camera; proof of said love. Â Proof that he didnât want to bring harm to her. Â He simply wanted to love her. Â He wanted to love her, and keep her safe. Â He wanted to keep her to himself so he could make her happy, and make her feel in love; all exclusively with him. Â These thoughts consumed her swarming negative ones and made her feel light. Â If she had a chance to feel it, it would have scared her how easily she believed these things. Â When he took a step away from her, this relief only grew. Â It was potent now; tasting like the air that couldnât quite satisfy her lungs when he was only inches from her face. Â Only Brock could compel the feeling of satisfaction in her regardless of what he was doing. Â However, this satisfaction switched as quickly as his expression.
She recognized the anger in his eyes with such clarity, even having only truly spotted it once before. Â A piece of her wanted to believe that the anger was fabricated. Â Perhaps she simply remembered it wrong. Â Perhaps the look in his eyes when he grabbed onto her, and got in her face; perhaps it was fear, pain, perhaps it was anything other than the look she was receiving now. Â It had to have been weak; the look she remembered. Â Brock had become the victim in her mind over time. Â However, as he took a step back toward her, she was reminded of his strength, and of his own incurable delusions.
Her crying stopped when he began turning it around on her; when he started insisting that it was her that was different; that she, in fact, was the stranger. Â It wasnât that her tears could no longer find her eyes; she could still feel them begging her for their release. Â It was only when he said these things that she realized that she had changed. Â Of all the times she promised him security and her unconditional love, she still managed to break those promises. Â Claire could never truly make a list of anything she regretted in her life, but leaving Brock? Â Abandoning him like everyone else in his life? Â Breaking his heart? Â Those. Â Those were easily listed at numbers one through one hundred. Â She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from shaking her head when he called her selfish, when he threw his own accusations her way. Â They couldnât be true, but spoken in the sweet, terrible sound of his voice made them true; made anything true.
If there was a weight too heavy for Claire to handle, it was the weight of shock.  His following words fled his lips so easily, as if they had been casually waiting in his mind this entire time.  The words reached through her chest and stole the oxygen from her lungs just to sustain their own life.  Words so powerful, so heavy in their existence, that they couldnât survive without tearing the life from something else.  Any fear she felt before this moment escaped with her ability to breathe, to think, and to cry.  What took its place instead, was the most immense amount of guilt the girl had ever experienced in her entire life.  She thought she had already faced this demon.  She thought she knew the depths of his sorrow and to hear this now: he wanted to berid life because of her.  His beautiful passion, the light in his eye, the laughter which sounded devastatingly pleasing in her ears.  The nothings, oh, the sweet nothings, his perplexing ability to make anyone feel on top of the world; everything, could relish and then vanish right before her eyes.  All because of her.  Her expression lied still for a moment; gauging his expression, and trying to find her ability to exist beyond the look that remained in his eyes since he forced this confession on her.  She never wanted this much power over him.  She never wanted to influence his well being.  She never wanted to be his sole reason to exist.  And here he was⊠and there he had⊠handed it over to her as if it meant nothing to him.  As if it only made sense to do so.  As if it were the only option.  As if he somewhere, past her belief that he had only ever hated her, he trusted her enough to still hold onto it with her careful and delicate fingers.
âBrockâŠâ Her voice was weakened to the point of strain now.  She wanted to reach out, to change her mind, to undo everything; finally, like she wanted to the moment she left his side.  She gripped onto her waist, for the first time, she resisted her desire to reach out to him.  There was too much distaste in his eyes; too much resentment.  She did this to him. âBrockâŠâ she repeated, this time in a desperate whisper, pleading for his forgiveness; though the name barely made a sound against her lips.  The desire to flood him in her undying feelings for him was overpowering.  But she knew the risk behind them. âYou are⊠so much more than this.â Was all she could manage.  She tried not to stumble along the wires she was continuously balancing on. âSo, good⊠and worth so much.â Her guilt was thick and dark.  It left her lungs blind and unable to breathe again.  She wasnât worthy of life; not his life, and here she was trying to balance it on the same wires heâd set up for her.  Nodding her head carefully, she kept his gaze steady, and hoped that he wouldnât lash out.  Not again. âEven when you donât feel⊠like you are.  I promise you are.â She couldnât help her trembling.  But this time it was out of fear of this mortifying past repeating itself. âBrock, Iâm not⊠Iâm not worth all of this.â She gestured around them weakly. âIâm definitely not worth your life.  Iâm not worth your pain.  Iâm not worth anythingâŠâ She trailed off, unsure how to continue. âI care,â she wanted to scream. âBrock, if I know you, then I care.â She couldnât do this.  He wasnât going to believe a thing she said. âI just donât know how to show you that anymoreâ I-I⊠I donât want you to rely on that.  âOn my caring⊠on me proving that I care.  You canât rely on that.  Youâre worth too much to rely on me like thatâŠâ
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