"I still love you." ( Salim )
SOME MEME
It was like a jolt of electricity, the four words his heart had longed to hear, but were they truly meant? His gaze flicked up to search Salim’s, almost sure he hadn’t heard what he had, was it some phantom that had spoken and broken the silence between them. Smoke hovered in the air from the cigarette that hung limply from Lance’s calloused hands, the Irishman blinked a few times, certain that he hadn’t really heard it. His throat and mouth went dry, so he pulled another drag from the cigarette, finishing it off and dabbing out the embers in an ashtray. Lance didn’t smoke often, stress normally caused it, another way to deal with his emotions if he weren’t able to knock them out in a fight of some sort. He was a man of many vices, violence and alcohol were the primary go to’s. But every once in a while, one could catch him with a cigarette between his lips.
With a slow exhale Lance leaned back in his seat more, letting his right arm rest on the back of the chair some. He didn’t mean to be so silent, Lance was sure now he had heard correctly and that it wasn’t some fantasy of his trying to pry its way out of his mind. What was he supposed to say? That he was happy his affections were returned? Then what? They’d live happily ever after on some fucking beach in Ireland. As if. They were broken creatures, monsters in their own right, the two of them had drawn so much blood and expelled so much hate, they were sewn from the same cloth.
Lance wasn’t the same kid that fell in love like a naive and hopeless creature, when they met at their lowest, joined a cause to get rid of their demons, only having to kill others’. It was a time of war and Salim had been his solace, the calm within the storm, something he had only ever been with his little sister. So naturally, he clung to it as if he were clinging to a lifesaver in the middle of the ocean.
But like everything in his life, Salim had left him and he had went back to drowning like the HELPLESS bastard that he was. Struggling with his demons alone, life was a battle and Lance was an everlasting warrior. He remembered every face of the people he had hurt, every name of the people he had killed, it was his penance. The marks on his skin were to remind him of the monster he had become. Lance wasn’t the same. But then again, neither was Salim, their lives had gone in different but possibly equally as destructive paths. What did it even mean to love anymore? It wouldn’t be the same love, like when they were still young, posed under the stars on watch. Or in the streets of London, too close to home for Lance but still an enjoyable event, because he had been with Salim. It wasn’t that kind of love, no matter how much either one of them longed for the days when the darkness hadn’t consumed them.
What broken unlovable creatures.
Lance swallowed the dryness down, forcing his unsteadiness down as well, composing himself to express no reaction yet. He was good at that now, distorting his emotions into something they weren’t, been hurt too many times, done it mostly to himself, always had a problem with falling fast and hard, such a sucker for love. The sodding idiot love too hard, always had, always would, it would ultimately be what killed him; a broken heart. That love, the one they had, it had been left on a train. What a fool.
Panic had filled him, urgency as well, it was like someone had cut a piece of him from his person and had walked away with it forever. Not ‘til now did Lance know what it was that he’d been missing, whatever had been left of the good inside of him had vanished the same day Salim had. That dryness was worse now, he almost coughed, but kept it in his throat. The memory playing against his skull like it had just happened only yesterday. He was still in love with Salim, Lance was certain he always would be, to have those feelings returned made his chest ache, if love wasn’t the problem, then why had Salim really left in the first place?
His calloused hands pawed at his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open as well. Delicately Lance pulled an obviously aged piece parchment, what it might have been at one time was forgotten but the words that had been hastily scrawled out on it were still decipherable. Lance inhaled like he had been holding his breath the whole time, perhaps he had been, pale gaze dropping before he slid the parchment to the middle of the table. The last thing he had of Salim, or so he’d thought, it still brought a lump to form in his throat, ravaged with the dryness of it already.
Lance leaned back again, staring at the parchment, it had been opened many times over the decades, thumbed at in a drunken and lonely state, it was the last reminder of the good he had been. In his darkest moments it was this reminder to keep holding on, that there was light in this world. The memory of Salim had gotten him through so much, what would the presence of the man do now. What did it mean to still be in love with one another? The ideal of each other, the facade that they could be happy? Was that why Salim had left?
That was his ultimate question, if love had not been enough to stay, if Lance hadn’t been enough to stay then what the fuck made Salim leave. It was one of the main things that had always haunted Lance, the devastation of being left alone with nothing but a short scrawled out note on a piece of paper. Two words— two little words had destroyed him more than the absence, the abandonment, ‘I’m sorry.’ was all he had gotten compared to the vast amount of time they had spent with one another, the poems and songs, they’d shared, the experiences. All of it had meant nothing, he had to convince himself of it, to hate more, to detach himself from feeling ever again.
His tongue flicked out of a parched mouth to lick at his lips, words unable to form, so he remained silent, staring at the piece of paper for a long time, almost nervous to look up and ask any of the questions he had from so long ago. They say time heals all wounds but after more life times than Lance wanted to recall, his wounds were still as fresh as the day they had been inflicted. Finally, his gaze clawed upwards, searching, pleading, begging for something, if Salim truly meant that he still loved Lance, then he’d get something, some kind of answer. It should have been water under the bridge, but they were broken creatures, they’d always bring back the venom of a wound.
Bringing the small note out had not been an attack, Lance genuinely had questions he wanted answered, perhaps now had been the worst of moments to bring it up, but he was being open, he’d always been that way. Wore his fucking heart on his sleeve, barred to everyone, he’d become so used to the stabbing pain of a broken heart that he almost expected it by now. Which he was sure would be no different now, feelings would be hurt, old wounds reopened, if they pursued the offered topic. The questions still unspoken, but his eyes, they were doing the talking, the pleading; why? was I not enough? all the questions were hurtful and they laced his blue gaze.
More than questions, though, there was love a return in the statement declared, of course he still loved Salim, why would he carry a reminder of their separation with him for so long if he had ever fallen out of love. A part of him would always belong to Salim, no matter how much time separated them, no matter the darkness that was consuming the both of them. One thing would always be for sure, Lance would never stop loving the man before him.
@demoniiiic
