Thanks for the message, mrs.. urm...Tsuki, should I say? I hope you can make me a layout! No hard feelings if you find yourself unable to. I want to thank you for trying, regardless of the turnout.
Title: Kisses Aren't Contracts
Words: 1 413
Author: Desultory Speech/Cillisian Thatcher
Genre: Angst, Prose
Pairing: JaeJoong/other member of your choice (I don't specify)
Synopsis: You should have learned it sooner; it's your fault you didn't.
Comments: I am in no way affiliated with DBSK, Super Junior or SM Entertainment, nor do I know or associate with any of the people in question. I'm not even Korean. This is a work of pure fiction; any similarities drawn between people, places and events are purely by coincidence. This is not meant to offend. The views and opinions in this story are not necessarily the views and opinions of the author. Directed at a mature youth audience. I apologize for grammar errors and spelling mistakes.
Story © Cillisian Thatcher/Diese Stifte/DesultorySpeech, May 19th, 2008
Your voice, tormented and soft, fills the air wretchedly. You can’t stop your crying, the tears feeling like second nature against your skin. You wipe away at them as they slide, your nimble fingers cold as the hardwood you’re placed on. You hiccup, attempting to stand, but only to have your exhausted legs buckle under your weight. Too much, too much. It’s too much to live with; too much to cope with.
You collapse to the floor again, instantly filled with pungent piteousness for yourself; you, your pathetic self, toyed with so easily and left just as so. Your knees ache from the constant falling, but the pain is nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all next to the emotional stress that’s welled in your chest.
You pull to yourself, grasping your heart tightly in your tiny hands, terrified of releasing the fabric as soon as you trapped it in your palm. Your knuckles shift white as you constrict your fingers around the bundle of shirt you hold, only further confirming the thought that were racing bitterly throughout your head.
Everything’s white; everything’s white.
Your heart throbs against your chest, beating loudly and painfully for someone who will never come. Pounding in your ear, the beating sends tremors down your back, your lips jittering as your suddenly very cold. Your body begs for his condolence – a pat on the back, a hug, a kiss, a word, however untrue – but realistically that’s impossible. Realistically, it’ll never happen to you, because to cocked too much shit to be supported. Patronization and care were something you never deserved, and so you never asked for it.
Plaguing your mind was the desires you held dearly to you; wished that were never yours to make. You wished to obtain his love, something that had been rejected from you. You begged to feel his arms constrict around your petite waist; for his voice and breath to graze your ears in proximity, his tone heavy with affection. You longed for his eyes to look at you like they did her, and for his fingers to brush over your cheek when you were in states just like this, and for him to vow that he would never leave you.
Your hopes were surely all in vain, as you knew for a fact he wouldn’t even comfort you in a state like this. Not now, with her so near…
You know for a fact that he wouldn’t.
You should have known from the start, from his words of her and the way he preached her name that you would never stand a chance. He loves her, still, and no matter how far away she is now, the devotion remains. How it sickens you when he sings her praises, assuring you that you would have gotten along fine; how it absolutely disgusts you. You, you convicted, would never befriend her. Never.
For she had too much more than you, and you knew your envy you could not keep at bay.
Giving up, you bend over your knees and bury your head into them, sobbing into your jeans. Jean you had bought with him, a day in the summer that felt so long ago.
But it wasn’t.
They were still new.
You suddenly want to tear them off, mangle and deface them until they are no longer recognizable, simply because they remind you of him. Him, who you loved so much your heart burned; him, who you loved unconditionally; him, who every inch of you craved.
Do you remember when you asked him if he loved you? His reaction, do you recall? He had laughed and ruffled your hair so casually, calling you silly.
“Of course I love you.”
He had said it said it so honestly that you were hoping for more.
“Your like family.”
And yet your hopes crashed violently against the ground, plummeting you to a all-time low.
“Your like family.”
To you, those words were more than just words. They were rejection, pain, disappointment and homicide, all wrapped into one. You knew that, had it been a literal gift, there would have been a lovely bow atop it. It’s wrapping would have been perfect.
You crawl to the corner of your room, secluding yourself there as your heart trembles. You don’t want to leave the confinement of your room ever again, never to see his perfect face and body again. You want to learn to hate him, but you know his personality would never allow that. Never, ever, ever, would you be able to if you saw him.
Never is such a strong word.
But it’s the right one.
You had listened to your mother as she ranted and raved about this, prophesizing the turnout of your infatuation with him. She told you it would fare badly, that he’d never be able to love you back. And damn her that it had to turn out that way. It was her fault, you blame suddenly, tossing your head to the side bitterly as her words come back to you. If she hadn’t jinxed it, it would have ended fine. If she hadn’t…
For Pete’s sake, why was she always so damned right? If you could account any time she had been wrong, you would, but your mind drew complete blanks on the matter. She was always right, straight from the start. She told you young that you’d be like you are now, just like she was at your age, and you never believed her.
But look at you now.
Are you any different?
No, you think, rubbing at your bleeding eyes fervently. No, I’m not.
He shouldn’t have tricked you; when you kissed him that night, he had done so back. When you had breathed that you loved him and that you always be there, he had smiled and embraced you so tightly, you could swear your lungs would give at any moment. Never did he say you couldn’t be; never did he push you away. He accepted your affection in a way that it seemed like he loved you back, but he never said or did anything other than feed off of you.
He didn’t love you; you realized days ago, when he had exclaimed that she had came back to him. You weren’t someone for him to love, someone to care for; you were a tool for him to grieve. A frazzled, willing-to-fuck tool that would bend over backwards to see him smile. He took the advantage as he saw it, and you couldn’t blame it for him.
But you could blame yourself for not seeing it.
Not, at least, in that light.
And now your wishes are so much different from what they had been. Before, you had revered so many ideas, cultivating them in your mind with your careful hands; but now, you had only one thing you want; only one thing you wish for.
You wish you weren’t so naïve. Wish that you had never fallen in love; wish that, somewhere along the line, someone had told you bluntly what was going on. Had said to you, shaking your shoulders roughly,
“Wake the fuck up, JaeJoong! He doesn’t love you!”
And, though you know you wouldn’t have believed it, you can’t help but wonder if this had ended differently, had you even the slightest amount of doubt. Perhaps, he wouldn’t have left so readily… Perhaps, you would have left him. Left him alone with no one to love and grieve with, just as he left you. With no one to comfort or hold him, just as he left you.
But you were never really together to begin with, were you?
You were an idiot, you know it now. A complete fucking idiot with no idea what the hell you were doing as you did it. You fell so quickly for him that it was like bliss, lasting temporarily and tainting you forever. Like the finest wines, he had been there, and you were an idiot for thinking he always would. An idiot for thinking he was staying; really, what were you thinking? He said nothing to you on grounds of loyalty, nothing telling you he’d stay. For believing that, you had been foolish, and there was no point in pretending you hadn’t.
You feel like a fool for not noticing it sooner, but now that you do, it’s a lesson you’ll never forget. Kisses aren’t contracts, and it’s about time you learnt that.
A little too late.
Story © Cillisian Thatcher/Diese Stifte/DesultorySpeech, May 14th, 2008