He Came To Me
He came to me.
Not any of the other girls, though it seemed they would be more his type. I was surprised the first time I saw him, hesitantly standing at the end of the street, his eyes fastened on mine with a strange sense of longing. I didn't understand, at first.
My understanding of men is that they like the whole ego trip thing. The small, feminine, helpless woman to their big, muscular, brainless selves. But this man had targeted me. Me! I just couldn't comprehend it. I was taller than him. That much was obvious, even from as far away as he was standing. He looked to be the prime example of someone who had grown up malnourished; short, finely boned, pale skinned.
But his hair! It was beautiful. So obviously the only thing he took care of on his body, anymore, as was evident by the ragged wear on his clothing; the purplish marks under his wide eyes. He could have been as beautiful as that shimmering mass of chestnut silk. I was sure of it.
And there I stood, paled in the reflection of what I thought could have been his former glory. I had never had time for hair like that. I always kept it cropped short, and I don't think I owned a brush. I never had the need, I could just run my fingers through it, the complete disarray of chocolate brown more attractive than any other style I could pull off. My skin was tanned, a rich golden you could only get out of the bottle unless you were born with it, and I had been.
Like I said, I didn't understand why he stood there, looking at me with those sad eyes. Eyes that spoke of hardships beyond even my comprehension. And I had been through a lot, let me tell you.
But then he came to me.
With a deep breath, he steeled his shoulders and came to me. I could finally see the shade of his eyes as he walked closer, one hand nervously moving back to clutch at his luminous braid, twisting the tufted end almost unconsciously. His eyes were... lovely in a bittersweet kind of way. Their color was stunning. I’d never seen that shade before. A sort of dusky purple with swirls of bright blue. But the expression they held was heartbreaking. Like someone had taken a puppy and kicked it repeatedly. I wanted to hold him, just comfort him. I thought my maternal side had died years ago.
He stopped before me, and I could tell he was drunk. Those heart wrenching violets were clouded, but not just from whatever he had been drinking. They quivered with restrained tears as he lifted his heart-shaped face to look into my dark blue eyes. I had to swallow for a moment before I could form the words that had been programmed into my head from over use, not wanting to say it, but having no other choice. I couldn't stand there with those eyes drilling holes into my previously deadened heart.
"There's a motel down the street... You're paying, right?" If I could cry I would have at the look that came over his face then. But instead I just watched as he looked away, his eyes closing briefly before he nodded. I walked away, and he followed.
He used me.
Staring helplessly down at his sleeping form, his eyes clenched tight, soft whimpers breaking from his throat, I had a bit of leather clutched in my hands.
I was used to being used, sure. It was in the job description. There was no way around it. It was what people expected, nothing given in return, only taken. And I had used my fair share of people myself. To distract from life, from the unbearable emptiness inside of me every time I ask that one simple question.
But then he used me.
Not in the normal way the word implied, at first. No, at first he merely talked to me. My heart aching more, beating faster with every word that left his lips.
"...i’ve missed you..." the haunted eyes would close, and I didn't know whether to be relieved or saddened before they opened again and he would edge forward, fingers barely grazing over my cheekbone before disappearing again. "...so much..."
"...i kept my hair long..." the fingers back, fingering the silken rope. "...would have cut it off. almost did..." he admitted hesitantly, gazing up at me with those clouded eyes, and I nearly called out in denial. How could someone destroy such beauty? "...but i didn't. because you like it. liked it..."
"...i love you, you know..?" the anguished voice, softly husky, worn thin with emotion. Dusky violet closed again, against the well of moisture rising
"...why did you leave me..?" Hopeless, broken, tormented, tortured. I couldn't take it anymore. I leaned forward and kissed him, silencing him in one desperate move.
I saw him.
Face flushed, eyes clenched shut, beautiful as he came, the image would forever be imprinted on my mind. But he called for someone else. Sure, I hadn't told him my name but I never thought it could hurt so much, I had never let anyone get to me like he had. He fell asleep as I watched, eyes still closed, faint moisture trickling from the corners. I slid off of him, the novelty of being the aggressor with a costumer long since past if it had ever been at all.
I didn't want to be there when he woke up, when the forlorn whimpering ceased and amethyst eyes opened to reality untainted by alcohol's mask. I reached for his pants, pulling out his wallet, reaching for the money... and pulled out a picture. My heart stopped, mouth falling open, hand clenching around that thin, worn scrap of leather as I looked down at the creased surface.
Staring back at me was a man nearly identical to myself. A faint smile teased at his lips, lightening a face obviously used to a stern expression. Cobalt eyes stared at the camera from beneath a mop of messy hair, a smudge of back grease streaked over his nose and cheek. His arms were crossed over his chest almost defiantly, but one large hand grasped a pair of smaller ones where they were connected over one shoulder, long pale arms wrapped around his neck.
And there he stood, gazing adoringly at my male image, not even bothering to look at the camera as the photo was snapped. He was grinning, leaning toward the other as if to lay a kiss on his cheek, large dusky purple eyes smiling, laughing, so very loving.
I wished I had seen that expression, heard that laugh.
"...Heero..." I fumbled, replacing the picture as the man moaned that name and shifted on the bed, removing some money, probably less than was my due before dropping the wallet on the pile of his clothes. I pulled my own clothes on and darted out the door, wondering how I could hurt like this, ache over someone I didn't know. Wondering why I was jealous.
But then I saw him.
A little ways away from the motel, I saw him. Suit jacket flapping in the breeze, chocolate hair flying wildly around his head, frown plastered familiarly on his face. I stopped before him, my heart beating furiously, eyes narrowed dangerously as he halted. His shocked eyes met mine squarely, my exact height. My mouth opened to yell at him, to say something, anything to him, for hurting that boy, for stealing that happy look from his violet eyes.
But then a hidden pain made itself known in those cobalt eyes so like my own, a deep anguish so like that which had been in amethyst moments before, only covered by a thick layer of ice. My mouth snapped shut, pressed into a thin line before a sigh broke them apart again.
"Go to him," I whispered, positive he could hear me even over the noise of people rushing around us. I told him the motel room, told him to ask for a key, to go to him, make him better, heal the pain in both their hearts. And he nodded, unquestioning. I was he, he was I, there was no need to wonder. He left, rushing away in the direction I had come.
He came to me, but that was past.