dimitri:
what was the hardest thing about all of this? was it the fact that he felt helpless, hopeless, and like he was in hell? no. that wasn’t the worst part. it should have been. it should have been the reason why he offed himself the moment he saw the chaos in her once clear blue eyes. he should have died a long time ago. and this was just what happens after you live long enough. after you live long enough, he ruins it. he fucks it up and he can’t help but look at his hands and know it was his doing.
{ all you cause is pain, all you bring is ruination. } he recalled that was what his uncle had told him. uncle, he didn’t even know if that man was family, but he was the closest thing he had left. he was stained in the blood of his parents’ murderer. the man he had prolonged his edge to death. he had made sure he SUFFERED. he didn’t want him to see hell too early, he wanted him to beg for death. this was madness. maybe he was just insane. stuck in a world where he knew too much and knew too little. maybe he was in hell. { isn’t it ironic. now that you are in his position, at the brink of death, so close to eternal sleep. and yet–you’re still here. } “ you’re not choosing anything! “ he yelled loudly, angry. why was she so insistent on suffering alone. why was she so insistent on dying alone? why couldn’t she just let him jump with her.
why couldn’t they have had the soft story that some people had. why did they have to have the story that no one wanted. the one that was damned. the one that was ruined and broken and imperfect in so many ways. why were they ones destined to suffer? who told them that they were like atlas, strong enough to hold the burden of the world on our shoulders. to fight for every breath they wanted to take.why was it that this was the way they first met. why did they have to be the ones to be called monsters, weapons, inhuman. where was god when this was the moment when their fates were sealed { they had seen this room before. they had walked this floor before. } groaning as she kicked him away, he stared at the bloody footprint and glanced up at her. their poses, their tired bodies, the blood dripping from their body. all of it. it was all too familiar for it was how they got their names. their identities, the one thing they got to keep for the rest of their lives.
{ the widow and the wolf. } the legends could never die. no matter who tried to bury it. they would go down in history books. they would be–ghost stories. but how do ghost stories start? a tragedy, they are born from tragedy and horror. this was almost too familiar. he thought again and again as she pulled her hair up. { it almost mimicked their graduation fight. } last one standing.he thought almost sadly before he got up on his feet slowly and looked at her. he wouldn’t fight her. he thought as he looked at her taking ragged breaths, trying to keep her eyes open. TRYING to PRETEND that she wasn’t in pain. the grimace in her blue eyes, the way she grasped for breath as she finished her sentence. he wouldn’t fight her. not like this. he closed his eyes before opening them, emotionless and cold. just like how he was trained to be. but–that was all a lie, wasn’t it? { you are not emotionless, you feel so much it hurts. you look at her want nothing more than to run away. you look at her and feel GUILT and wish there was something you could do. you look at her and you are not cold. you wish it was that easy. no. you feel a burning within your chest. as if you will be consumed from the inside out from EVERYTHING you are feeling }
“ i didn’t betray my beliefs. i didn’t let them win and use me. i don’t sleep in gold shit and wear silk dresses to talk to old men with green money draping their shoulders.” he said in an almost mocking tone. he wouldn’t fight her, he wouldn’t hurt her. there are too many that are doing that to her. he’ll just try to stop her. he’ll try to be someone his mother could be proud of. he’ll try to be her–something.
( THEY TOLD HER SHE WAS HOLY ONCE. none of them believed in the old religion, but they told her anyway, as she held the folder from the french embassy. NIKOLAI ran his hand through her face, taking a strand of her ( too long ) hair — YOU, ANGEL OF DEATH, YOU ARE HOLY. the little was always his favorite: COLD & EMPTY & LOYAL. the loyalest of them all. she lives and breathes for the MOTHERLAND, for the ideal, for S U P R E M A C Y. a fool, the little girl was : she did it all for a blind and stubborn BELIEF. working men of all countries, unite! )
she looks at the trail of blood left by her foot, and doesn’t have to think twice. she rips the edges of her shirt off in one swift movement, wrapping it around her bleeding foot. it PULLS, but she does not even twitch. YOU ARE A SOLDIER – YOU HAVE BEEN THROUGH WORSE THAN THIS. SHE KNOWS THAT THE SCAR IS SHOWING. brand new, poorly stitched, a knife made. it starts on her thigh and makes its way up, up, up, until it ends near her belly button ( his voice calling her S C A R has never been more fitting — could it be that they knew, before she was even born, that her body would be MARKED & BEATEN? )
ROTTEN TO THE CORE & she feels it deep inside of her bones. every move, every kick — one to the arm, one to the leg, one to the hip — is a newly found COMPLAINT, a yearn for it to stop, stop, stop. BUT SHE DOESN’T STOP & SHE NEVER WILL. she may not be holy but she is still made of marble, and she still stands TALL & PROUD. flawed they are, raised on blood and hurt and bones. flawed they are, broken and hurt and lone. her movements become quicker, harder, angrier. KICK, PUNCH, HIT, KICK, HIT, PUNCH. PUNCH, PUNCH, PUNCH. KICK. KICK. KICK. ❛ HIT ME ❜ she screams, raw and rough and angry. ❛ FIGHT ME, YOU FUCKING COWARD. FIGHT ME. ❜ PUNCH, HIT, KICK. PUNCH, HIT. she drags her nail through his arm.
I DIDN’T BETRAY MY BELIEFS. it is as if the whole world stops. she can feel her body FREEZING in place, hands shaking, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. SHE WAS THE LOYALEST OF THEM ALL. she was their favorite, she was, she —– can feel the inside of her body dying. NOT FAIR, NOT TRUE. LOYAL TO THE CORE, BUT NOT TO THE MOTHERLAND, no, no, no. she messed it up, didn’t she? she allowed them inside of her. she ——– ❛ REMIND ME, once more, who it was that left on his own FREE WILL, and who was taken. ❜ punch, kick, hit. angry, volatile, wrong. ❛ REMIND ME AGAIN who it was that aided them on TAKING ME. ❜ kick, punch, hit. kick, punch. kick kick kick. FRUSTRATION takes over her bloodstream. ❛ this is WORTHLESS. ❜ she spits, and turns around. it is pointless, too.