# Ending... 2

Title: Ending... 2?
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang
Rating: SFW
Classification: One shot
Author: Anonymous
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The cig you’re smoking is now but a stump as you make your way back to your dingy apartment, ready to settle in and indulge in the rest of your cardboard tasting pizza while watching TV, maybe catch some dubbed anime, and laugh at the awful localization. Spitting out the now useless cancer stick, you step on it to put out the remaining embers, grinding it against the concrete for good measure, and continue your way home.
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Except your feet don’t move from there.
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This small, common action, had your mind thinking back on Fang again, reminding you of that time you ditched Naser and Naomi under the pretense of looking for a bathroom, to instead look for, that time you two shared a smoke, and sneaked away from the couple straight for Little Troodon.
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And soon, your mind diverges back to the Fang you encountered back at the pizza place, a former shadow of her former self, wasting her incredible talent doing small musical gigs, barely scraping by, with a group far from having the technical and musical abilities of Trish and Reed, a couple of junky looking band mates, rotting her life away.
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Like you sait it, she’s smart, talented, and unlike you, Fang had all the pieces in place to rise into a music star. She has to know what she’s doing, this has got to be what she wants, right? That means you have nothing else to do with her anymore, you two burned your bridges years ago on that beach, and chose your lives accordingly.
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Yet, why does it hurt so much to have seen her like that? That miserable state, and vacant look in her eyes; it only makes you feel more miserable yourself. Do you still have feelings for her? You thought you were over this, but clearly you’re not.
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…
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Fuck
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You have to see her, at least talk to her one last time, even when it inevitably ends in her shouting in your face about how you ruined her life, and the many ways she’s gonna rip your heart apart, and end in how she truly, utterly hates you, so you can end this chapter of your life story behind with no regrets.
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You need at least this closure in your life.
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Pivoting on your foot, do you a one eighty over the cig you’ve just stepped on, and power walks your way back to the pizzeria, on the way there you pass through a homeless dino man and uncaringly drop the pizza boxes onto his lap, you’ve lost your appetite anyway.
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Once back inside the pizza joint, the first thing you notice are the lights being on this time around, illuminating the entirety of the interior, which can only mean one thing, the show’s over. Looking over to the corner where the stage is set up reveals nothing but the pulled sideways curtains, no instruments, no band, and no Fang. Shit... turning towards the counter, the same guy who packed your pizza is there cleaning the glass cups with a stained towel, you’re glad you didn’t ask for anything to drink, and that you didn’t eat too much of that pizza.
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That poor hobo.
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“Hey!” You call him out, getting the dino man to look at you, an eyebrow rising, not expecting you to come back, of course.
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“Back so quickly? What, fell in love with my pizza?” He tries to joke, guffawing at the idea, but you’re not really in the mood for jokes right now.
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“It tasted like shit, gave it to a hobo” the man clearly didn’t enjoy having his food insulted if his annoyed sneer was anything to go by, but you could care less “I came here because I wanna know if there’s some staff room for the people who use the stage”
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“Tch, fucking ingrate child” A click of his tongue and a huff is all the response you get.
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“I still paid for that shitty pizza, you got nothing to be mad about. Now, my question?”
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“Yeah, yeah, sure whatever, there is a staff room in the back past that door” He points the a single door right besides the stage, partially hidden by the elevated stage itself “
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“Thanks” bitch.
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With the answers you wanted, you leave the annoyed man and make a beeline for the door placed right by the stage. It’s a heavy metal door, rusted with age and use. Pushing past it reveals a small, derelict l hallway, walls covered in cheap looking rotten and peeling off hexagonal patterned wallpaper, with a couple of old wooden doors flanking the pathway, probably toilets, and lit by a single, hanging tube light, blinking on and off, ready to go out permanently soon, if not cause a short circuit and leave the whole building in flames..
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One of these doors leads to the staff room, where Fang is.
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Do you really wanna do this?
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You try asking yourself, but your body automatically moves toward your objective for you as your mind tries coming up with an answer for that, and before you know it, you’re in front of an old, disgusting wooden door with a cheap plastic sign plaque hanging from a nail; “staff room” written on it in permanent marker. It looks to be in such a bad shape that any force above a push applied to it could probably atomize the whole thing.
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So, tap it you do, lightly knocking on the door with your knuckles, you wait for the impending shitstorm. Hopefully, Fang won’t remember you, you’ll say hi, she’ll look at you like you’re just another person, say hi back, and you can go on with your life. No one answers the door, you humor the idea of just leaving, but you know you’ll regret not at least talking to her one last time, so you knock on the door again, a bit harder than before.
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“Alright, alright, coming dude...” comes from the other side, a muffled male stoner’s voice, must be this band’s Reed, only twice as high and probably ten times dumber.
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The door opens enough to reveal a shirtless raptor with a green mohawk and pants sagging sideways, showing a piece of his underwear, much to your disgust. You’ve seen him on the stage with Fang, the drummer if you remember correctly. He looked at you with the droopy, baggy eyes of someone who inhales drugs in higher quantities than he breathed air, and only slept one hour a day, and it reflected in his state, skinny arms and torso, with visible ribs poking from under his scales, you could flick his arm and it’d break.
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“What you want, dude?” He asks in that typical junkie slur, god he’s like Reed on steroids, did Fang just replace her friends with worse versions of them? Anyway, what do you say? You don’t even know if Fang still goes by Fang, or if she’s going with another name? Is she still using the pronouns? Better keep it simple and avoid saying anything that might set any of them off in case they’re anywhere like Trish used to be.
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“I was in the audience for your music number” You reveal to him, making his droopy, stoner eyes widen.
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“Oh.., you were?” He interrupts you, his voice pitch rising in expectation, they probably don’t get a lot of praise, because what you heard definitely wasn’t good, the music fucking sucked “Pretty cool right?” he asks, clearly waiting for a positive answer out of you.
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“Yeah, sure” you humor him a sorta praise “Anyway, I recognized your bass player, used to go to high school with me, wanted to say hi” better not call her a her, or a they, in front of these guys, don’t know if she’s still into the pronoun thing.
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“No joke? You know Fang?” so she’s still going by Fang?
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“Yup, we used to know one another, but I lost contact” more like you used to be a couple, fucked up everything, and isolated yourself from everyone out of depression until high school ended, and you had to go navy, or go homeless.
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“Alright dude, just a sec” he simply turns his head, looking over his shoulders “AY YO FANG, THIS SKINNY DUDE HERE WANTS TO SAY HI, SAYS HE KNOWS YOU!”
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*Cough …. cough*
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“Argh... what?” That was most definitely her voice, although ragged and throaty, most likely from the years of drug use, it comes out as a rough slur, much like that of the raptor screaming his lungs out in front of you, only much less, well, slurry.
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“I SAID THERE’S A SKINNY HERE WHO WANNA SEE YOU!” Uber Reed screams again, louder this time. You really wish you could shut him the hell up, but it could compromise your objective here.
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“A skinny? Eh, whatever, let him in, I guess” Fang’s voice nonchalantly answers him back, and he turns to face you.
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“C’mon in dude” he opens the door wider and stands aside to let you in. Stepping into the staff room, the smell of burning weed instantly invades your nostrils and almost makes you sneeze on the spot, you haven’t smoked some in years, not after you got in the Navy as a pact seaman, that place essentially detoxed you with all the work you had to put up with.
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In there you’re met with their current crashing place, a windowless square of a room. Floor invisible to the naked eye, covered in smoke, most likely from the weed they’ve been smoking nonstop. There’s a fan on the ceiling, but it’s not on, and probably just straight up broken. Walls you assume were once white, or at least a bright color are stained green from mold due to lack of ventilation. Across the room there’s an L shaped sofa on the corner, made of beat up leather, with cracks and tears all over, stained foam poking out of them.
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In the middle of the room is a square, short legged table filled with all assortments of shit, from junk food, to beer, whiskey, and of course, drugs, lots of them, you’re pretty sure of it. These guys aren’t the least bit worried that you might just call the cops on them for ownning and consuming all this shit which you bet your ass is illegal, probably because they’re high as a kite to even fathom that possibility, like the almost dead fuck by the corner.
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On the corner of the room one of those long neck dinos, a brontosaurus you think they’re called, conked the fuck out, splayed over the L shaped sofa, his bloodshot eyes wide open, and lips apart just enough for a blunt to fit. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume that guy was dead from how unfocused his eyes were staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, but the miniscule rise and fall of his chest sell out his state of living, he might be in a self induced coma from overdose, who knows, that’s not who you’re here for however. Turning your eyes left to the armchair close to the table.
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Sitting on a beat up leather armchair, smoking a blunt while leaning forward to cut some cocaine with a razor blade over the stainless steel table is none other than Fang herself.
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Her amber eyes are still as dead as they were back in the stage, she doesn’t even bother looking up from the drug she cuts into neat lines, too busy getting them all ready to get sniffed through the straw laying right by their side. Now that you’re closer you can see the finer details of her current self. Dark gray makeup painted over her upper eyelids, instead of the bright orange and purple she used to apply, black symbols tattooed on her shoulders and hands, of what you don’t know, could be the band’s logo, or some cultist shit.
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On her long beak, black lipstick drawn in the shape of human lips that she doesn’t have, no longer a spiked bracelet wrapped around her head fin, in it’s place a dirty grey bandage. The once tight black shirt she wore, now replaced with a baggier tank top. No more choker on her neck, and her pterodactyl skull pendant replaced by a bunch of tribal looking necklaces.
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Just looking at her like this hurts, before you left you couldn’t quite see how she had changed, but now that you see, it feels like your heart’s getting stabbed multiple times, each for every different detail you notice is for the worse, because you know it’s all partially, if not entirely, your fault..
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Walking further into the room, you stop right by the table, across your ex. For a moment you just stand there, unable to say anything, only stare at the miserable girl in front of you, prepping to go into a comatose state like her collegue in that sofa with how many coke lines she’s sorting out. Her head moves up ever so slightly, eyes following after, from your spot it looks like she’s eying your legs, one hand leaves her side and takes the cig between her fingers, blowing smoke from her lips and nostrils.
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“What, you’re just gonna stand there?” her voice is monotone, no feelings or emotion behind it, a far cry from the voice you heard in high school, full of anger and attitude, yet also full of life and maybe hope “I thought you wanted to talk, if you have nothing to say, just get out and leave me alone” and places the cigarette back and takes a drag, firing smoke through her nostrils this time, and looks back down to chop the coke into dust. You take a deep breath and speak what could be the start of a shouting match.
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“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Fang?”
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“Hmm?” her coke chopping stops just an inch from the drug, from where you stand you can see one eyebrow raising in confusion, before her head starts angling upwards “What? How do you know my na-”
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And the cigarette falls from her parted lips.
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Her two hollow eyes widen as soon as they set sight onto your face. Recognition shines deep within those faded orbs. Her lips part in shock as for the first time in years she looks straight into your own eyes as you stand there, not even four feet in front of her. Her rough and ragged mouth breathing from years of abusing her throat and lungs come out of her shaking lips, trying to find words to say.
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“Y-you…” she manages to stutter out “You...” her voice rises ever so slightly, her hand clenches around the blade she’s been holding. Blood drips from her closed fist, the razor having been driven into her skin, but that doesn't seem to be affecting her at all, too overdosed on the sudden fury bubbling inside to notice any pain. That got the attention of the shirtless stoner not-Reed, however, who rubbed his chin while pointing to her bleeding hand.
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“Umm, Fang, you’re bleeding onto th-”
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“Shut up, Trent!” Trent, as you now know him, flinches and shuts up instantly, almost shrinking under the commanding tone her voice took, she didn’t even look at him, only ever staring at you with her now very much alive, and very much livid, eyes.
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“You…” Fang seethes through clenched teeth “What are you doing here?” The tone of her voice tells you to pick your words wisely, but you’re more than certain whatever you say or do will only make her even more pissed.
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“I saw you performing earlier, and came to talk”
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“Well… I don’t wanna talk to you!” she snarls, every word laced with excessives amounts of poison.
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“Fang ple-”
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“DON’T!-” she screeches, throwing an arm forward, pointing her bony, bloody finger at you. She notices her stained hand, and unclenches it to find a razor blade lodged right in the middle of her palm. She unflinchingly pulls the blade out, the increased blood flow of the now open wound pooling onto the table.
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“Don’t call me that…” the blade is chucked across the room, bouncing against the moldy wall with a metallic ping “Only my friends get to call me Fang” she warns you, giving a side glance to the awkwardly standing... Trevor was it? And the comatose guy “Just go. Away” venom like no other you’ve ever heard and felt continues to seep out of her lips.
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“Then where are Trish, and Reed?” your question unintentionally attacks her heart like a searing knife, making her visibly flinch and cringe, like you’ve physically assaulted her. She spoke of friends, but you don’t see either of her highschool trio, you’d expect they’d stick to her with how close they used to be.
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“What about them?…” she holds her bloodied hand up to her chest, over her heart, gripping her wrist with the other, letting the crimson liquid flow down her hand and forearm. The way it bled almost looked like a wound had been ripped open in her chest instead, one that you just might have from her reaction.
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“I thought you three were gonna become music stars” at least that was the impression, the band had a lot of potential, and talent to spare, but they didn’t choose that career path? Her eyes gain a pained look, highlighting the dark, heavy bags she carried around, aging her face a couple of years older than she actually is, before she shuts her eyes tight and shakes her head, banishing whatever thoughts residing in there.
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“Trish and Reed left me after highschool” she confessed, still holding her hand over her heart, now clenched tight “They just gave up on the band and left me all by myself” her eyes snap open and glare pointedly at you “Like you!” it’s now your turn to grimace, your ex is showing no hesitation in voicing aloud the distaste she feels for you.
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That’s what she says to you, but something about the way she says it, you don’t think Fang’s being completely sincere, only telling you half truths. You might’ve not been an active operative, but the years you spent in the navy taught and trained you in many things, one of them was hearing when someone wasn’t being fully honest
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“I have new friends now, friends that don’t abandon me” yet, she doesn’t even bother motioning to them, not even a side glance in their direction this time, these two might as well be strangers to her. “And I have a band as well, I don’t need Trish or Reed, I never needed them, they were just holding me back from following my dream!”
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“I get to play my music in many venues, I make money, I have returning clients. These guys?” her hand motions toward the establishment in general, and you guess others as well “They all call ME to perform in their restaurants, and bars, that’s how good I am. I don’t need to go looking for venues like back when I hung around Trish and Reed” her words sound strained, like just saying those things were a struggle. It’s clear that she’s trying to convince herself more than she’s trying to convince you..
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“I see” you take a moment to side glance the people she calls friends, that Troy guy is slowly trudging to the L couch, having given up on just standing there, waiting for something to happen like an idiot, and sitting on top of the not-dead bronto guy’s legs. He sluggishly pulls out a joint, and spends a good many seconds trying to light up his lighter, with no success; despite calling them friends, that guy doesn’ seem very interested in the situation taking place in front of him, preferring instead to let a stranger interact with his band mate while he tries to get high, good friend.
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“Now do me a favor and get out!” glancing back towards Fang, whose face has gotten increasingly more aggressive looking, you decide. No, you don’t think you will.
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“I’m not getting out before you hear what I have to say, then, then I’ll go”
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“Oh, and what is it?” she huffs, face contorting into something between a sneer and a smirk “Gonna call me mentally ill again?” you grimace again, vivid memories of the time you openly insulted her over what she identified as at the beach, definitely your lowest moment, lower than even being outed as a weeb and humiliated in front of both schools you went to.
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“A schizzo? You wouldn’t even make a passable faggot, was it??” her words drip with condescending sarcasm, there’s not a day you don’t regret saying those things to her, maybe if you kept your mouth shut back then, but you were young and stupid, being considerate wasn’t even a thing “Just an atention seeker, right?” her teeth gritted in her ever bubbling rage.
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“C’mon, do it, say it again, that’s what you wanna do, eh? Rub it in this loser's face how much of a failure she is, RIGHT?” your eyes widened in shock at the revelation, to which she quickly took notice.
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“That’s right, SHE” The bloodied right hand she clutched close to her chest by the wrist is let go to reveal nothing, no colored band wrapped around “Look here” she seeths between her teeth ”No more stupid band, and nothing here too” she lifts her other malnourished hand, again no enbie wrist band “That's what you wanted right, a girlfriend instead of whatever the fuck I wanted to be?” You close your eyes and take a deep breath, whatever you say right now, will only result in blowback, probably the biggest backlash you’ll get from her “You never fucking cared for who I was, did you?” no… that’s not it “Probably just saw me as some pretty face you wanted to get lucky with” that’s not true, you loved her, you just never truly appreciated her until she was gone from your life.
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“C’mon, do it, just say what you want, and leave me alone!”
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This is it.
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“DO IT! SAY IT!” her bloody right hand swipes from left to right, smearing your shirt with blood.
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“I’m sorry”
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The way her breathing hitched and immediately recoiled would make one believe she just got shot. Fang stood there, petrified, utterly unable to react to your words, you could see the small twitches in her eyes, left, right, barely noticeable, but noticeable enough for someone who spent three years in the Navy, doing its best to process the words you’ve uttered.
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...Silence
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An awkward silence sweeps over the dirty staff room, like her entire world just crumbled before her eyes, revealing what it truly looked like behind its façade. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t blink, you can only see her chest rising and falling ever so slightly while she keeps staring intently at you, utterly dumbfounded by the words you’ve uttered.
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“... what?…” she mumbles softly, finally finding herself the strength to say anything, any fight and intensity previously in her voice gone for the moment.
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“I’m sorry for what I said to you back then, and I’m sorry for not considering your feelings” you take another deep breath, you can only guess she never expected you to ever apologize “You gave me your heart and I broke it, and not once have I tried to make things right” God, the way she keeps glaring through your soul almost makes you want to turn tail, but this is something you have to do.
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“Instead of apologizing, I just ran away, like a coward, hoping to disappear from everyone’s mind, live alone and be a nobody like I always wanted, before meeting you. And... “ you sigh “...because I never bothered to even try, you suffered because of it, I’m sorry Fang, for all the pain I’ve made you go through”
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Your eyes watch her form carefully, hoping for a response, but she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t even blink. Fang only continues to stare ahead at you, motionless, had it not been the subtle movements of her eyes, or the rise and fall of the chest, one might’ve been led to believe she was a very intricate statue of what a broken woman looks like.
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“...s-sorry?” Finally, after what felt like eons of her processing your shared feelings, she speaks.
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“You’re s-sorry?” she stammers, dumbfounded and heartbroken. Her eyes close shut tight, fists curling until her knuckles turn white, and her clenched jaw gradually morfs from a saddened grimace, to a vicious snarl, displaying the rows of sharp teeth that could very easily tear your throat apart.
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“YOU’RE FUCKING SORRY?” she snaps like a coiled snake, kicking the steel table, viciously flipping over the only thing keeping you two physically apart, over, sending all their junk food and narcotits flying “YOU FUCKING RUINED MY LIFE, AND NOW, AFTER THREE YEARS, YOU SAY YOU’RE SORRY?” she angrily stomps right up to you and shoves a bloody finger onto your face.
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“YOU COULD’VE SAID RIGHT THERE, SHOWN YOU REGRETTED IT, BUT YOU JUST DOUBLED DOWN INSTEAD! AND THEN YOU FUCKED OFF TO NEVER COME BACK” her extended index points outwards after sweeping motion from her scrawny right arm sends it to the right.
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“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA APOLOGIZE, THAT IT WAS JUST THE ALCOHOL MAKING YOU SAY THINGS, THAT MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, YOU ACTUALLY LOVED ME” You recoil and wince, like you just got gut punched by a pro boxer ”THAT YOU’D SHOW UP AND SAY YOU DIDN’T MEAN ANY OF IT, AND WE COULD GO BACK TOGETHER, BUT YOU NEVER DID, YOU JUST…….” she groans, shaking her head wildly from side to side, still coming to terms with your unlikely apology.
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“I LOVED YOU!” now it is your turn to feel that same searing knife stabbing deep within your heart, her eyes screamed hurt and disbelief over your shameless attempt at apologizing after the damage had been not just done, but driven down to her core, reminiscing that exact moment in the beach where your lack of empathy shattered her feelings like that day was still today “AND YOU JUST TOOK MY FEELINGS AND STEPPED ON THEM! YOU JUST LEFT ME! THE ONLY PERSON I’VE EVER OPENED UP TO, AND YOU JUST FUCKING LEFT ME!” you wince again, feeling another stab thrown with laser-like precision straight to the heart.
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At one point you had a mind to interrupt her, but your mind soon pushes those thoughts away, as it transports you back to that rooftop back in highschool, in the moment you where you found Fang alone and bloody, preening herself out of high emotional distress, leaving her bloody mess, covered in leaking wounds, red dripping down her face and limbs. She looked like she had a lot of baggage to share… yet; you didn’t let her, when she needed it the most.
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You thought you knew what she was gonna say before she could say it, and proceeded to give her a half assed, unsympathetic answer that only did the bare minimum to reassure her damaged emotional state. You didn’t even allow the distraught girl to begin confessing anything, she looked ready to pour her heart out... and you didn’t let her, you just thought you knew what you were doing, like your teen dumbass always did, and she still took your blind words to heart.
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In hindsight, you were kind of shitty to her… no, not kinda, you most definitely were awful to Fang, a huge idiot, yet she still offered you her friendship, and even her heart when you two confessed. Your own fists clenched in anger, not at the screaming woman in front of you, but at yourself for being such a piece of shit friend and partner.
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So you do what you should’ve done back then, you lend her your ear, your attention, you lend the enraged Fang your own body and mind for her to vent out any and all frustrations, every word, and every possible blow, instead of pretending you know what she feels and goes through.
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“...AND YOU CAN TAKE YOUR SORRY AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR FUCKING ASSHOLE! SORRY’S NOT GONNA BRING BACK MY FRIENDS, SORRY’S NOT GONNA BRING BACK MY FAMILY, AND SORRY’S NOT GONNA REVERT EVERYTHING BACK TO HOW IT WAS!”
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“SORRY’S NOT GONNA FIX MY LIFE!” she stops, heaving and panting, her reddish amber eyes, a result from the rising stress and blood pressure, bore holes into your skull. You wait until she calms down some, watching for her erratic breathing to gradually decrease in intensity, but it doesn't, she just continues to glare at you, most likely hoping you’ll turn around and leave her life for good.
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And maybe you should, it’d probably be better for her to not have you around her, the person who helped her get where she is, in garage tier band, doing small gigs for dirty, decrypt bars and restaurants, along two drug addicts, one of which could possibly be dead right now, and another who’s such a great friend he doesn’t even bother to ask if Fang’s alright after this outburst.
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But you don’t want you… you want to help her.
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As she’s occupied staring at you, her chest rising and falling at a speed that’s definitely not normal, or even considered healthy, you move one arm and place it over one shoulder, hoping that all that venting will lessen any backlash from touching her.
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But as soon as you touch her.
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“STOP IT, DON’T TOUCH ME!” Fang reacts violently as expected, slapping your face with her wounded hand, leaving a bloody imprint on your cheek as she tries to wrestle herself away from your touch “GET AWAY FROM ME ANON, GET AWAY. GET! AWAY!” she wiggles herself out of your weak grasps, and funnels all her ire into one condensed moment of fury and sorrow meant to tear you apart.
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“I FUCKING HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!” she raises her fist and strikes you on the chest, again, and again “IHATEYOU, IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU!” Soon her other fists join in and she’s hammering your chest, finally unleashing all of her repressed anger, hare, sorrow, all her emotional baggage that has been eating away at her heart for the last three years of her life.
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Every single ‘I hate you’ is followed by one of her fists pounding your chest, over and over, with her unhealthily thin arms, you could stop and hold her back, preventing any lasting damage to you and her, it’d be the easiest thing in the world considering the level of malnourishment she’s at, but you can’t bring yourself to, you just let her beat her frustrations on you.
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“I HATE YOU! YOU HEAR ME!? HATE YOU!” Her hands move from beating your chest to clutching your shirt, head angling down, shaking left and right, desperately refusing to acknowledge you came back to her life to remind her of all that she’s suffered because of you “I HATE YOU!”
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*pant*
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“I HATE…”
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*pant*
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“... I hate…”
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*sob*
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“I…”
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The grip of Fang’s fingers on your shirt release clutch loosen, arms falling limply to her sides, while she finds her shaved head leaning against your chest.
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A sudden wetness spreads across the fabric of your shirt as Fang buries her head further onto your chest, letting tears that she must’ve once thought were forever dry. Her weak, trembling legs, unable to sustain her weight anymore, buckle down, slowly taking her to the ground. Your hands move to her shoulders to keep her from falling and hurting herself, and lower her yourself, as she continues crying onto your chest.
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You don’t know for how long you’ve held her like this, you both have been on your knees for only god knows how long, while she sobbed onto your chest, she wouldn’t even allow herself to pull your hands off her arms, too busy crying her eyes out to even bother.
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“I hate this…” she sobs, her hands come up to clutch her arms tightly, not once letting her eyes meet yours, most likely not even wishing to see your face right now, or too ashamed of letting you see how far she has fallen.
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“I hate this, anon… I *sob* I’ve left my friends… my family…” she confesses, so that’s how it was “I hate music… I hate this band, I hate my life, I hate it all so much” her shoulders quake as she takes a deep, trembling breath.
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“I left everything for this, because I thought it was what I wanted” she leans her head harder onto your chest, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around her quaking shoulders. If she dislikes it, she sure as hell doesn’t make any effort to stop you “Now look at me, heh” she laughs some between her sobs “I’m a junkie… barely scraping by with meager pay from my plays… and I spend it all on drugs and beer, the only things that help ease the pain” her hands’ grip on her arms tighten, piercing the thing fragile scales with ease, drawing thin lines of blood, dripping down her arms and elbow.
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“I distanced myself from everyone, even when they tried to help me … I just” she sobs and coughs, her already not healthy throat having been destroyed by shouting and crying “I couldn’t trust anyone anymore… Trish, Naomi… you” she confesses to you, and things start making sense now “Who could I trust, when even my friends were hurting me?”
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“Oh Fang, I’m so sorry…” your embrace tightens around her, and again she shows no signs of pushing you away.
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“My brother, my parents, my friends, I saw all of them giving up on me after I gave up on them” she sniffles “They tried so hard Anon, they looked so hurt... but I just kept pushing them away, all I could ever think were how you hurt me, and how they’d eventually hurt me too”
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“I saw my brother getting married... my friends graduated, everyone was moving on from me after I cut ties with them, why try to help someone who refuses help, right?”
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*sob*
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“I saw everything moving forward-”
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“While you just stayed the same” She stops sobbing for a moment, finally looking up to you, with surprise etched on her face, she looks into your own eyes, glistening from all the emotions swirling around.
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“Just by yourself, in your own little world, thinking you’re good by yourself, and that you don’t need anyone else” your eyes close, in a vain attempt to stop them from coming “That you’re just fine having no one, just yourself, because you can only trust yourself and no one else” why are you even trying to stop them? This is no moment no pretend you’re stronger than you are “And avoid the pain when you’re inevitably hurt for having friends”
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“I know exactly how it feels, Lucy” letting your eyelids open allow for your own tears to flow down your cheeks.
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Her faded amber eyes widen before they moisten even more, giving them that vivid, colorful shine you’ve missed ever since that break up. The tears now cascading down full force, completely unable to hold back on the emotions she must’ve bottled up for years, and she begins wailing onto your chest, her hands letting go of her arms to wrap you around your back, clutching the back of your shirt.
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“Why didn’t you come back, Anon?” she cries in your chest, and you embrace her a little bit closer to you.
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“Because I was afraid… afraid of what you’d say, what my friends would’ve said to me, too much of a coward to apologize and get rejected any way” your hand rubs circles on her back, carefully maneuvering around her plucked wings “I decided to just keep to myself, and simply live with the guilt, it would be easier to just not get in anyone’s way, to be a nobody, like I always wanted”
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“Since you had your friends and family, I assumed you’d be better off without an asshole like me bringing you down, I never expected or wanted…. this to happen to you”
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“I regretted doing that then, and I regret doing that even more now. I said terrible things that I shouldn't have, blurting out whatever my head came up with at the time, and not once did I take your feelings into consideration. I was a crappy person, probably still am, just… less, I guess. I grew up since then, not much, but… matured enough to fully understand how shitty I used to be, to this day I still don’t know how you ever managed to once love a piece of shit like me”
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*sigh*
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“I know anything I say will never fix what I did, and that you’ll probably never forgive me; but I’m not asking for forgiveness, I just wanted to right my wrongs, at the very least let you know I’m sorry” you apologize one more time, resting your chin on her head, right beside her head fin.
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You don’t know for how long you’ve held her in your embrace, it could’ve been a couple of minutes, or maybe even hours, what you know is that you don’t want this to end anytime soon, holding her again after three years, you never noticed how much you needed this until now, you never noticed how much you needed Fang.
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And Fang? She continued to cry on your shirt, using your chest as an impromptu pillow where she sank her face and cried into it, her own grip around your torso never faltering, if anything only growing tighter as her sharp nails started digging into your back, you can only guess that much like you, she has a rocky, if non existent relationship with her family, and is also in dire need of this kind of physical affection.
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But all things must come to an end, and soon her crying simmers down, and her heavy sobs devolve into a couple of sniffles, arms still very much clinging to you as if her life depended on it. It is you, however, who ultimately separates, moving your hands across her back to her shoulders, you gently pull her away from you. Her hands grip your shirt tighter when she feels herself being pried off, but soon releases her hold, allowing you to pull each other off, holding her at an arm's length by her shoulders.
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You two can’t look each other in the eye, not really knowing how to continue from this point; specially Fang, who looks visibly embarrassed, but ends up being the to break the ice. She takes a deep breath, letting her chest slowly rise and fall, before sighing.
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“I… thank you” Fang licks her dry lips, tasting the words that just came out of your mouth, you can only guess that never in a million years she would see herself thanking you for anything “I really… I really needed this”
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“To vent?” you assume?
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“Yeah… it’s something I’ve been bottling up since… you know” you grimace at the implication “Funny it was you of all people who gave me that chance” she lets out a hollow laugh, but there’s no smile on her face “Not my family” her eyes close, the pain of knowing her family probably doesn’t want anything with her making itself known “or even them” she glances sideways to the two druggies lying on the couch.
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“I look pitiful, don’t I?” she asks, every bite she had before gone, as well as the deep sorrow displayed moments ago, all she has to show as far as emotions go is sadness “I mean, just look at me” you do look at her, and you have an answer to that question.
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“I don’t see anything much worse than myself, to be honest” you respond in earnest “At least you can say you have a job, and talent. I live off of a meager pension from being in the Navy and have no skills whatsoever” you could count on your fingers the amount of useful skills you have, which is zero. Fang’s situation is dire, but you know she has the talent to overcome this, and eventually turn into the musician she always longed to become.
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“It can’t be worse than becoming a washed up, junkie, bassist in a crappy band ” you cringe, your face wrinkling at the bluntness of her words, Fang spares no expenses telling you how it is straight.
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“Oh, it is, I spend my days watching anime in my run down apartment” you smile, joking at your own expense, hoping to lift up the atmosphere. The corner of fang’s lips twitch a millimeter for a millisecond, but otherwise stay down, looks like your attempt at a joke didn’t quite cut it.
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“Still a dweeb...” she mutters, her amber eyes shine with memories from a time past, good memories you assume, at the very least enjoyable ones you hope “I wish I could spend my days like that” she signs, lips pursing in frustration “At least I’d have a roof over my head, and wouldn’t have to worry whether I’ll make enough to live a little longer” she’s homeless? You’re dumbfounded by that. That’s… no, she doesn’t deserve this.
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“Maybe you can...” you mutter without thinking. Both your eyes widen when the words escape your lips, why would you say that? Fang stares at you in disbelief, before they narrow ever so slightly, a sudden growing suspicion visible on her face.
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“Are you implying what I think you are?” she questions you.
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“Maybe? It would be a step up right?” her eyes narrowed further, her eyes took a sudden tone shift to seriousness that you haven’t seen since high school, back when she wanted the truth about whether you had been there in the auditorium or not.
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“Anon, I’m grateful that you came to apologize, but I have to ask, is there more to it?” her tone took a shift from serious to somewhat pleading “Please, be honest with me, are you hoping we…” she didn't finish the question, but you know exactly what she meant.
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You sigh.
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“I would be lying If I said it hadn’t crossed my mind” you don’t hesitate to tell the truth, she deserves at least this much from you at this point. She looks down a bit… disappointed, you think? She might be thinking that the only reason you came to apologize was because you wanted to get back with her, which would be farther from the truth, yet not entirely wrong.
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Silence reigns over again, you two on the floor, staring down and the thick cloud of smoke covering the tiles from prying eyes. Another deep breath and again, it is Fang who breaks the ice.
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“I don’t think we can ever get back together Anon, I…” she turns her head with a grimace, holding her arm, in a manner all too familiar to you “It still hurts, I’m willing to forgive you” Fang shocks you with this development, your eyes widen in disbelief, and seeing the look on your face, she nods, assuring you she’s being honest “And I appreciate your apology and concern, I really do” you know she does, that kind of tone in her voice can’t be faked so easily. Fang sighs deeply, and looks into your eyes “But I don’t think that’ll ever happen again... I’m sorry” you lean back a little, letting the breath you were unconsciously holding out.
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“I see, don't apologize, it was unreasonable of me anyway…” you look down, a bit dispirited, but not unmotivated. That was to be expected, still, you’d say your endeavor was far more fruitful than it had any right to be, just leaving with you and Fang on possible good terms is an achievement in and of itself, considering this could’ve easily ended up with you being physically assaulted.
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Proof of that being that even Fang looks a bit regretful of what she said, if only because she knows it hurts you, if she weren’t truly grateful of you owning up and apologizing, and being the receptacle she so desperately needed to relieve herself of all the repressed feelings, there would be no regret in those eyes; she cares, even if just a bit, and that’s enough for you. But her own wounds are still open and in need of healing, and that, of course, takes priority over your unrealistic desire to reconnect romantically with her.
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Your apology is the first step towards healing her broken heart, you have to follow it up with supporting her.
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“Can we…” you start, not really sure if she’ll be up to it, you could get another rejection, which makes you hesitate to ask.
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“???” she focuses her attention on your face again, and those eyes convince you to go through, as silly of a question it might be.
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“Can we... at least be friends again?” you ask, in a hopeful tone. Even if you could never have Fang again, just being friends with her would be enough, you feel. You don’t want to be alone anymore, and you’re sure neither does she, and a friend is exactly what both of you need.
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A slightly befuddled expression claims her face, the amber of her eyes shining ever so slightly as they widen, and her lips parting in light bewilderment, but that doesn’t last very long.
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For the first time, in what could possibly be years, Fang smiles, a simple, serene smile on her face, one you have seen only once in your life, back at the rooftop, when you didn’t help her at all, she still gave you the most enchanting, beautiful smile you’ve ever laid eyes on, grateful for assuring her. and there she is, doing it again, and looking ready to cry all over again to boot, only not in sorrow and sadness this time. She catches herself, and giggles some, wiping one of her eyes with the base of her palm, while trying to keep the sobs from coming up again.
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“Yes…” she sniffles “Yes, I would like that” she leans over and hugs you again, snaking her arms under your arms, letting her hands grip your shoulders from behind. “I missed you, Anon” she confesses, burying her face on your shoulder, where you feel the fabric quickly growing wetter on that spot. And you fully embrace her as well, with your hand resting at the back of her head, and your cheek laying on top of hers.
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“I missed you too, Lucy”