Tyson POV

I smile down at Tiana as she sleeps, her brown hair fanning out against the pillow. The smile wasn't happy, more like a knife than a thing of comfort. But watching someone you care for break, it was never supposed to bring comfort, was it?

But you can't really blame her for it. She was forced into the darkness. She had to watch as the darkness melted into her, seeping into her until it was all she was. Until she couldn't help but join it. Even now, she seemed to wear the darkness as a second skin, coating her in what she wishes would leave.

But, somehow, it's oddly beautiful in a way I never thought to see. Isn't blood beautiful without the pain that follows it? Isn't fire beautiful without the burns it brings us? Isn't she beautiful without the hurt that swallows her?

Isn't everything we deem "weird" just something we can't understand and, therefore, shun away?

It's poetry. We all are. With our own stories and our own dreams and ours own views, we are all living poetry, words spilling out of us through our actions, radiating out of us and effecting the words around us, merging to form poetry so profoundly original, it warms our hearts. Sharing little bits of who we are while our hearts sing the songs that our actions write. We were all always beautiful, in our own ways. We are all singers and writers in everything we do. Original in our own beauty.

I wish I wasn't ever so consumed by everything that I forgot the beauty of it.

God, I'm so pretentious.

My mind runs back to the memories I never wanted. My mom. Those words. The atmosphere. The anger. The betrayal. The fear. The longing.

My biological parents.

There's anger in those three words, anger I didn't know I had until I shouted at them, called them out on all the shit they've forced me to go through. I wasn't ready to meet them. They were at fault for all the doubts I've had on my family. All the doubts I've had on my friends. All the doubts I never thought would leave.

All the love I've been given that I've doubted.

Because who can love me? Who can love me if even my parents don't? Who would want to?

Over the years, it has become easier to accept love. Never easy, but easier. It was, and still is, harder to give love. Why should I, when I probably won't receive it? Would they even want it in the first place? Would they care?

I've learnt, in all the months I've been forced to be someone else, that those who seem like they care the least, are the ones that care the most. How could I not learn it, when it was my own story?

There's a story to every defence a person builds. A story to every gesture of nonchalance a person shows. A story to every suppressed grin on a person scared to love.

Why have we thought ourselves to be afraid of love? Or, better yet, why has the world thought us that?

I thread my hands through Tiana's hair as she begins to move slightly, murmuring illegibly. I sigh imperceptibly at her actions. It seems this night won't be one where she sleeps soundly.

I won't blame her after the day she's had.

I guess my own anger wouldn't help, in that matter.

I'll admit, guiltily, that I've considered leaving her. I was so scared that I wouldn't be able to help. Was so scared to care for her. Was so scared she'd leave me. Was so scared that I wouldn't be enough. I still am.

And then there's the darker part of me, the one that wonders if it'll be worth it. If she'll be worth it. If she's worth the effort I've put.

This part is one that I'm scared of. Because I know, for ever-loving fuck, oh how well I know, that it is worth it. That she's worth it.

But I am human. And, because of that, I am also weak. And, because of my weakness, I have doubts.

On the days where she can do nothing but stare at the ceiling blankly, barely human enough to show emotions. Or days where she cries all day, memories filling her brain that she shouldn't have had to live through in the first place. Or the days where anger seems to be her only emotion. These are the days that make me doubt myself and everything there is to her.

But...

But then she'd hold my hand, or smile at me, or thank me, and the doubts are forgotten. Because it's worth it to see her getting better. It's worth it when she's heavy on sarcasm or high on happiness. It's worth it when she holds my hand for support as she cries, or when she's pressed up against me on the bed for comfort.

She's worth it.

I am human, and I have my weakness, but I also have my strengths. And while I'm not proud of my weaknesses, they are mine. And only I can control them.

"You think too loud," came a groggy voice next to me, startling me from my thoughts.

"I didn't know thoughts could be loud," I retort, glancing at her worriedly.

"They're louder than words," is all she says, rubbing her eyes to take the sleep away from them.

"Oh?"

"Silence, in an argument, is more expressive than words, isn't it?" she says, voice still coated with sleep.

"Silence isn't thoughts, though,"

"But it's filled with them," she says, looking a little more awake now. The process is kinda cute. "So is a smile, or a glare, or a raised eyebrow or something like that. Thoughts."

"I suppose you're right," I say, acting reluctant.

"Yeah well..."

"Why are you awake?"

"Nightmare," she says, but she doesn't look too shaken by it.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Unless you want to know about bananas trying to eat me, then no," she says, face contorted in confused disgust.

"Ba... bananas?" I ask, blinking.

"Yeah, they took over the world. Claimed that, since we've been eating them for centuries, it's only fair for them to eat us," she says, still confused. "I have no idea where that came from."

I laughed, the sound coming out without my permission. It was ridiculous, and stupid, and lovely. Because this was a better nightmare. One that I can laugh at.

One that isn't forged from memories.

So I laugh, way harder than I should have. Tears line my eyes as I laugh, and I bend over to hold onto my stomach as I laugh. It feels really good.

"You laugh now, but I bet you wouldn't if a banana was trying to eat you," she says, though she looks amused.

"Yup. Scary stuff right there," I say through my laughter, trying to get my shit together.

"But their mouths were yellow! Like, the thing had a human mouth but it was yellow! It's teeth, tongue, the top of its mouth and that little dangly thing on the roof of the mouth! They were all yellow! Blregh," she says, slightly disgusted.

"No yellow. Got it," I say, slightly amused.

She rolls her eyes. She goes quiet then, thinking. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"That's my first normal dream in a while," she admits softly. I smile just as softly.

"That's good."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Though, if that's your idea of normal, then you're wrong," I say, snickering slightly.

"They even had hair. I don't even know why. The one that ate me has that '90s suburban mom hairstyle that freaked me out. Her child was in the background, being 'woke' by screaming that humans deserve rights too. I liked him," she says, looking thoughtful.

" God, your imagination is wild," I say, laughing again.

"Don't remind me," she mumbles, adorably annoyed. This just makes me laugh harder.

As my laughter subsides, we lapse into a comfortable silence, just the sounds of her fidgeting being heard.

"What were you thinking about before I woke up?" she asks, breaking the silence.

I sigh. "Long story."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to go back to sleep after that-" I grin at this "- so, if you want me to be, you can, I don't know... we can... you know.. talk about it."

She looks cautiously at me, and a little nervously. I give her a small smile. Then sigh.

"I met my biological parents," I say, tasting the words as they came out of my mouth. They tasted stale. Like they weren't supposed to have come out. Like they should've been thrown away.

I pause to let the statement sink in, and watch as her eyes widen slightly, before continuing. "I didn't know I was going to be meeting them. I went back to my home to meet my mom and apologise. I met Jar and it was all good and dandy and fun and even my mom was joking. It seemed fine, right? But something seemed... off. I didn't realise what it was until I followed her into the living room. There were two people sitting there, and I think you can guess who they were. I didn't know at first, so I looked at my mom for help. She looked extremely guilty, then whispered an "I'm sorry, I didn't know they were coming to visit" before introducing me to them. I lost it. I yelled at them, accusing them of fuck knows what cause I was too angry to actually know what I said. There was just... so much anger. So much. It scared me, making me storm out of the house like it was some fucking dramatic movie. But I couldn't be there for a second more. And I was too scared of my anger to actually do anything other than storm out. I don't remember anything, I was that angry. That was why I asked Xavier to spar with me. It calmed me down back when I used to have anger issues," I say, then take a deep breath.

Tiana's silent for some time, before she asks, quietly, "You've had anger issues?"

"Yeah. That's actually how I got my "bad boy" image. Whatever that is. I got so pissed by every little thing that triggered me, and each time I lashed out. I was blinded by anger for the world and let it out on people who, while deserving of punishment, deserved lesser than the pain I gave them. It wasn't like I got angry for every little thing that ticked me off, but, like I said before, it was like a trigger. Why should I keep listening to the shit people say when I can beat them into submission, you know? I don't have to worry about bullies if I beat them up. I regret it every time though, and I took measures to rectify myself. To get better. Sparring was one of them. I've gotten a lot, a lot, better. But... but sometimes... I can't help it. It's one of the reasons I hate the "bad boy" reputation I've got. People expect me to get into fights even though I've sworn to keep it together," I sigh, trying to get it together, but something in me wants to keep talking, finally voice what I never wanted to give thought to.

I never knew it would feel so freeing. Maybe this is a taste of what freedom is.

"It's like," I continue, "like, you've put all this hard work to get better, right? But they expect you to go back to the person you hated to be because they find it entertaining, never thinking about the damage it would bring me. The time and energy and work I put in, trying to reign myself in. It wasn't just violence either. In case violence wasn't an option, I used words. And that's so much worse. I tried so hard to become a better person, to work past my issues. But they keep expecting me to pick a fight and I just... it's just hard when you're trying to change but they don't want you to and it makes you feel like shit, you know? But I survived. I've gotten better. I've worked past my issues. But, seeing one of said issues sitting on our sofa and looking guiltily at me. I... I couldn't take it."

I look at my hands, my breathing laboured. I've never let myself think about my past self. I hated him. But he was me. And he grew to become me. I didn't know how badly I needed to talk about him and the changes he's gone through to become who I am today. That person being someone who I can look into the mirror and not feel disgust but pride. It took a lot to get me here, but not acknowledging the person I had to change to get here was probably stupid.

I look towards Tiana and see that she's conflicted. Shit. I forgot she got abused by her father. Shit. Shit.

She sees the growing worry in my eyes and rolls hers. "I'm not made of glass. I'm not going to break into a million pieces each time you talk about something like this."

"You had a very emotionally trying night. I'm sorry," I say sincerely.

"Again, I'll admit, I'm not very... comfortable. It's... not something I'm all that happy to talk about. But I can't avoid it forever. These type of topics are often discussed. I'll... I'll have to learn to do things out of my comfort zone at some point. This... this is okay," she says, through she keeps fidgeting and her eyes are never focused on one thing for too long.

"But... I beat them up. How different am I from your d-" I cut myself off. He wasn't her father. "- from him."

"Really?" she asks, sounding angry though her face betrayed nothing. "Do you want to know how you're different? You changed. You felt guilty each time you did it. You did it only when you were provoked, not just because you could. You tried and tried to change, even when there was so much against you. You cared. You both are worlds apart and if you ever compare yourself to that... to that monster, I'll slap you until some sense enters you. Am I clear?"

There's nothing really dangerous about her expression. Just a raised eyebrow. But something... something makes it different.

"Okay... I'm sorry."

"It's..." she sighs, threading a hand through her hair. A nervous habit. "It's okay. It's just. I hate that you, someone who is just so obviously good, compare yourself with someone as disgusting as him. It just makes me so angry. He's... he's him. And you're you. And you're both nothing alike or I wouldn't be here talking to you. Can we... can we stop talking about him... I just... I'm not really.."

Suddenly her breathing started getting laboured and I put a hand on her's for comfort. I breathe in and out deeply, hoping she'd follows. She does and, after a few seconds, her breathing becomes better.

"We don't have to talk about him," I say, hand still on hers.

"Thanks," she says, slowly pushing my hand away. She still isn't big on physical contact so I take my hand away.

"Thanks for letting me vent. I didn't know how much I needed that until I got it," I say truthfully, smiling at her. She smiles back.

"Most things usually are like that," is all she says.

She yawns then, all kitten-like, and I'm reminded of the shit day she's had. I feel guilty when I think about the fact that I may have contributed to it, paired with the fact that I kept her up, but I push it away to take care of her. That's more important anyway.

"Sleep," I say, looking worried. "You're tired."

"That I am," she chuckles. I wince.

"Sorry."

"Get over yourself, Bent. I wanted to so I did. You don't have to make this a bigger deal than it is. It's what friends do."

It occurs to me then, just how much she's changed. If she got out of her shell, she'd be one hell of a strong person. But it wasn't a shell she was trapped it. It was walls. Walls she built to keep people out but ended up trapping herself too.

That's the thing about walls, though, isn't it? It may keep people out, but it's trapping you in. Suffocating you. And you're the only one who's suffering within the walls. Everyone else was outside, and they could choose to knock it down or walk away.

The funny thing is, you keep waiting for someone to break them down, never realising that maybe the only one who cares enough to do so is yourself.

"Thanks," I say, knowing she picked up on my guilt.

"No pro-" she says, but gets cut off by a very big yawn. "-blem."

"Go to sleep," I say, chuckling. I probably sounded really fond of her. If anyone heard, they'd probably hear my feelings for her too.

" 'm fine," she says. "I wanna talk about your parents. Do you know what they came to talk to you about?"

"We'll talk tomorrow," I say, trying to keep my voice stern. "For now you need to sleep."

She looks like she's about to argue, but a yawn stops her. She glares at me when I give her my smug "I-told-you-so" look. I've been told it's quite infuriating. I don't doubt them.

"Alright," she says grumpily. "I'll go to sleep."

She lays back on the bed, yawning again and snuggling up to the pillow, sighing in comfort, eyes closed. Adorable.

The sound of me yawning makes her crack an eye open and she chuckles. "Oh, how the roles have been reversed."

"Fuck off."

"Language."

"Remind me to say that the next to you decide to swear like a sailor."

"I probably won't."

"I don't need you to."

A chuckle slips past my lips but, for some reason, all I can think about is that my biological parents will probably never hear that sound. I don't know why I'm so disappointed by that.

"Come sleep next to me," she says tiredly, patting the space next to her.

I tense up. "Uhh..."

"Relax. I don't mind. Really. You need support. And I can be that support. Let me be, just this once," she says and I sigh. There's no saying no to this girl.

"Alright."

I pull my pants off leaving me in just my boxers. Id remove my shirt as well but I'd rather not push my luck. I climb into bed with her and drape and arm round . Then a thought strikes me.

"How come I can't touch your hand but I can still cuddle you?"

"Certain situations and emotions warrant certain reactions," she mumbles, sounding half way asleep. Her bed really is comfy. I take my arm off of her, then pull the sheets above me as well before putting my arm back around her. She feels so comfortable in my arms. So warm. Alive.

Sometimes it's nice to have a reminder.

"Oh."

"Can we go to sleep?" she asks sleepily.

I grin. She always managed to soothe the soul.

"Yeah. Yeah we can."
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Hehe
Hehe
Heee *looks sheepish*
I'm alive.... physically.

This chapter was mostly to insinuate the fact that we're all human. And so we're all imperfect. And that's okay. It's okay to feel negative emotions. It's okay. It doesn't make you bad. It makes you human.

Nor exactly my best work either... hehe... just...

I am tired. I had to wake up early and go to school ON A SUNDAY and stay for two hours. I am DONE with life. Ugh.

Tired..... tiiiired..... sleeeeeep....

I'm really sorry it was so late.

Vote and comment!

*Waves* Bye!