Etched with marks, but I can deal

Prompt: This was spontaneously prompted by the following two lines - “The palest ink is better than the sharpest memory” [Chinese Proverb] and “I will follow you into the dark” [song by Death Cab For Cutie].
Characters: Eric Hayes (Amped), allusions to Kiley Marshall and Anthony Galvin.
Timeline: Shortly after the end of season 1
Word count: 446
Author’s comments: Another tortured Eric fic, oh the poor boy, stuck with an evil creator like me. Not that I’ve been alone in the creation of his demons, mind you. Still, I just had the buzz to do something a bit more introspective. ESM have gone off to record an album but he’s stayed behind, unwilling to leave uni when it’s the only thing that he’s held on to for so long. He was unable to actually explain this to Kill of course, so there’s a whole other level of angst to be had on her behalf. So he’s sitting around feeling conflicted, still longing for what he lost and for what he’s given up. I also just realise how appropriate this song is - “That face is tearing holes in me again.” Actually, I should do another one based on the last line of the song – “I’m holding on by letting go of you.” Hmmm *ponders*

***

This isn’t the first time.

My vices are all lined up. The drugs. The booze. The sex. It all comes back to one thing. Your face swims in my mind, blurred by an ever present guilt. With you, I was whole. I had a purpose. I had plans. You made me want it. For a moment, I saw the future and it was magic. The problem with magic is that it doesn’t last. It’s all smoke and mirrors and quick hands. I wasn’t fast enough. I missed a trick. Everything imploded. Everything but me.

Self destruction.

I kept going for you. That didn’t mean I had to enjoy it. Hell, I couldn’t enjoy it. There was nothing left in your absence, time stretching ahead to the precipe of a yawning cavern. In a way I followed you into the dark. Mine was just a living hell strewn with nameless faces, interchangeable scenes, and hateful flings…all just to accentuate the fact that nothing meant anything, and there was no consolation.

Then there was her.

A persistent image, both impossible and infuriating. Splashes of colour and life, threatening the careful boundaries I carved in order to justify my existence, to tolerate it. Something stirred and with it came the shame, the betrayal. Everything I had was tied to you. I lost myself. She found the pieces, and with it came dreams and inspiration. She made me want it. The edges of my existence glowed in technicolour. How could I let her get that close? There was meaning again, and it was dangerous. I had no right to want this. I didn’t deserve it.

I was right.

Your shadow lingers, I can trace the echo of it. It’s an unconscious move I have perfected in the years I’ve spent alone. She left when I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I can’t leave you behind. I can’t let go, and lose what little of you I have left. I also can’t hold her back. What would you say now, if you were with me and we were watching the disintegration of some poor lovelorn soul? Would you lean against me, shaking your head, and outlining the pros of just going for it? After all, you always were a hopeless romantic.

These thoughts tear holes through me.

I line them up metaphorically, logical and neat. The sex. The booze. The drugs. Not to think, not to feel, just to exist and forget that any of it is real. I knew you’d haunt me forever, welcomed it in fact, but I never thought I’d be haunted by another ghost of missed chances.

This isn’t the first time. I don’t have the strength to make it the last.

Music: Straitjacket feeling - The All American Rejects
Mood: Pensive