paralyzedpsyche-blog

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He stares. He listens. He understands. Oh boy, does he understand. Quinton may not choose to believe that,  but it's true. Now he has nothing to say. Not due to lack of words, but do to the fact he's made his point. Or, at least, he hoped he has, and he hopes that Quinton can conquer the fear of allowing himself to open up. From experience, Val knows how it is to be shut down and push people away. It's dark and desolate, and he doesn't wish it upon anyone. Especially not someone he cares about. He does care about Quinton. Now more than ever, probably; but it's always been there. Somewhere, possibly very deep inside of him, he's always cared. And maybe that's why he's choose to let it be. He's apologized, and said all of what he's came to say. So he keeps quit, and takes deep breaths, wondering if the other male can hear him or notice the bags getting crushed against his chest every time he does so. And he wonders if he can detect the tears in his eyes and the ones that have fallen down his cheeks. If he has he'd probably call them out, say something involving the fact that he's glad he's made him cry because the Russian has done the same to himself too often. Maybe not. Quinton isn't that harsh. But, then again, once Val, too, was never that harsh.

God, he’s sick. Sick of the excuses, sick of hearing how sorry everyone is, sick of being the person everyone is sorry for. There isn’t one ounce of him that would want to go back and do it all over again, not if it meant that he would get the same abuse as he did before. If he could go back in time he’d go back and tell himself no, tell himself that it’s not worth it, you’re better than that, you deserve more. At the time he thought he deserved it all, thought that that was what he deserved after the life he had. But  now, more than ever, he hates Val for hurting him the way he did, he hates that Val made it so hard for him to fully give himself into Xander the way that he truly wants to. It’s because of Val that he couldn’t do that, he’s the reason that it took Quinton so long to be okay with waking up and not having Xander there. Fuck, he hates Val but he’s also so fucking thankful that he’s here and apologizing.  "I don’t know what to say to you, honestly. There was so much I wanted to yell at you  for. So much that I wanted to bring up and now that so much time has passed I don’t even know whether or not it’s worth it now. But I am very thankful that you’re here, and  that you’re apologizing. I don’t know what this is going to bring about for us, but as  far as I’m concerned, I don’t care. I’ve gotten to a point in my life where I’m trying to be happy, and I’m trying to give myself to someone that treats me like his Princess. I’ve found someone that’s my whole world, and treats me the way I should be treated. But I hate you for making it hard for me to give him my entire being. I hate you for damaging me to a point where I’m afraid to open up to anyone other than myself. God, I hate you so fucking much and I never thought that I could ever hate you as much as I do right now.” He has to pause and collect himself. Quinton is white knuckling the whiskey bottle, so  hard that he thinks he might break it. “And as much as I hate it, I need to thank you for treating me like shit, now because of you I know what it’s like to have someone that truly cares about me.”

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Go on Anon and tell us something about your life, your crush, school  or  job, anything-  and  my muse  will give you advice.

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"I was...a downright awful person to you, Quinton. And it took me way too incredibly long to do something about it. I'm still...I don't know what the hell I was thinking through it all. Nothing is what I'm determined to use as an excuse, I suppose.  But I don't want to give excuses. You don't want, or need, or deserve them.              I put you through a lot of  unwarranted shit that I truly am sorry for." Pause, breathe. "That's why I left and why I am here now; to try and fix the mendable parts of myself, and let you know how utterly ashamed I am of my being and the burden of abuse I inflicted on you." He forces it out quick without filter, and hopes it sounds sincere enough because it is, immensely.

"I'm not here to...try and make you love me again or sleep with you again, or anything like that. I just want you to know how I feel, and how devastated I am. And I hope you're happy. I hope that...you can find someone or have found someone that makes you feel like the happiest person alive, because that is        such an amazing feeling, and I want, more than anything, for you to experience it. And...I'm sorry that I couldn't be the one that made you feel that way. It would have been an absolute honor." By now he' actually on the verge of tears, and thus, further proving how nauseatingly pathetic he is.

"Uhh..y-yeah, so...just...find that person, Q. And do not let anyone take them or your happiness away from you. Not again."

It does surprise him a little bit, that Val doesn’t want to go into the liquor  store, but he doesn’t ask questions, just nods his head and disappears  into the store to get some whiskey. It doesn’t take that long, he knows  this place like the back of his hand and gets exact what he needs before leaving. Walking out of the store, he asks himself why exactly he’s even giving Val the time of day. This is the last thing he deserves right now. But he feels like maybe this will give him some closure, and maybe it’ll allow him to move on in his relationship with Xander. Maybe he can learn from this, what to do, the warning signs of things. All he wants to do is know. “Well you don’t have that much longer, so maybe you should figure something to say. From my end of things you have a lot to say. I’ll give you a minute or two to collect your thoughts.” His words sound harsh to his own ears, but he tells himself this is what he needs to do. Val deserves the harsh words, not the soft, quiet Quinton he used to be. Valentine can’t push him down anymore. 

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All you put me through. Yes, that was a lot, and none of it could truly be justified nor forgotten. Both knew that. And Val deserves to be constantly reminded of himself and all the terribly wrong things he has done, and how he grew to become what he had feared since childhood       a reflection of his father. Sounds disgustingly cliché, but it's true. He  has to force himself to come to terms and remember that. Currently, as he does so , a long, discouraged sigh resonates from within, and his arms hold the bags to his harsh beating chest, feet keeping a respectful distance from Quinton's as they walk together. No words come to mind now. Now of all fucking times his usual silver tongued self can't come up with a single word to attempt to sputter out. Pathetic. "Uh...y-you don't mind if...I wait outside while you're in the liquor store, do you? Trying to keep myself as far away from it as I can. Helps appease the temptation that way." He is absolutely pathetic. 

Once upon a time Val used to be the most important thing in this life. He would have given his left nut for him to show him any kind of love and affection, to give him anything that someone might consider loving. But times have changed, past abuse both verbal and physical had changed him, and pushed away that once  need that he’d had. It doesn’t mean he still doesn’t want that kind of affection, just not from the taller, curly haired boy. “You have until we get to the front of my  apartment building.” He pauses, rolling his shoulders a bit. “I have to make one stop at the liquor store and then to where I’m living. You have from now until then.” Just like once upon a time he’d had given Val an entire day to speak to him,  morning, noon and night and all the times in between. Now that time has been  left for someone else, for someone that’s there for him. Suddenly he feels guilty for even allowing the other male to carry his bags. As soon as he’s sure he has  hold on them he lets them go and turns to walk toward the liquor store that was just up ahead. “I think that’s a fair amount of time, especially considering all I’ve gone through. All you put me through.” Maybe part of him wanted Val to feel bad, to hurt as much as he had, maybe he deserved it, to hurt him like he was hurt.  That’s still up for debate.”Get talkin’. I have kitties to feed.”

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I am so sorry to all the people I hurt while I was hurting.

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val is so fucking weak i hate him

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There's a grotesque, rotting feeling inside and it is not foreign. It was present for his entire journey in Russia, and once he thought it was to disappear, it only worsened. He told himself push it down, and tried to muster a smile. His hands nervously, in a shaky manner, took hold of both bags though they didn't remove them the others person. Whether it be simply just because Quinton has yet to allow him to possess them or because the taller is too busy gazing down upon him like a fool. One would think it was due to him forgetting just how stunning the boy in front of him was and coming into reality, being hit by it and have this reaction but no. He's just appreciating. Admiring, and treasuring what he had not been able to directly look at for the past however long. And if he was to be granted permission, he would gratefully touch, and kiss, and internally weep over what he'd been deprived of. Not the act of such intimacy that another would have in mind when these two things are mentioned, but just the verbs themselves. Just to touch his cheek, and kiss his forehead...it would be more than enough. It would be a privilege. Especially with the way he's been in the past. But, of course, that's why he came; to apologize, and to regain those allowances he once had. Hopefully, he won't fuck up. "I was hoping we could...talk for a while? If you have time?"

His voice gets stuck in his throat, hands tremble, he’s not sure whether it’s  because of anger or something else he isn’t quiet sure of. Finally he swallows  hard, and looks up at Valentine, taking a step back. Two bags isn’t exactly  something that he needs help with, maybe he should offer to help him fix  the large, gaping whole that he left in his chest when he left. It takes him a  little while to clear his throat, eyes darting around the two of them, counting the streets before he makes it home. “I guess.” Suddenly he feels the need to get another bottle of whiskey. “I uh…might need help getting this and  what not to my apartment.” Really he doesn’t think he’s going to need any help but it gives him a reason to see him and talk to him. But he doesn’t take  the time to move his hands to give him any of the two bags. 

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Let me touch you, Sink my teeth deeper. I want to taste your blood, I want to hear your heart beat and taste your fear.

Alec Everdark 

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Fool me once, I’m gonna kill you.

Ray Narvaez Jr. 

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He stares down at him with no indicator of emotion. Relatable to  a blank slate if you will. All he can do is stand and gaze, and take note of the other's instantaneous reaction as soon as he comes  to terms with who exactly is blocking him. In his mind this moment  played out better. He had planned to actually dress accordingly,  possibly bring flowers, and it certainly wouldn't have happened  randomly in the middle of some sidewalk. But an urge pushed Val to pursue the boy as soon as he got a mere glimpse of him, and  now here they are, looking back at one another in an unusual,  uncomfortable form of silence. "I...Do     you want help with those?" 

Quinton’s got his hands stuffed into the pockets of Xander’s leather jacket, two bags from the market on his arms, one of  cat food ( it’s tough having three cats ) and the other has a few essentials like coffee and cheese. His head’s cast down, keeping his vision on the ground, he just wants to get home as fast as he could. But there’s a brick wall of a person that stops him,  and he would have dropped his bags had it not been for his  hands being in his pockets. When he finally looks up at the wall of a person that he walked into he’s startled. No words come to his mouth; he does however open and close it a few times.

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[bEAR NOISES] BEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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