Harder to Kill — Hadrian, Alessa, Alain & Ysabella

I thought I should be harder to kill

His ears are ringing.

"What?" Hadrian asks, but he doesn't even hear his own voice. He feels hands grabbing him and pulling him miles away, but as far as they soar, they don't save him from your next words.

"We have to end this, Hadrian."

No. He yells from far away, struggling against the bonds of the invisible hands, but they tighten their hold on him, and when his lips move, they form another word. "Why?"

Your face, your beautiful, precious face, contorts. Hadrian wishes he could read the expression, but his vision clouds, and his eyes sting, and he doesn't dare to blink lest you see his weakness. "This is moving so fast. I'm not—" You breathe in deeply, and Hadrian braces himself because he knows whatever is coming will pierce his heart. "I'm not where you are, Hadrian. I care for you, but I don't love you."

He was wrong. It didn't pierce his heart. It shattered it.

"I can wait," he croaks, speaking past the horrible knot in his throat. God, it hurts. It hurts all over. "For you to love me. I— as long as you need."

Your eyes flicker with pity, and Hadrian would have rather you spit at his feet. "I don't think I'll get there, Hadrian. And you don't deserve that. You deserve..." You bite your lip. Only yesterday, he kissed it and smiled against your mouth. Did you flinch at the contact? Did you count the hours until this moment? "You deserve better than me."

He should retreat, keep his dignity. But he cannot. "I don't want anyone else," he says, and if you hadn't taken a step back, Hadrian would have gotten to his knees. "I want you. I always ever wanted you."

Your throat works, and you look away from him. He thought he saw love in your eyes before, but he was wrong. He is always so wrong. "I'm sorry, Hadrian," you say, then turn your back and walk away.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, limbs locked and eyes dazed. He barely remembers moving, at last, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and a bleeding hole in his chest. He's only half aware of falling to his knees before the cross.

He doesn't know whether he sobs or speaks clearly because his ears haven't stopped ringing. "Father in Heaven. Take this pain away."

Sinner. Did you believe yourself happy?

"Please."

You, the unworthy one?

"God Almighty, take it away."

But here we are

The world is freezing.

Alessa's eyes are the color of the purest of blues, like the ice beneath an iceberg, the wind that cuts flesh. She barely breathes, can barely think; all she knows is that you stand before her, her most darling one, and you carve into her chest and tear her heart out.

She wonders if it bleeds. Alessa wonders if she will ever bleed again.

"Are you listening to me?" you ask, and your voice, too, batters against her. Alessa would have flinched if she was not stuck to the ground.

She should be shaking, but she feels herself freezing all over, ice crackling on her joints, her throat, and her voice when she answers, "I am."

Your darling mouth twists with contempt. "Do you have nothing to say?"

She does. She would object, she would barter, she would even beg, but Alessa may be a fool, but she's not a hopeless one. She sees it in your eyes. Resolution. So, she clings to whatever dignity she has left. "You have spoken enough for the both of us."

You scoff, the sound hitting her like a lash. "I don't know what else I expected. You've been doing this the whole time. Kept me at arm's length, pushed me away every chance you get. Did you ever care, Alessa? Did you ever give a single shit about me?"

This snaps her back to life. "How can you question that?" she hisses, the accusation doing more than insulting her. It hurts her. Could you not see? Did she fail to make it known?

"How can I not?" you whisper, and the pain in your tone breaks her.

Alessa steps closer, her cold, cold hands lifting towards you. "I care for you. I—"

You step away. Her hands linger in the air, pitifully, like broken things. Alessa's lips move around silent words. Stay, my dearest one. Do not turn away from me.

But her throat is ice cold, and Alessa cannot speak.

Quick-fire gusts of emotions paint your eyes. Disappointment, then sadness, and, lastly, a horrible resignation. "I know you tried," you whisper, your voice gentle once more but distant. More distant than you have ever been from her. "And I appreciate it. I really do. But you and I, Lessa, we're not meant to be."

Alessa stares as you go, each step a knife to her stomach. Slowly, she turns and seeks the company of the stars. The rooftop is high and deserted, and, most importantly, it is cold. The night wind lashes at her, but Alessa sheds her coat and shirt and stands in nothing but her chest wrappings.  

She eyes the stars as she loses feeling in her body. Her fingers first, then her lips, her feet, her nose, and finally, her chest. Pitiful fool. She was born alone, she has lived alone, and she will die alone.

Tears burn down her cold, cold cheeks, but her lips curl into a dreadful smile. She finally accepts it. Love is for fools, and she will not be made a fool ever again.

I should be harder to kill

Alain slowly gets up. He eyes you, half in disbelief and half in bewilderment. Surely, you didn't mean... "Can you repeat that, sparrow?" he says, closing the distance between you.

You're backed against the door to his bedchamber as if the room itself repulses you. Or maybe it's his presence that you shrink from. Alain's vision darkens at the thought. "You heard me, Alain."

His name on your lips. How he always preened at the sound. But now, it chimes differently. Like you spit it out, like you want it gone from your mouth, leaving a sour taste behind. The nobleman blinks rapidly and wonders if he's in a nightmare. "I didn't hear you correctly," he says, stopping an arm's length from you.

That's wrong, too. You should be in his arms.

You lift your chin and look him in the eyes. "I can't do this any longer."

Alain's hand shakes as he brings two fingers to his lips. "What?" he asks, incredulous still but colder. Bitingly.

You lock your jaw at the sound. "I can't be with you."

There's a moment of silence. It seems to stretch for eternity. Alain Theer can't speak because his thoughts don't stop spinning. He feels his head tumbling down a hill and a pit at the mouth of his stomach. He feels his eyes widen, but his voice cracks. "You can't be serious," he says at last.

"I am."

"After all this? After you made me fall for you?" Alain argues, and he feels his voice rising. He doesn't want to. He's never yelled at you, but this feels like a betrayal.  

"I didn't make you do anything," you repute, your voice rising too. "Do not put this on me."

"Then who else?!" Alain shouts. He can't accept this. He won't. "You— you bewitched me. Made me care for you, and now, what? You're going to walk away?"

You flatten yourself against the door, putting more distance between you. "It's too much. Too much hiding, too much secrecy. I feel— I feel less than when I'm with you." You look away, and Alain hates the tears that flow down your cheek.

"You're not," Alain says, "you're much more than me."

But you shake your pretty head, and Alain knows that light in your eyes. He's never been able to dissuade you when you had that light in your eyes. He loved it, but right now, Alain despises it. "I'm small by your side, a shadow, an afterthought. Our bright nights cannot make up for the dimness of my days."

What can a man say to that? It would have been less painful if you had lashed him a hundred times. "You said you wanted this," Alain says, and God above, his voice is so small, so pathetic.

"I thought I did," you whisper. "But I was wrong."

He would have crumbled, were he not Alain. Instead, he looks down; from heartbreak comes retaliation, righteousness, and the calculative intent to hurt you back.

When he looks up, Alain's eyes don't beg any longer. They're hard as steel, and they burn a hole through you. "I would have given you the world, but you choose to live in the mud. Very well."

Alain straightens up, looking down his nose at you. "You will regret this for the rest of your life," he spits, then bursts past you, putting you out of his mind, his life, and his wrecked heart.

Hours pass, drunk out of his mind, Alain is vaguely aware of a warm body underneath him. Cheap moans bathe his ears, unknown hands claw at his back, and in a stranger's neck, Alain buries his face and weeps.

And in my head

Ysabella slowly lowers her perfume bottle. It's shaped like a tear, and it's crystal clear, delicate as a heart.

She looks at the mirror and sees you reflected there, standing above her shoulder, your face full of harsh lines and conflicted eyes. Ysabella doesn't think she could love you more than she does now, her heart breaking at the heartbreak painted across your features.

"I cannot stay here," you say. "I'm sorry."

Ysabella rises and turns towards you. Oh, if only she'd commissioned a portrait of you, something small that she could hide in her nightstand and gaze at longingly. Something to remember your face, for she knows, as impossible as it seems, time erases even the fondest memories, as well as the darkest feelings, like this sorrow burrowing in her chest.

"Oh, my dear," Ysabella says and walks to you. You straighten your spine as if you expect her to cling to you, but that only shows how brief your time has been together. You don't know her half as well as you believe.

It's a pity she will not know you half as well as she had dreamed.

"My wonderful lover," Ysabella says, "you have nothing to be sorry about. God knows I'm not. I don't regret a single thing, and I wouldn't have changed a single moment."

Your eyebrows fall. Ysabella has always loved the wrinkle in your brows. "You do not mind?"

She laughs. It tears from her throat. "Oh, I do. But I never expected anything else," Ysabella says, then rises on her tiptoes and gently kisses the side of your mouth. How darling your lips are. How starkly she'll miss them. "The clock strikes midnight for us. Fate would have it no other way."

She falls back and smiles brilliantly. "I want you to be happy, my heart. I want you to live to the fullest and have everything you want. I hope there's nothing but sunshine, love, and happiness in your future. God knows you deserve it."

For her days will be darker without you. Oh, she can already feel it. The colors are dimmer, and her skin feels colder.

"You too, Bella."

Bella. Your nickname for her. Ysabella's smile dims, but she hopes you don't notice it. "Goodbye," she says, kissing your other cheek, knowing this will be the last time she ever sees you. "Live beautifully, my love."

You go, closing the door behind you, and Ysabella keeps her chin up. She keeps it up as, elegantly, she returns to her vanity table. She keeps it up until she can't, and Ysabella Theer buries her face in her hands and allows herself to cry.

I should be harder to kill

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Got inspired by this silly song on YouTube shorts — How's your dog.