smokingmirror | Fanfic: After The Fact (1/1)

Title: After The Fact
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mikhael/Tybalt
Spoilers: -
Summary: Tybalt's scattered thoughts on his breakup with Mikhael.
Word Count: 331
Date First Posted: 08-01-2002
Date Revised: 21-05-2011
Beta: -
Awards: -
Notes: Tybalt POV.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ

The pain is gone, if it ever really set in. It's a dull ache, like all my internal organs were mysteriously torn from my body and stacked next to me. I want to gasp for air but somehow... don't.

I just sit. And breathe. And be.

You know, I'm sure things weren't supposed to turn out like this. I was supposed to come out on top. Get the prize, keep the lover, win win win.

And yeah, I didn't exactly lose everything, but...

Pyrrhic victories really burn my ass.

And I wonder... why does it hurt? And not just regular run of the mill hurt, fucking bleed me dry hurt? It's not like the possibility of this outcome ever crossed my mind.

I just honestly didn't think it'd come to this.

Too much confidence, possibly. But if you go into everything with a defeatist's attitude to begin with, how would anything ever get accomplished?

And I couldn't lose...

Except... I could.

And did.

No, no, no, no.

I didn't lose... I won! Goddamnit, I won! There was something I needed -- something I wanted -- and I went after it and I got it.

So why don't I feel victorious?

I'd talk to him if I knew what to say, if I were sure he'd listen. But I don't, and he won't. So why the fuck bother? He wouldn't hear an apology even if I were inclined to give one.

I won't, and he knows it.

Doesn't mean I don't care, though.

Doesn't mean I don't feel.

The bottom line is, feelings don't get me where I need to be. Sacrifice sucks, but it's the name of the game. He who dares, wins, or some shit like that.

So I'll sit here with my dead eyes, and my cold hands, and memories and nostalgia and regret for what came to pass, and feel like crap. I'll feel angry. I'll feel resentful. I'll feel resigned.

But not sorry.

Never sorry.

~finis