Leaving the Harbor Now. PG-13

[Marly]

[color=#000000][font=Georgia,]Her voice was soft, melodic, like a feather falling on a not-so-windy day. Like a bird who just found his voice, or the fluff from the midnight pillows. She had brunette, long hair, which cascading curves followed down her soft back like tears down a cheek.


Her name was Manila, like the folder. And she had those green eyes that told a story but one that wasn’t very interesting. We met three years ago, at an ice cream parlor, over the cold sweetness on our table. She was sad, crying, her tears mixed with her makeup and gave her the look of a paint cup. I sat down and talked to her, dried the paints, and fixed up the canvas.


We kept talking then, those summer months turned into autumn and then the fallen leaves left for winter. We held a friendship stronger than the ropes that bound Fenrir, stronger because we held back more than the end of days; we held back the love we felt for each other. For if her ‘lover’ knew, he would beat the both of us, giving us the black bruises that Manila hid up with her makeup. I would take that punishment though; take more than that, take Hell's harsh fire! But no, she wouldn't let me. She never let me.


It went on like this for longer than anyone wanted it to. The white blankets were thrown away for the Spring and the flowers died because of the Summer heat. I fell deeper for her and she fell away from me, drifting apart because of time and threats. Her makeup couldn’t hide as well anymore, and her ‘lover’ began suspecting her more and more of disloyalty (The rude irony!) which just fed his fists.


It was still Summer when I saw the cast on her arm, and it was still hot when I rushed out through my door as she screamed for me to stop. But it was too late, the brute had gone too far! Hades had captured the fated Penelope and it was time I saved her! So I sped past the night's lights which hung on like lanterns lighting my journey. So I sped, faster than anyone should ever go on this city road. So I cried in the car, sobbing for the pain she'd gone through. My red truck glistened against the gravel driveway. She was in my heart when I got there, and I opened the door with Manila’s key and saw a blonde in her bed. Manila’s lover was in his boxers and the blonde was bare; both covered up and the guy yelled and screamed and shouted and threatened and he reached back his arm ready to punch me and he did. And I was bleeding, but it was all okay.


He kept punching, the blonde shouted to stop, and he turned around. At that moment, when his back was to me, and he was saying how I was a douchebag who slept around with an ex, I reached for more than just his guard. Cold silver in my hands, tremendous power, too.


With that, a click, a bam, a shriek and flee, police sirens, and my Miranda Rights. Blood on everything, chunks of him across the floor, and Manila, finally arriving, clutching his body in her arms and crying. Crying harder than she ever has for me. Crying like a tremendous rainstorm and I was the boat, each drop making me sink lower and lower into my recesses of guilt and regret. Each thing she shouted at me “Why did you do this!?”, “I loved him!” made the hole larger, and let more water flood in, until I was completely drowned out from her. I was her hero, her warrior and knight, and she pushed me away, pushed me away from the harbor and right into the storm, sinking, sinking, sinking into cold, dark waters where even love was frozen. Where my heart beat was measured by the etches on the cold gray walls.

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