drunken pastels

[artemis adrian monroe]

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Artemis could do nothing more than repeat those words over and over again inside his mind. It was the little bit of reality he managed to steal from the silence in the air and keep close to his heart and locked away inside his head. It was funny how the heart reacted to emotion. A breaking heart wasn’t just figurative language. Teachers would argue it because they have long forgotten what it felt like to have the organ malfunction. The allusion had to have blossomed from sort seed of truth, right? As if a magician had just waved a magical wand, Artemis could recall almost everything he learned from his high school human physiology class: the central nervous system could be broken down into many little groups. The main ones he remembered being the sympathetic nervous system and the parasympathetic nervous system. While the parasympathetic nervous system controlled organs when the body is at rest, the sympathetic nervous system kicked in during times of stress. Could this possibly be a time of stress? Was his heart breaking under the pressure?

Chuck Lorre once said that cardiologists would argue against the heart; they would claim that it was just a simple pumping mechanism designed to keep the body alive via blood flow. The brain does not love. The lungs do not love. We all know the truth. Artemis was experiencing the truth. The heart loved. Love is born within the heart; love creates the swelling that makes the heart flutter; love whispers that little skip the heart develops when dear ones are near; it is the heart that suffers the most when love dies. There was no escaping the fact that people love with their hearts. The cracking is within the heart when it is broken; the sinking hole within the chest is produced when the heart is sick. Anyone that denies this has never loved, been loved, or lost one before.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Artemis could do nothing more than repeat those words over and over again inside his mind. He walked with thinly pressed lips and a high head. He was not weak. He would not be viewed as weak. Truth be told, he did not want to be stopped. Not by a stranger or by a friend or by anyone. Artemis was completely focused on getting from point a, to point b without any interceptions in the process. He’d rather walk with an angry stride and dry eyes than a broken limp and blurred vision. People might stop and stare but they would never ask. Though it wasn’t like there were any people to ask. How late was it?

There was one thing missing from the scene. The stars glittered bright. The moon peered down at Artemis as he clobbered down the sidewalk with a passion. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight. Always, in movies the rain would drench the world in a gloomy shade of gray whenever the heroin was heartbroken; it was almost as if the sky was crying for the failed love. Artemis wasn’t even given that. Instead he was given a tranquil, mocking beauty that just contrasted with the strain inside his chest. He didn’t deserve sympathy from the sky. He didn’t deserve sympathy at all and he knew it. So why was he in such a hurry to get to Deimos’ place? By the time his place slowed and the realization of where he was going hit him, it was too late. He was already standing outside the door, unsure of what to do. His thoughts stopped, no longer distracted with the functions of the heart that he learned so long ago. Everything he was feeling settled deep inside his chest. Its roots laced with his ribs and dug into the organs beneath and the weed nestled close to his heart. Artemis could feel his cheeks redden with heat and his eyes burned and stung. “Don’t you do it,” he whispered, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to another though he was no longer talking about the threat of tears: “Don’t you dare do it, Artemis Adrian Monroe!” he hissed, bowing his head. He wanted to turn around now, to go back home. Deimos didn’t need to be woken up so late by the likes of him. What if he had someone in there? Someone important? What if Deimos was finally happy again? But his body had another plan. Everything was rebelling against his mind. With broken reluctance, Artemis reached up and knocked on Deimos’ door, tears spilling down his cheeks.

words: 771
tags: demmy ♥
notes: let's try this again!
creds: template belongs to me, lyrics to pierce the veil

[/justify]

[deimos basileus cosmatos]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true] don't you know it's violation? BROKEN HOMES FROM SEPARATION, APPROXIMATELY 897 WORDS IN THIS POST IS FOR PLUTO WITH ARTEMIS TO READ. THE MUSIC INSPIRING DECENT MUSE IS " ALL THESE LIVES " BY DAUGHTRY. forever alone!!! D: How cruel it was that not even the weather could match how Deimos was feeling? He surely couldn’t be the only one thinking about it, right? Being human is the most terrible loneliness in the universe, or so Attanasio said. Deimos refused to believe in something so caliginous and bleak. In fact, he could’ve been considered one of the world’s few optimists before his little trip to the dark depths of depression. Alright, he wasn’t about to vomit rainbows and tuck flowers in everyone’s lapels but at the end of the day there was always the indubitable idea that tomorrow might be a better day. Not anymore. In fact, screw all that silly childish crap. Was he being overly dramatic? Maybe, maybe not, maybe he didn’t care enough to bother thinking about it. As he let thick paint cover the once cream colored walls of his apartment Deimos tossed such thoughts to the back of his head. The monotonous movement served as the perfect distraction for a night of insomnia like the many others he had been suffering from lately. He felt stupid, he felt idiotic, he felt exactly like the girls he led on must’ve felt except they got over it in a week while he was still sitting here, two months after Sam left, painting the walls of his apartment on a shade of blue that he didn’t even like because he couldn’t bring himself to sit down and get over it. How pathetic that was? “Ugh…” Deimos groaned as he covered another blank spot with thick paint, not even bothering to notice the droplets that fell on the carpet, tainting the soft sand color with unwelcomed blue. It didn’t matter anyway, the carpet was going away too as well as half the furniture and the curtains. House redecoration would keep him busy for at least another couple of weeks and then he’d move on to organize something else. ‘Your life’, his mind mockingly reminded him, a pained chuckle coming out as automatic response. Like hell his life needed reorganizing, if anything he needed a new life. Ok… now that was some depressive way of thinking. The tug war that had been going on his head was precisely what forced him to stay away until the sun peeked from behind the dark curtains. One side was constantly reminding him of how lucky he was: he had a family, he had a life, he had enough talent that got him inside a prestigious school, he had friends and he had money and health, what else could he ask for? The other side had less things to argue about, but by no means it was the losing side. He had all that, but so what? He couldn’t even bring himself to accept his own sexuality or the fact that he was broken hearted over a guy. That one side reminded him that no matter how hard he tried, he would always be the guy inside the closet, being pathetic and alone because that’s all he was good for. Deimos stood in the middle as the darkness took over and he was left alone with all those thoughts twirling around his head, stealing his sleep and giving him a pair of well earned dark circles under his eyes. “Fuck this shit…” he mumbled for what seemed the tenth time that night as another few blue droplets tainted his bare feet this time. He didn’t want to do this, he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to go home either and to be honest he didn’t know what he actually wanted to do. Did all girls go through this? If they did, then fuck him, de definitely deserved it. The only thing that managed to interrupt his monotonous movements was the sound of someone at the door. What time was it? Deimos had lost track of time a few hours ago but he was pretty damn sure it was too late for visits. Dropping the brush on the carpet (and letting it splatter all over) he walked out of the bedroom and stared at the door for a few seconds, trying to decide if it was some kind of trick produced by his imagination. For a split second there his mind played a cruel trick, forcing him to picture the image of a smiley Sam, waiting behind the door with an apology ready that of course Deimos would accept. “No, not happening.” He scrunched his eyes close for a moment, kicking the images out before walking to the door and opening it just to quiet down his beating heart. No Sam indeed, but Artemis. “Arty?” Deimos asked, crawling out of his dark pit at the sight of the blonde crying in front of him. “What…. Happened….” His question died out in the middle, he didn’t need to finish it as he realized the question soon enough. “He left didn’t he?” Deimos recognized those tears, they were the same tears he had been shedding at least a month ago. He was pretty dry now, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t recognize the same pain if he saw it, and here it was. “Come on…” He pulled the other into a tight embrace, dragging him into the apartment and kicking the door close once Artemis was inside. What a pair they were… forever alone from the looks of it. MADE BY AYU OF BACK TO NEVERLAND