Unrequited Confusion – The Bittersweet End


The constraints of the Entity forced a corporeal wall to erect between Frank and Nea at unprecedented speeds. Small pockets in between the twists and thorned turns within its infrastructure bred a means to look beyond the occluded darkness that lingered off from its blisteringly hot impression. It seems that the Entity has grown tired of Frank's shenanigans and imposed a live punishment as a means to establish its place as the dominate force. The ground shook, earthen rippled cracked from beneath with a forceful hand as tendrils ascended to skewer the Legion's mastermind up in ways only a masochist could dream of, but he wasn't the type. Twisting abruptly led to pain indescribable to the masses, and he winced face gave way to a whole different type of agony.

“...Frank!? What's going on!? What the hell is that thing? FRANK!” Nea continued to call out, uncertain of his status. The most she could gather was from his cries and the industrial white noise that emanated beyond the structures. She scooted herself closer as a hand was brought out in an effort to look beyond the wiring—only to stop last second. Survival instincts reeled in, preventing an unintentional means of self-inflicted harm fro that “thing”.

“Hell if I know, but I always told ya' that day would come. I 'dunno how many times I've had it play out, the times I've dropped hints for ye'; all those moments before. It's always listenin', always in my f***in' ear like the girl's best friend.” He coughed, feeling the tendrils morph slightly. An extension of its limbs, the thorns that escaped pushed past the skin from beneath. A faint siphon took effect, reeling away at what sentience was left in him at an IV drip's pace. Perhaps it had all the time in the world, discrediting the mortal body for its resilience within the Realm, and for all to see.

“I got a question for ya', Nea... Those nights from before, y'know the ones you 'don't want to talk about', where we'd dangerously dance around the idea of things being more than just a 'fun time'? Tell me it wasn't a joke—ACK!” The curls of the wiring; the stifled pulsing that surrounded him. There's an unnatural heat that burst through the surface, aiding in his discomfort beneath all else.

“I... I...—“ She gulped. Hesitation filled her heart; she didn't know what to say. It's been some time, of course. Even she couldn't deny that after a certain point in their dynamic, repulsiveness and debauchery turned into a comfort. Euphoria ant anticipation offset by the weird moral grounds the two stood upon created a means to connect. As an escape, every moment built upon itself that the possibilities to look beyond the crevice of misfortune, could in-fact, work out. They played their parts well. The dance never stopped; it's a constant in-and-out, playing pedantic mindfulness to ensuring the sit-ins would never move past the pitch.

He scoffed slightly, kinda' kneejerk. He shifted within his living cage, only to nod his head amongst himself. In some sense, while he couldn't hear her properly, the silence could be read. “I think I understand. We played into each other. There were things ya' had, I'll admit, I wanted. I think the same thing can be said for ye' as well. It's easy to forget the past when the present's so good, yeah? I 'dunno why I started looking beyond that. I read too hard into it, and ye' warned me not to. But seein' as time's almost up here, I may as well say it for what it is.”

“What do you mean!? I hesitated. I don't like how things are; this situation, the circumstances we're in.” She stared off, lost in thought. Digits pursed the sentient iron, grazing her fingertips with a lingering darkness that couldn't be easily removed. Its essence tapered. “I've felt somethin' here I never thought I'd ever feel in my lifetime, Frank. We hid those feelings because we know what's best for us.”

“...Then what? Eh? What the f*** was I then, an emotional crutch?”

“No! It's not like that, it isn't. I swear.”

“What are you scared of then? Ye' already threw my knife out. I gave you my word to things I'd never. EVER. Do for anyone else!”

“It's not you, Frank. I assume out of safety, but in reality it's me. I can't bring myself to go down that path. The thoughts, the feelings—everything was nice. Beautiful, in some ways. I can see why they like you. Anyone for that matter.

“...IT'S NOT ABOUT ANYONE ELSE! It's about YOU!”


The more he tried to rationalize the situation, the worse things became. He wasn't exactly in a position to do so, considering he's on the verge of “death” with no leg to stand on. On the extreme end, the unthinkable emerged in his thoughts. Was everything really for nothing? He felt like an emotional tissue for those many lapses that suggested something different. He even chocked it up to the Entity manipulating parts of his head into believing other visions—the accuracy was off, for certain, but his authenticity was far from insincere. He cracked in the dance department, knowing deep down feelings began to develop.

On the contrary, the anxiety that surrounded opening herself up to the possibility of someone else—a frenzied “monster”, reformed into a man whose “skills” turned her world upside down on more than one occasion. The sweet allure that emerged, that she refuses up and down 'til death's end. She could never admit to herself that at some point between 'em, she too felt the same. Even now, the feeling still lingers, but she had to stay true to herself. There's been too many close calls with the proverbial salesman. In the past, it led to those moments, just to have the rug snatched from under her. While Frank didn't seem to harbor the same intentions, she found it difficult to work past.

And even then, within the stirred silence. The occlusion between the two, and Frank's dying breaths, it appears that a greater pain would suffice for the Entity's bidding. Slowly the tendrils lowered him to the ground; a religious symbol akin to Metatron's calling. The great descent, and one he bared with a stillness unsightly. He pulled the mask off, tossing it aside as the numbness began to settle. The walls dissolved en masse, opening the gap for the two to once again reunite. She scurried over, feeling the wounds inflicted with a sticky viscosity before pulling him over. His head settled onto her lap with lids closed for a time. They hadn't muttered a word to each other for several moments. She held his head with both hands, bloodied up and gently massaged in good faith he'd get back up. His breathing stopped, but she couldn't get a proper feel for his respiratory system amidst the high emotional count. His future remained uncertain, and a nervousness began to settle in. Even she was becoming concerned towards his inanimate response.

“...Frank?” You awake?” She called, leaning down into him in the clutches of his head, pulling him closer with tensions arising. “Hey, Frank, get up. This joke ain't funny.” She slapped his face a couple times, padding her blows with a gentle caress—similar to the times he did the same. There was always something endearing about his affection. The sadistic intentions coupled with a gentle relapse put her on an emotional rollercoaster every time, and she hoped the same would provide him with a comfort to awake.

“I'm not laughing, Frank. You sh*thead! Get up!” With another pull, she attempted to raise him a bit higher. Perhaps blood filled his system, and he needed a pump. She did her best to use her makeshift talents to fasten a quick bandaging across the pierced spots, though the center looked to have closed up on its own. Heated remnants of skin seared the wound close, though it's likely to become infected later. Employing the motions, an effort to pump him full of life fell on vitality's deaf ears. Mouth-to-mouth, a hard squeeze on the groin amounted to no response. She didn't know what to do at this point, punching the ground beside him with a tinge of pain. Is this it? Was he the one, and I lost grips at the wrong time? I never liked people getting close, something always happens. I don't ever get to see the misfortune, but this time—things were different. I'm not a believer in God, or any transient religion, but I pray that some higher power gives him what he needs right now.

She shifted a bit, taking the position to keep his head supplied in her lap. The gentle strokes of the gradually drying blood, coupled with a shutter of crystalline droplets that happened to emerge. Not by choice, but out of fear. Fear that he'd be lost to the Enttity's clutches; fear that he'd be lost from her, permanently. There's no reset button in the Realm. There's no “do-over” with humans—everyone's got one life to play, and to have it taken prematurely was always a bitter thought in her mind for the people that mattered. She leaned in, muttering a stifled whisper in his ear as one final callout.

“I like you too. I have for a while. I'll miss you if you leave, I really would. Every risk you took, every punishment you endured, I remembered. I remember so vividly it pissed me off. I'm not worth that kind of risk, but with you, it was a different story.”