When I'm Gone

"I'm falling in love with you."

Whose words are those? Do they belong to you, to me, or perhaps to the both of us? To tell you the truth, I can't seem to remember who chose to speak first. All I remember is the flush of my cheeks, the catch in my throat, and the skip of my heartbeat when the words first echo in my ears.

I ask myself, are we both lost stars struggling to light the growing darkness within our very own souls?

You're the voice instead my head, the muse that moves my hand. You're the rhythm that I move to, my sweetest dream and most terrifying nightmare all tangled into one, and I crave you like the sunset craves the stars.

Did you know I couldn't even remember your name at first? To me, in the beginning, you're just another girl in a world gone to hell.

Now, as the storm comes, as the world ends, you're the only thing that really matters. I

"I love you."

Again, is this you or is this me? Or is this just another feral union of the both of our beating hearts? Am I the monster, or are you? Perhaps we both are devils seeking our way back to hell. It's difficult, isn't it, to remember the sins that first put us on the highway to hell?

I'm the devil, and you're the angel, or are our roles reversed? Do we wear the other's roles like the hearts upon our sleeves? I just don't know anymore. It's sad, isn't it, that we've come to this? You and I circle each other, two starving wolves in need of prey, seeking one another whilst determined to depend on none.

You're my prayer, my devotion, the only truth in a world of lies. My demons, every of them, are laid to rest because of you. The cuts along my wrists, the smoke within my lungs . . . hell, even the loathing within my heart, it's gone, buried deep by your smile, because you give me something to believe in after all that I've been through.

Will they write a song for me? Will they – you – remember me? I doubt you will, not because I cannot comprehend your feelings, but solely since I am not worthy of such. I'm the devil in disguise, the monster beneath your bed, the creature which lingers in the dark whilst you walk the path of light.

When the angels seek to cast me down, when the Gods turn against me, will you be there at my side? When Death comes for me upon his skeletal horse, dressed in his tattered robe, and clinging to his scythe, will you share my fate?

I am not the best. I'm broken. I'm lost. I'm a mere illusion of a boy who, in the past, assumes I could hold the sky upon my shoulders.

Did you know Father once knocked loose my front teeth in a fit of rage? That my first love cheated on me more times than I can count? Did you know that I don't believe myself deserving of love?

Do you know how many invisible scars there are upon my wrist? Time heals, and so you'll only notice them if you know what to look for, but they're there. I assure you, I've been through hell already, so Lucifer knows I fear him not.

They're nothing though, compared to the wounds I keep within.

"I love you, more than you will ever know."

This time I know it's you, because I'm too far gone to form my own words. I'm like a puppet in the hands on God – or maybe it's the devil – and all I remember is you. Imperfect perfection, beautiful damnation, and a heart so full of thorns that I'm lucky it still works enough to pump blood.

Am I even worth it? Am I worth the blood in my veins, the oxygen in my lungs, and the dirt beneath my nails?

I don't even ask myself these questions anymore for fear of the answer, so why do I ask them of you? Who are you to me?

My friend?

My love?

My Querida?

I don't even know, and I find myself laughing even as I risk it all, because in the end, you aren't there to catch me when I fall.

I can hear your voice in my head. You claim to love me, but I just don't know. I mean, how can you love somebody as damaged as I am? I mean, I'm such a fucking mess, I'm so screwed between the ears that not even the angels can save me.

How can you love a broken thing?

Take a breath, count to three, look me in the eye and ask yourself if a monster like me is worth the love you offer? After all that I've done – the curses, the torture, the nightmares . . . am I really worth your tears?

Can you see my heart . . . can you see it beating?

I hear you whisper that you love me in the deep of night, and I know that this is the most sacrilegious of lies. Your flaws are a part of you, given to you by God during the creation . . . my flaws are made my sin and destruction, by the self-mutilation of my own essence.

This is your last warning. Run. Flee. Don't glance into my paper heart. It's a place where the dark things gather, where the demons come to dance. I can barely walk, barely speak . . . in fact, the only bit of me that's still functioning is the fragment which believes in hope.

You raise me up and tear me down, all in the same breath, because you believe you know my demons but you do not know the lot. You do not know the path I walk, because I am afraid to speak of them, because speaking of it breaks the illusion.

So long as I remain silent, I can pretend I never felt my Daddy's fist against my jaw. I can pretend I'm normal. I can pretend that I don't have ghosts – that they've all been exorcised and put to rest.

I can pretend . . . even if I don't truly believe.

And then I read your rhapsody, your requiem, your exodus, and I forget what it is to be a man. Instead, the monster within becomes the master, and I see the sun rise in the west, the moon set in the east, and the stars fall from the sky.

You stab me with your every word, each and every syllable becoming a barbed blade which rips and shreds at every turn. It's a stark contrast to the numbness you leave in your wake – the calming bliss of your smile, the infectiousness of your laugh.

You're pulling and pushing in every direction, and I'm caught in the whirlwind which threatens to rip me to shreds. Like a pillar of glass, I tremble, strong enough to hold the sky and yet fragile at the very same time. Around me whips the hurricane which you embody, the frenzied union of fire and ice that is your being, and I can feel the cracks spreading across my already fractured form.

It's not a notion of will I shatter, rather, it's a question of when. I'm breaking already, barely holding myself together after all I've been though, and I wonder if there'll come a day when I'm too far gone to be fixed.

So the only question left to ask is: Will you miss me when I'm gone?

A/N: So, this is a Gift!fic to Delusional Doll (as part of the Epic Exchange) who likes Dramione, and I used the prompt Veritaserum to show that Draco's really being honest in his way of speaking of his affections for Hermione.

This story, in all honestly, took a lot out of me to write. It's not the best I've written in terms of actual plot and such, but it's all raw emotion, so I hope that shines through. I was pissed drunk when I wrote this, and it's the alcohol which inspired this spin on Veritaserum. Because alcohol is a really natural truth potion, isn't it?

-Ciao Mates

Shane