isolatedrain (isolatedrain) wrote in asongofsixpence,

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FIC: Farewell, Casablanca (1/1) (Slash) (PG) (Wrestling)

Title: Farewell, Casablanca
Author: Solita
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I insinuate nothing.
Distribution: Clandestine. Wanna post it somewhere else? Just ask me!
Fandom: Wrestling (AU-OTAP/OTP Triangle)
Genre(s): Angst, romance, drama.
Warning(s): Male/male situations, adult language.
Summary: "Here's lookin' at you, kid." Inspired by the song "2HB" by Venus in Furs.
Notes: Inspiration out of nowhere freakin' RULES MAN!! XDDDDDD I'm fairly proud of this fic and how it came out. Feedback would be HEAVILY FREAKIN' APPRECIATED ON THIS ONE Y0. This one came out really good, man. Reeeeally good. ... that's about it. LOL. Enjoy!!

Here's looking at you kid
Hard to forget
Here's looking at you kid
At least not yet
Your memory stays
It lingers ever
Will fade away never

There's a white stick wedged between my lips, a trail of smoke leading up into the night sky and the stars nestled in its dark, cloudy blanket. Tonight's not the kind of night to be walking all alone in a get-up you usually don't wear or trudging around aimlessly in an area you've never been to before. Maybe it's the aroma of the coat, or the lure of the fog, or the classic, old-fashioned way it feels just stepping down the sidewalk underneath the streetlights and hearing my own footsteps; but, whatever the reason is, it brought me out here to a place I thought was lost forever.

There's midnight dew covering the blades of grass as various newspaper clippings touch and kiss the old, cracked concrete I'm walking on. Trees rustle back and forth while the moonlight pierces through its decaying branches and leaves. Somehow I know it has to be spring, but this isn't a normal place. Brown, rotten leaves decorate the ground and broken-down townhouses fester on the dead streets of this ghost town. Just like an odd married couple, autumn and winter eternally settles here in this land of forgotten dreams and misplaced people.

Somehow I know it has to be spring, but this isn't a normal place. Chilling breezes flutter against the heavy beige coat, purposely trying to remove the hat from my head. Just as my hand begins to fix the item, light caresses of the wind touches my face. It's an awkward sensation to feel my own blood turn cold as my skin welcomes the new sensation. It's not normal for someone of my cailbur, my success, my prestige to practically lurk about with no purpose at all. Then again, it never was normal when I was around him.

His smile eclipsed the sun. His laugh made the angels sneer in ferocious jealousy. His bright blue eyes sparkled so radiantly that he outshined every star across the universe, placing them in the upmost shame and rage. And through all of it, it was his innocence to everything... to the world... and even himself... that's what stood out the most. His naivety to his own internal beauty... his ignorance of his beautiful, ethereal soul... it sparked my undying flame of unconditional love for him and made him the center of my world.

Maybe that's why I'm here, smoking a cigarette in a tattered, aged coat of the fourties while standing at the edge of the beach where we first made love as soulmates. ... Soulmates. Jesus. I can't stop chuckling... it's so fucking amazing what one person can do to a man. The power a single person has over another when in love is absolutely amazing. It can screw up your insides, twist your mind it'll its contorted like a pretzel, even destroy your body until there's nothing left of what you once were. Mentally, physically, even spiritually-- love is both the most beautiful God-given gift to humanity, and its eternal worst enemy.

Y'know, I never liked using the word "soulmates." I've heard a bunch of kids use, read a plethora of novels and watched far too many romance movies utilizing that word to know what happens to "soulmates." There's nothing but a reckless future, filled with dashes of angst and sex scenes, pints of depression and loneliness, and a pinch of suicide and death. The untimely ending of two soulmates represents the epitome of classic tragedy.

I guess that's why I'm here, letting a few tears trace down my cold, pale cheeks while tightening my grip around the only item in my hand... the item that symbolized all my hate and loathe towards a man I always battle yet never saw. We both knew the consequences of our love. We understood what the future held for us. Did that stop either of us? Of course not. We moved forward with our lives happily, blissfully lost in our constant, everlasting want for one another. "Love is blind," right? Not really. For us, it didn't apply whatsoever. Love didn't blind us... we used it to blind ourselves.

He knew he had a soulmate waiting for him on the other side. I knew he never truthfully belonged to me. He knew one day Death would come for him. I knew one day I'd mourn for him. We both prepared for the inevitable, not permitting Fate to come at us unexpectedly. We lived our lives to the fullest and brought our love to inexplainable heights. It was the best we could do before the cruel ending to our happily-ever-after came after us.

I swore to myself to never fully latch onto someone. I vowed to never use the word "soulmates." I promised to always stay true to who I was and never submit to love. But whenever he opened those eyes of his every morning... how he used to smile and laugh everytime I stared at him... how he was so open and mallable just for me... I forgot absolutely everything I said in the past and ony focused on him and him alone.

My hand tightens around the glistening item in my hand. The roar of the ocean gives me an eerie sense of tranquility and peace as I step forward into the welcoming, foamy waves. Surprisingly, the water feels warm, like it was cajoling me into coming foolishly into its abyssmal mouth. A smile traces on my lips, the smoke heating my skin and filling my lungs. I don't smoke. I'm not a smoking-kind of person. But for tonight? I'm not who I am.

My name is not Chris Benoit, the former World Heavyweight Champion. I am not the greatest technical wrestler in the world. I do not have a loving wife or beautiful children or trustworthy, life-long friends. I am not the lover to Steve Austin, who I loved more than any other person on this Earth. I am simply a man, standing on the edge of the world, ready and willing to purge away absolutely everything in one mesmerizing catharsis.

These feelings, emotions, tears and wails and cries and screams and pain... I've sent it all to the single item in my hand. The only remnant of a past long gone... a past buried years ago; yet, it was kept alive by someone who was unable to let go. But then a certain someone came along and stopped all of his agony and turmoil and torment. Just with a feathery touch. A soft kiss. A crooked smile. A heavenly laugh and pairs of twinkling eyes. A moment simply laying in bed and holding each other close and hearing each other's breathing... and whispering three galvanizing words...

My eyes fall down, staring at the item in my hand. The moonlight bounces off it, creating a small, familiar gleam that reminds me of how his eyes used to flicker and dance whenever they saw me. I close my eyes and stand upright, staring straight into the vast darkness of the sea. Strands of my brown hair whisper against my tired forehead. I can't tear my vision away from what's ahead of me... what I cannot ignore any longer.

You're only doing this because you want me to go.

"I'm doing this because it's true. Inside of us we both know you belong with Brian. You're part of his soul, the thing that keeps him alive. If this thing doesn't come out of my hand right now, we're both gonna regret it."


"Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of our lives."

But what about us?

"We'll always have our 'Paris.' We'll always have those moments we had together... those memories will last forever. But really... we didn't truthfully have it. We'd lost our 'Paris,' until I came to my senses. That's why I'm here. We're gonna get it back tonight."

I said I would never leave you.

"And you never will, Steve. But I've got a job to do. Where you're going, I can't follow. What you're doing, I can't be apart of. Steve... morning star... I'm not your soulmate, and hell, I never was. And the love we had was special. It was magical. It's something I'll never forget for the rest of my living days. But I've got to move on... I can't keep the cycle going. We promised that to each other, Steve. And I swear to you that I won't let it repeat."

Don't forget me.

"I'll never forget you, Steve. I won't ever forget you. Believe me when I say I won't. I swear that I won't. Because... I know we'll be together again. Someday... I know we'll see each other again. One day... we'll see each other one more time. But for now..."

I pull my hand back with all the might in my small frame, and fling the gold chain out into the dark depths of the sea.

A smile rises on my face to the classic, almost stereotypical ending of our story. My hand lifts to remove the ciagrette from my chapped lips, releasing it and watching the stick hit the wet stand beneath my feet. Lifting my head again, I stare again into the nothingness, knowing it wasn't truely nothing, as I permit the tears to freely fall down my cheeks.

There's nothing else to do and nothing else to say. There's nothing in my mind and nothing in my heart. I'm... free. I'm clensed. I'm released from my prision of anguish, wanting to live my life out again. The story ended. The theater closed. The film faded to black. The act completed and the scene concluded. The actors took their bows and the audience left for home. Everything is done and over with... except for one thing.

I lift my hand, blowing a kiss to the past, ready to step into the future. And I can't help but smile.

"Here's lookin' at you, kid."

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