through the bars of a rhyme

There was an indication in her response, and Trent wanted to believe it despite the strength of doubt in his mind, that Millie wanted him possibly as much as he wanted her. He had difficulty in expressing it, of course. But this time, it seemed easier, or at least, he was showing a little more of it. After all, he was never really one for self-control. His impulses were strong all the time, and he could merely fight that for awhile, even if he set his mind to it. He wanted to be happy, and Millie made him happy. What, then, was his problem? Trent wished he could destroy it, so that he could embrace the idea of loving her completely. While his hands had held Millie's back, pulling her close to him, its tenderness had exchanged itself for something more firm. He held her firmly against him. And then, suddenly, he tasted salt, only to realise that his lips had become moist. Pulling himself a little away, Trent looked at Millie, only to find his heart tremble at the image of her, crying. It was the worst feeling in the world, he decided, there and then.

"Millie," he muttered, his eyes imploring, while his mind tried to come up with some way to make the crying stop. Where did that girl with her ready smile disappear to? Did he cause this? Trent was almost desperate to find a reason for this, and inadvertently, began to blame himself for it. After all, it seemed as if only with the latest development in their relationship that Millie had began to reveal more evident sadness in her expressions. He hated himself, then. He hated himself more, and more. What was it about him that made people disappointed, and hurt? Why did it always have to be this way? Was he a curse, then? Believing himself to be the problem, Trent wanted very much to extract himself, and hurt himself. He needed to inflict pain onto himself, as if he needed to punish himself for whatever he did not know he caused in others. But she was crying, and he could not leave her. He needed to hold her, he needed to make sure he was there for every tear that she would shed. It was as if he needed to live, for her.

And suddenly, those words. Trent blinked and looked at Millie for a few quiet moments, as if surprised to hear the three words from her. What was right, for her? Should he love her, for her good? What was, for her good? He wished he did not have so many considerations. Perhaps, Trent thought, he needed to take her cue. If that was what she wanted, then he could try to be every little thing she wanted. It seemed like a better purpose to live on, than to be every little thing he wanted, but could not be. Then that, too, begs the question of whether he could really be what she wanted, or fail too, along the way. Trent shook his head, to himself, but quickly realised that the physical manifestation of it would have looked bad to Millie. He stopped, then shook his head more vigorously.

"I mean ... Millie," he looked into her eyes. "I don't know if I should love you too." However, he had his hands firmer around her, as if they were sure, by themselves, that they wanted her. "Please, don't cry." He almost begged, or rather, it did sound like a beg. He kissed her eyes. "It cuts me when you." And then he corrected, "it hurts more when you cry, than a cut. I swear." He insisted, as if he needed to drive a point. And then, suddenly, he rubbed his face against hers, all over hers, getting it sufficiently wet from Millie's tears. "Don't you cry now, or you see, I'm crying too. Really." He then attempted to force a tear out. It was not that he was not upset. Trent merely learnt, over the years, to keep the tears. They never came out, not usually at least. He only got relief from things that harmed him, not from tears. The failure to produce tears made him continue to scrunch his face up very tightly. Then, he gave up.

Still, he insisted. "There, you've got my face wet with tears too." Trent nodded, despite the moisture being that from Millie. The boy held her, and began to sway slightly, side by side. "Don't cry, Mophead." He continued to sway. "Dance, with me." And then quickly, "don't break into a waltz, I'll step on your feet, on purpose." He chuckled slightly, and then kissed her cheek. "Now, sing something." He was going to make them happy, or at least he thought, he was going to try.

According to Muggles, it took more muscles to frown than it did to smile. At times, Millie felt more than just a little bit sceptical of their theory. It all took effort and sometimes it was so much easier to just let that cheek straining smile fall from her face and relax her face and relax her body until she needed to jump up and perform for her friends again. Crying was the easiest thing in the world for her. She didn’t often get away with enough time to do so though so instead she spent her overbearing emotions on cigarettes and icy showers. Only Elliot seemed to be willing to wrap her up in his arms and wait it out. It had only happened a handful of times, mostly when they were younger, when the arguments and the pettiness actually hurt. Now it was just tiring. To receive letters from both of their parents, each one poking holes in the other person, well...it was normal. It still hurt but it wasn’t crippling anymore. Trent was.

They were pitiful, her tears, almost as much as she and Trent were. She needed to hear him say it back; she needed that reassurance. It never came though, making her duck her head a little and close her eyes to him, blocking him out almost as though to help curb her embarrassment. She felt the way his hands reaffirmed themselves on his body though, and she most certainly felt his lips against her eyelids. He wasn’t consistent. His words and his actions were at both ends of the spectrum. His words were betrayed by his actions and vice versa. She didn’t know which side she was supposed to believe. He was cruel. Such cruelty probably wasn’t intended but he was cruel all the same. He left her with this uncertainty, a result of his own. It wasn’t fair anymore. She needed him like she needed oxygen but she wasn’t going to wait forever. If she didn’t get those breaths of air then she would have to find it elsewhere.

“It’s not about whether you should or you shouldn’t,” Millie whispered to him, her words sounding weak and flimsy, “I don’t have any control over it. If I did then I wouldn’t.” Millie looked up at Trent hesitantly, searching for the reaction in his eyes. “It hurts Trent.” She sighed shakily as his face brushed against her own. “It hurts more than a cut. You make it hard to breathe. A cut would be welcomed by comparison. I feel as if I’m drowning and no one is there to save me this time.” A smirk pulled at her lips at the irony of the statement and she shook her head. “It’s not fair. Why can’t it just be simple? Why can’t it be black and white? It’s agony, Trent. It’s all changed. It’s not enough anymore to just be friends....I...”

But it would have to do wouldn’t it? In the end if there was nothing else then Trent’s friendship would have to do. If he decided he didn’t want her in the sense they were progressing to and looked for solace in another witch, one of power that surpassed Millie’s lacklustre abilities, then she would have to be nothing more than the friend she always had been. She could do it, she was sure of it, but if the possibility of something more was there then friendship wouldn’t suffice. She needed him now in his entirety. She didn’t know why or when that had changed but she needed her friend, she needed her lover. She needed Trent. She didn’t know how she could bear the replacement of herself with another witch, more powerful or not. She could watch, showing him false smiles and clinging to the customary hugs he’d offer but she couldn’t be happy for him. No, she couldn’t do it. Selfless, she was not, not when it came to him.

Millie squeezed her eyes shut again and she brought her other hand up to his shoulder. Millie inhaled carefully and exhaled shakily before pressing her lips together. She nibbled on the inside of her cheek before hesitantly reopening her eyes. She swallowed and wetted her lips before beginning to murmur a few lyrics. “It’s not a silly little moment; it’s not the storm before the calm...” Millie swallowed hard and averted her eyes to one of the shifting cogs to her right. “There’s no music.” She whispered, her eyes moving up to Trent’s. “Not even the birds are spinning a melody.”

Once again, Trent was left wondering however did he and Millie progress to the present stage. Just a summer ago, he could almost pretend that she was his sister, although a part of him had always known the fact to be impossible. He had thought her attractive as soon as she turned thirteen. Trent was simply not compelled to let her know that, nor to feel anything more than protective over her. She was attractive, but she was his friend, and he could never forget the way she had looked when she was five, sitting on him after she had won in a mock fist-fight with him. The knowledge of that had unconsciously prevented him from realising feelings that had developed, and then now, he wondered how it had all happened. The point of moving from friends to more was not a long-suffering one, yet it was not too fast either. How, then, did it feel like an instant to him? Trent wished memories could be chosen in how precise or slow you wanted them to replay when you summoned them out. He was sure he would enjoy replaying this part of his memory for as long as he lives. Or perhaps, he was allowing himself to be a little too idealistic.

Whatever the case was, Trent saw Millie in his ideals. It was funny how years of growing up together, of getting almost completely acquainted with each other's flaws, could suddenly give way and be replaced by a new kind of looking that he was offering to the girl. She had gone from a friend, with the good and the bad parts of her personality, to an ideal -- specifically, his ideal. It was as if he had forgotten what the word ideal meant, only to allow Millie to take its definition instead. Was it dangerous if he saw her in that way? Was he falling for an ideal of her, or was that reasoning invalid if he already knew her for close to fifteen years?

Trent knew his words were insufficient. He wanted to offer himself, but his words were the ones who restrained him. His body was the obedient one, it followed his heart's desire. It held her, and the boy relished the closeness of Millie to himself, wishing he could give her something for her pain. To see the tears was bad enough. To listen to Millie articulate her pain was worse. Trent tighten his grip on her, as if he wanted to pull her up from falling off a cliff, only to think that he too was falling off that cliff with her. Trent swallowed the ball of saliva that was painfully stuck at his throat, blinked a couple of times, and continued to look at Millie. "I'm sorry," he repeated, feeling miserable for being the cause of her pain, like he had guessed. "I'm so sorry ... I wish it wasn't me. I wish no one would hurt you like that. I was so sure I would beat the lights out of anyone who hurt you in the future, but I never, ever, did think it would be me." Trent bit hard on his lower lip, wishing it would draw some blood, wishing it would hurt. "I wish I didn't exist to bring you pain."

Trent could not stop talking about eradicating himself -- it was all he thought about whenever he was conscious that he was bringing someone pain, someone who mattered. He might have acted nonchalantly with his family, but they mattered too much, that his hurt began from the family. Now, then, it included the one girl he had his heart helplessly attached to. Why could he not bring happiness? Why could he not do something right, even for once, even when he wanted it to really work for once? Perhaps he could stop being selfish for awhile, stop thinking what he would give away if he said what he should say to Millie. But he wanted it to be special. Trent had said the three words too often, using them as tickets to the bodies of other girls. Now, he felt sick of that trickery. It had poisoned the three words, for him. He could not use it for Millie. Yet, he did not know how to explain what they meant to him. He wanted to bring them to Millie, with all of its purity, with all that she wanted.

"I want you to be happy, Millie." At least, he could express what he wanted, deep down. "Of course, I would like to be there to make you happy. But I can't seem to be able to that." Trent allowed his eyes to avert to the floorboards, as if he needed to cast them down, for feeling so down-cast. He could not really reply to Millie about their friendship. He was trying to make out what was best for her, if only he could extract his selfish desires from the equation. Still, selfish was all he knew. He could only try to be an idealist, and see if he could give Millie up for her to be happier without him. Really, though, Trent knew it was impossible -- for an only child who grew up getting everything he wanted, everything except his parents' approval, and what he believed to be the lack of genuine love and knowledge of their son. Every other thing that he wanted to possess, he was allowed to. How, then, to let the one person that he singularly desired for, above all things, slip out of his grasp? No, Trent knew it was downright impossible. He just had to learnt to deal with it, and learn to make her happy. Somehow.

Trent swayed along with Millie, pleased to find some natural harmony when their bodies came together, even if their minds were being dialectical. The moisture of Millie's tears on his face was beginning to dry up, making the wind's touch against his face colder than usual. Millie had began to sing a few words, and Trent grinned. Only she would know exactly what song he had in mind without him asking for it, although it was only after she sang it that he realised. There were many lines in the song that were too sad to be sung out loud, and so he picked the ones he thought would say what he had on his heart, and began to sing them. "I was the one you always dream of, you were the one I tried to draw. How dare you say it's nothing to me? Baby you're the only light I ever saw ..." And then Trent brought his face back to Millie's, looking at her intently. "Millie ... I ..." He paused, contemplating before he continued. "Stay ... with me?" He managed, an alternative three-words. Trent wondered how he could push the question further. He leaned slightly, and kissed Millie on the cheek, enjoying the tender feel of it against his lips, melting into the soft security it seemed to provide him. With his lips pressed against the side of Millie's face, Trent forgot about a further question. He closed his eyes, and enjoyed her.