Trista's Room

[Kyle Stockholm]

Everything was right. It was, like she said, perfect. No other words could describe how wonderfully right he felt, how in place he felt. This was where he was supposed to be, and he could feel it. He'd've sworn himself to her right then and there in that very moment, too, but then..

Rachel.

Immediately, Kyle's eyes opened and he felt his hands tense up as he realized what he was doing. She'd pulled her face just far enough away to speak and had left her forehead against his, but he was already inching away from her. "Oh my god," he whispered, then felt her head on his shoulder. He'd leaned back a bit and was now supporting himself with his hands, embarrassed out of his mind, but stayed on the bed. He didn't know what to do. What do you do in a situation like this? Was he supposed to get up and just leave? Well, he couldn't, for various reasons... but the main one staring him in the face was this girl that he'd almost convinced himself he loved. Not seconds ago he was set on the fact that this was what he wanted. And now there was truth, reality, making its way down his throat and to the bottom of his stomach where he felt and incredible amount of guilt. "Oh my god," he said again, a bit louder this time as he looked down and away from her.

"Tris I..." What should he even say? Was he supposed to apologize? Because he wasn't sorry. Not to her, anyway. To Rachel, yes. He was sorry for doing this to her because she didn't deserve it. She was a perfectly wonderful girl and certainly didn't deserve him or anyone that had a soul dark enough to see another girl. He felt like complete scum. Like the lowest of lows, the douche-iest of douches. But at the same time... it was awfully hard to convince his body to stop. "This is wrong," he finally said. "This.. we shouldn't do.. this... You have Erik and I have.. I have.. yea." It hurt to even say her name now. But was this just a reality check? Was this just a test? A sign?

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't supposed to be with Trista.

[Trista Kline]

It smacked her in the face just how quickly Kyle reacted. She was painfully aware how his hands were no longer on her back. ‘Oh my god’ echoed in her mind, but it wasn’t her voice, it was Kyle’s. She felt her body lean forward more as he leaned back. She didn’t want to get, didn’t want to see the expression on his face. This hurt, how confused her mind was. Her body wanted nothing more than to carry on, even her heart. But mentally, she knew there was a point of no return that was quickly approaching if they hadn’t stopped.

Trista felt awful, for more reasons than one. Obviously the fact that she’d cheated on Erik was horrifying. She was supposed to be committed; she’d given him her word. He trusted her, and she let him down. How was she going to tell him, if she told him at all. Oddly enough, that wasn’t her biggest concern. It was the fact that she wished Kyle had told her to forget, to not worry about anything, and continued. She was an awful person, and she felt guilty for it. She couldn’t deny her true feelings, about how she wanted to wake up to his face, to love and cherish him.

Erik deserved better than this. He’d done nothing but take care of her, and here she was in the lap of another man. It was suddenly becoming colder, the heat of the moment fading to make room for the cold harsh reality. He confirmed her earlier question, and she slowly sat up, pained green eyes taking him in. He wasn’t looking at her, eyes focused away. She could tell he regretted it, for whatever reasons, and it hurt. Her eyes found her lap out of habit, only to notice the position she was in. She noticed how her pants had been undone, by her hands or his, she didn’t know. It was just a painful sign of what might’ve happened. It ate away at her that she couldn’t deny that she wished it had.

She was scared. Scared she’d just ruined the best thing to ever happen to her. Had she just lost the one person that meant more than anything? Her ability to mess things up was beyond her comprehension, and maybe it was her only true talent. “This is my fault,” she whispered, arms coming up to grip the opposite elbows. She didn’t know what to do. Should she leave him here, leave her own room? It was late, where would she go? At the same time she didn’t want him to go, fear if he left he’d never come back.

She didn’t regret kissing him or holding him. She regretted betraying Erik. She wanted to apologize, but it wouldn’t have been true. Trista feared this was going to quickly become another case of ‘the night in the woods’ where she’d question if it really happened or not. She was lost for words, and green eyes stared confused. It was then that she suddenly felt very unappealing. Perhaps this hadn’t been because of love. What if Rachel refused to sleep with him and she’d become his plan b. Was she simply a quick fix? A pained expression adorned her features as the grip on her elbows increased. “I didn’t mean to mess things up,” she said softly. She had stepped between Rachel and Kyle’s relationship, something she tried avoiding since day one.

[Kyle Stockholm]

Kyle slipped his legs from beneath her and swung them over the side of the bed. Gripping the quilt, his brain was too cluttered to find his shirt and jacket. Instead, he stood as he was, turned to Trista with wet eyes and could only mouth meaningless words. A few bare squeaks escaped his lips, barely making any sound at all. He was so lost, so hurt and so confused. He'd brought this upon himself and he cursed his impulsive behaviors. With such a past of whoring himself around, this had come so naturally. Only now, it was different. And that wasn't just for effect. What he felt was true, or so he believed it had been. He could've sworn in that moment that Trista would be the girl to change him. But here she was.. with another boy who she clearly cared about if she'd stopped Kyle in his tracks.

But was he really one to place the blame on her? He had Rachel. Rachel, a girl that he personally had asked out. A girl that he'd told himself he liked and when she said she wasn't ready for her first time, he'd said that was fine. And that, at the time, was a big step. That was something he told himself he could live with. And he could've.. if he'd loved her. But he hadn't. And just when he'd thought he'd found a girl that he did...

"I should go, shouldn't I.." he stated, more so of a legitimate answer to his own question. He knew she would probably want him to stay, to talk about this and the fact that it was 'fine'. But it wasn't fine. Honestly, he was low enough to where in his book, cheating on a girl that he didn't care about was fine. But Trista cheating.. that wasn't fine. Not for him. He wouldn't ruin a relationship like that. If she cared about him, then that was fine. He wasn't going to get in the middle of it. She deserved happiness. And if happiness meant no Kyle... then so be it.

"Yea I'm just.. okay," Snatching up his jacket, he pulled the soft fabric up over his shoulders and zipped it to his chest. His mind was in too much of a flurry to remember his tank top which was still laying on her bed. "I'll just go," he said, moving towards the door. He paused a moment before opening it, waiting for anything from her. Anything. Any sign of it being a joke, a lie, fake. He didn't want this to be fake. He didn't want this to be over. But as far as the silence told...

it was.

[Kyle Stockholm]

"TRISTA! OPEN THE DOOR."

An angry fist pounded against the door, each blow pounding harder into the wood. At his side was a more than half empty bottle of beer: his sixth tonight. He was fully dressed, which was surprising, but horribly disheveled and rather homeless looking. His sweater was thrown sloppily to one side threading to slip down his arm at any given second and his fly was down, his pants held up by a partially tightened belt. Somehow he'd managed shoes and those were actually tied, which was a bit of a miracle.

"TRISTA."

It was the same night. The same night that he'd almost given himself entirely to who he'd thought to be the love of his life, and the same night that he'd found out she'd found another and left him behind. He'd gone home to find himself alone and took what he and Rory had left from previous parties. A single six-pack remained at the back of the fridge, and he'd welcomed the alcohol like a forty year old man who'd just been laid off. After two hours of angry channel surfing, Kyle had gotten to his feet and walked all the way back to campus, leaving him here before Trista's dorm room door.

Swallowing what was left inside the bottle, Kyle set it just outside the door before letting himself in. For a drunk, he held himself rather straight. Standing still, anyway. Moving, he was a mess. But as he stood in the door way, he was as still as a statue with his arms out at his sides and his chest puffed up like he knew what he was doing. "TRISTA," he shouted again, left arm only slightly quivering under the stress of his mind. Angry, hot tears had started down his cheeks but he didn't bother to move them away.

[Trista Kline]

Trista had been completely and utterly exhausted. She’d cried herself to sleep after Kyle had left. She blamed herself for everything. Kyle was gone and it had been her fault. She hadn’t changed, leaving everything as it was. When he left she’d curled up in a ball and fell into herself. Her hand gripped his tank top and she held it to her chest, the scent of him still on it. When things became too much she usually retreated to her closet, but she never made it.

She was small in her average bed, chest falling and rising in rhythm. Her face was furrowed, because even in her sleep her mind was one Kyle. Why had he done it? What were his motives? She had cried because she was confused. She was conflicted between her heart and her mind. She wanted to be with Kyle, desperately needed him, but Erik. She couldn’t leave him, not like this. It wasn’t fair. She was an awful person. Tonight would fade away into her mind as some figment of her imagination, just like the forest. The two would return to pretending nothing ever happened.

She could hear her name being called out, and she struggled to place the reality of it. Her body jerked, but didn’t rouse her sleep. She was too exhausted for her mind to be playing cruel tricks on her. Her name was called again and her eyes fluttered open. The room was black, somehow she’d managed to turn the lights off. She was greeted with silence and gladly let her eyes shut to fall back asleep. It didn’t last long when she heard her door being opened. She never got out of bed to close lock it, and her heart thudded in her chest in fear. She laid there, stock still, trying not to grab attention.

When her name was called again, Trista sat up in her bed confused. She knew that voice. “Kyle?” she asked, squinting, only his silhouette visible from the hallway light. She was still half asleep and she fumbled with the light. When light invaded the room she squinted, allowing her eyes to adjust. The site before her was sad, and any idea of putting her shirt back on or buttoning her pants were forgotten at the site of such a disheveled Kyle. She quickly swung her legs over the side of the bed, muscles still weak.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, concerned. He looked a complete mess, and he was crying? She stood, wobbling legs adjusting to support her. She took a few uneasy steps toward him, his tank top being left on the bed. “What’s wrong?” had something happened back at the house? She took another step and stopped in her tracks. That smell. She knew that smell. Her body froze up, a childhood memory. Her father, yelling pain. She shook her head to rid of the memory to focus on Kyle. “Kyle,” she started quietly,” have you been drinking?”

[Kyle Stockholm]

"What's wrong?" he echoed, only much angrier than how she'd said it. He shook his head and lifted a heavy arm to his face, blindly wiping away at the tears but only smearing them over his face. He'd dropped his face but quickly lifted it when she asked if he'd been drinking. "Wha'does it matter?" he slurred, moving one foot forward and whipping his left hand into the air, only to let it fall back to his side. "What does it FUCKING matter, huh?" He wiped his hand across his face again.

"Y'know something?" he was wagging a finger in the air, "I care about you, Trista. I do. I genuinely care about you. You're more than a girl to me. You're more than sex, more than lust ,more than everything. I thought I loved you, Trista. I thought maybe, just maybe, that you were the one for me. That you could change me. Take this empty soul and fill it with light again. And for a while, you had, y'know? You had. You made me feel whole again.

But you broke me, Trista. You broke me when you left for him."

He'd moved closer, but only slightly. She'd seemed to not want him very near, and through the fog he found enough sense to stay where he was. But that didn't stop his words. That didn't stop the slur of words that just barely rolled off his tongue and into the air. They were horribly sticky words, each one falling heavy to the floor like a bomb. They hit hard, and if he'd been sober, he wouldn't have said any of them. He never cursed.

"I thought we could be something," he started again, this time his right hand in the air, "I thought we could be something. I didn't want you as a fuck buddy, I didn't want you as a 'thing'. I wanted.. I wanted you. All of you. To be mine because I fucking cared. So goddamn much, Trista." The tears were back, rushing down his face and neck and into the neckline of his shirt. His hands were shaking too as he fought to stand still; he could feel his knees wobbling. And although his words and tone were angry, his face said nothing more than sadness.

[Trista Kline]

His tone was biting, painfully so. She hadn't moved from position since he started talking. His words were slurred, clearly drunk. Trista tried to ignore the stench of alcohol that made her stomach turn. Nothing good ever came from it, nothing. Kyle looked like a mess, and she couldn't have prepared herself for what his words were going to do to her. She visibly flinched at his words, they hurt. Her eyes were stinging and years threatened to fall, but with a sharp intake of breath she held her own.

His tears, she wanted to wipe them all away. Like always, she wanted to do nothing but hold him, but his words stopped her from doing anything. She had to remind herself to breathe as he started to speak. He... He loved her? "Stop," she whispered," this isn't you. This is the alcohol speaking." She was shaking, eyes trained on the floor. It's not daddy. It's the alcohol speaking. Her mother's voice cooed softly. The memory of a little girl hidden and locked away in a closet with her eyes clenched shut with her hands over her ears to block out the sound.

This was painful and the tears were streaming down her face now. She was fighting two entities now. Kyle and her past. "That's not fair..." She looked up, hands balled into fists. He was blaming her for leaving him? That's not what had happened. She knew arguing with him was pointless, he wasn't of sound mind. "That's not true!" Her voice was small, but for her it was quite loud. Luckily the door had swung shut, and though it wouldn't silence the argument at hand, it would help. "I didn't leave you. You left me!" She was shaking, light streams of tears running down her face as she tried to compose herself, but that wasn't happening. 

She took another step, fighting the smell leaking from him. "I still care, I always have. I've stayed quietly on the sidelines because you had Rachel. You have Rachel. You think I'm actually happy you're dating her? I just wanted you to be happy!" Everything she'd told him that night, the truth was coming out now. "I've spent weeks trying to convince myself that what happened in the woods wasn't real, and that I wasn't in love with you."

She was crying, green eyes taking in his sad expression that made her heart ache. "But that night happened," she said softly," and I still love you. I've tried to push it away, tell myself that Erik was going to be the one. I found Erik because you found Rachel!" She was dating someone who she didn't love. Erik was to fill the void Kyle had created. Her hand was attempting to wipe away the tears, but they continued to fall. Her heart aches, everything hurt. "But I can't do this," she motioned between him,"Not like this." She was so in love with him, but he was breaking her heart. 

[Kyle Stockholm]

"What do you mean 'not fair'?" he asked, throwing his arms up. "I'm not being fair? Me? You're not being fair, Trista! You didn't even give me a chance!" Currently, his argument was invalid. It made no sense, and there was no truth behind it. But that didn't stop him. "I found Rachel because you stopped talking to me," Had she? "I didn't know what the forest meant, or that kiss or anything! You just dropped it!" Now she was right: he wasn't being fair. A stable Kyle would've known better and a stable Kyle wouldn't dare to think that she'd just stopped talking to him. Because she hadn't. She was quiet and shy, he knew that. But alcohol did bad things to his mind when he had nothing more than a feather of anger. The more he drank, the more feathers were added to his wings. And eventually, without a trace of a map, he took off on a rampage. A pointless, cruel, and unfair rampage.

"How could you even pick him over me?"

There it was. The deep, dark side of Kyle that not many knew about. Alcohol or not, he could be as cocky as a k.ing. The alcohol, though, was what brought it out. Usually, it was subtle, kept behind a wall and left to making sassy jokes that he knew people would laugh at. But with the right amount of beer and the right amount of rage, the monster came out. Cocky and proud, this wouldn't be the first time he'd yelled at a girl about them going to someone else in place of him. By now, he'd lost his mind. Any form of self sense was gone and he had been broken to his lowest of lows, that filthy human being he could be. Hell, he wasn't even Kyle anymore.

[Trista Kline]

She was angry, upset, and very confused. Trista was visibly shaking, in some emotion so foreign she didn’t know how to handle it. “Stop! You don’t know what you’re saying!” she knew trying to reason with him would accomplish nothing, but it was the only thing she could do. This wasn't Kyle. This wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with, far from it. Here was someone who looked like her Kyle, but inside, inside him was… his demons speaking.

“I didn’t stop talking to you,” she told him,” I didn’t drop it.” This wasn’t going to accomplish anything, but that didn’t stop her. Her emotions were clouding her judgment and she couldn’t think on calming the situation. His accusations were sparking something in her, memories she’d long locked away from the world, from herself: A little girl being yelled at, being blamed for all the problems of the world in the absence of a mother who was away at work. Her mind was flickering in and out of her past, her breathing uneven and erratic.

His question had her stilling, heart stopping. “I didn’t pick, Kyle.” Erik had been there when he left, he was the one who helped her to mend. “You chose Rachel!” she was trying her best to keep it together,” you chose her, after that night.” That night had meant to world to her. “I thought… I thought after that night I finally knew what it meant to be alive. What it meant to be human.” Her voice was soft, broken, like her.

Her gaze fallen to the floor, tears streaming down her face and chest. It was quite the sight, the two of them. Kyle was a muddle Trista half-naked. They were both a complete mess. “Why?” she asked, looking up. “Why are you doing this?!” Her hands were up in front of her, shaking. How had it come to this. "I don't understand."

[Kyle Stockholm]

Kyle was gone. Or at least, what he'd come to portray "Kyle" as. This was his brain. His raw, natural brain and its deepest and darkest secrets being dug up. This was the crude, angry, and downright dirty under-layer of Kyle. This was what he fought so hard to keep away.

"I thought I could love you," he started as the right side of his face twisted in wrong directions. "I thought.. I thought you could change me. I told you this! I told you! I thought you could really, truly change me, Trista!" Repetition. "I've never known love," he shook his head, "Not love separate from a parent and I'm not even sure that was real, y'know?" he'd quieted, "And now? Now I'm not really sure I'll ever know it. I thought I found it in you, I thought I found it in you.. But boy, was I wrong." He'd thrown his hands into the air by now, the right side of his body from his temple to his waist contorting in ways that looked far from human.

"Did I do something wrong?" Now he was crying. Sad. Not angry. Not slightly angry. He was like a child, a puppy, crying because he was scared. "Did I hurt you? Are you made at me?"

Snap. Head back and to the left, bringing it forward, a shout. "What the HELL did I do wrong?" Anger. The tears had stopped, but still stung his reddened eyes. Like a dealer he rifled through emotions like a deck of cards. One play after the next he folded from sad to angry to scared to silent. Silent. Not an emotion to most, but a common one for Kyle. Vacant, gone. He'd freeze, as if he'd lost himself completely. Then

snap.

"Do you know all the things in my head?" An oddly worded sentence. "Do you know what this patch is for? Do you know why I can't control the right side of my body? Do you know why I can't go into a grocery store without someone like Rory at my side or why I can't drive a car for more than two hours on my own? Do you, Trista? Do you?" He'd stepped closer. He wasn't being aggressive, not even really intimidating. He had just, for some reason, involuntarily stepped forward. "I'm no as fine as I come off, you know. My mind is sick.. its why I've gotta wear this thing and why I can't control myself. It tells me to do things that I don't even know its telling me to do. I don't know.. until I do them. More than half of my life, Trista. More than half of my life is involuntary.

But around you.. around you I could see. I could see and I could think and things were clear. You made it clear. But its not clear anymore and I don't know what the hell to do with myself. I don't even know why I'm here anymore." Here. Where was here? Trista's dorm? Earth?

For a moment, he questioned whether he should actually be alive.

Another involuntary thought.