Chapter 1 - Superbia - Pride

Superbia - Pride

You walk like you're in the clouds. No, not in, on top of. Better, higher, bigger than everything else. One step ahead. One point above. And it scares me because sometimes I think the same. I see you as larger than life, because hell, you're so much larger than mine. I am but a weak excuse for a human being, and you are all that is and ever was to be excused.

You walk passed me like you've never seen me before. You always do. Your nose is so far in the air I fear you may actually bruise the porcelain of your face upon the ceiling. But no, I've forgotten, you're above the clouds. No cement wall or covering could ever contain you.

I follow you into the dressing room and I see your eyes dart left, right, and left again. Everything with you is so didactic, structured--I suppose it prevents you from ever breaking your perfect glass world with the fragmented stones of error. God forbid you ever appear...real.

Closing the door you shove me roughly against cold metal, the squared handle digging sharply into my back. It wasn't the first bruise, and I held a sick hope that it would not be the last.

"You want me, don't you?"

I merely whimpered and stared into the mocking torture of your sadistic grin. Of course I wanted you. I always had. Always will.

You pushed me backward again, as if I had somewhere to go, some new found dimension that had since expanded this tiny, meaningless dressing room turned pseudo-torture chamber of yours. My body again came into harsh contact with the industrial wall behind me, and I could almost feel my bruise turn a deeper shade of purple. Later that night I looked into the mirror, and the breathtaking contrast of pale skin and wound seemed to read only your name in big, bold letters. Property of that which I am nowhere near good enough to even share air with. The words were written in pain upon my flesh.

"Oh Gerard, don't you know that I'm too good for you?"

I had known it even before you spat the words into my face, saliva dripping with hate and truth. Yet I allowed you to attack my lips with your own, ripping the soft flesh wide open, leaving a mark that paralleled expertly with the blue-black upon my spine. My own innocent blood dripped slowly down my own innocent chin, and you watched it's liquid travel, watched the flowing current make a map of shame upon my tattered face.

"Honey, you should clean yourself up, I really can't be tainted by the blood of such a sick slut. You understand."

You kissed me softly upon the cheek before turning and emptying the saliva behind your lips upon my shoes.

"I feel dirty already."

Pushing me aside, you exited the room. I took off my worn sneakers and threw them heatedly across the room. One of the rubber soles came into unfortunate contact with a relatively small mirror on the opposite wall, and the glass cracked before my eyes into intricate spider webs starting from the initial point of contact and moving in a sickening pattern outward. I walked towards it, seeing myself through the eyes of destruction: fragmented and angular, stained and bruised. I'm not sure I would have looked any better in a pure reflection, though, because I was beginning to see that which you had so blatantly attempted to prove--I was below you. Below everyone. Second-class human being? Oh no, I didn't even deserve a rank. I was so far beneath you that I began to find myself amongst the demons of deepest hell even while I continued to breathe.

But Frank, pride is your sin, and this is getting deadly.

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