Holding the Pieces Together
Spike sat on the pier at the canoe lake, staring down into the water. His shoes sat next to him on the pier, his toes brushing the surface of the lake as his legs swung a little, idly. A gentle wind was ruffling his green hair, the dark strands falling into his light-green eyes. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, but he made no move to leave. He was too absorbed in thought to barely even register the fading daylight.
Rarity was gone. She had dumped him—so to speak—broke his heart, and left him standing there, holding the pieces. He didn't understand why. He didn't think he ever would. Her reasons had been unclear and not well thought through—like she was still trying to convince herself that's what she really wanted. As usual, Rarity didn't understand the message she was trying to convey. He wondered if she even understood it herself.
But it didn't matter. Nothing could repair their relationship now—nor Spike's heart.
With one simple sentence, she had destroyed his whole world, and turned the glorious city that was their relationship into a pile of rubble and twisted metal.
I want to break up with you...
For some people, the words 'they didn't make it' were what destroyed them. But these were Spike's words. At hearing that sentence, it was like someone had scooped out his heart and left an empty hole.
Because she's hadn't just destroyed their relationship. She had destroyed his future. He'd always imagined marrying her one day, having children, growing old together. She was the love of his life. He'd known every day when he woke up in the morning that he could face the day and it's challenges—simply because she was by his side.
And now, she wasn't.
Just like that, waking up became a struggle. It became a fight with his mind and his heart—his heart knowing he could take no more strain from the day, his brain knowing that he had to. So he went through the motions, feeling nothing but the bone-chilling emptiness he'd felt since that sentence. He didn't live. He survived.
He longer smiled, or laughed. There wasn't any light in his eyes anymore. Because she had been the reason for that light—she had been the source of the happiness that had filled him everyday. And now it was gone.
He had accepted the fact that he would be lonely for the rest of his life—come to terms with that fact that he would never be able to be truly happy. He might pretend to move on, try to continue on with life, but he knew that everyone morning, he would see her face, and feel the pain that accompanied it.
Maybe he could find love again.
His heart clenched painfully at the thought. No, he knew he could not. Because every woman he would meet, he knew that they would never love him the way she did, that they would never be able to fill the cracks she's left in his broken heart. It would never be the same.
He would never be able to have children. He would never wake up beside someone in the morning. He would never have someone to comfort him after a bad day—someone to help him face life. He would never come home from work to a kiss and a cup of coffee. Instead, he would only be greeted by the silence of the loneliness. He could have everything, and yet nothing.
He would die alone.
This is what scared him the most. He would have to endure the process of death by himself, with no one to hold his hand and promise they would see him on the other side. And when Death did come to collect him, there would be nobody waiting...that he would be alone for eternity.
Tears now ran freely down his cheeks and dripped onto his hands, which were folded into his lap. The sun continued to sink further below the trees.
Was life worth living if you had no one to share it with? Were goals important if you had no one to share your accomplishments? Was hope valid if you had no one to hope with?
His body began to shudder as sobs escaped from him—pent up pain and anxiety, longing to be released. He shivered even as the sunlight washed over his skin.
His entire life crumbled. He was lost, navigating the complicated Labyrinth that was his life—his choices, his heart, and his mind. He didn't know how to rebuild himself. He didn't know where to turn. Who to ask for help. What to ask for help with. And worst of all, he didn't know how to ask for help. Everything seemed to be broken, and nothing seemed to fix it.
He stared at the lake, allowing himself to be pulled into the memory of their third kiss here, at the bottom of the lake. How happy he'd been, relieved that they were finished. But they weren't finished. He would be dragged off again, forced to fight a war he had already fought. And this time, he wouldn't be lucky. He would lose so much more.
Because now, the valley where he sat—where there used to be a camp for people like him, a sanctuary—was empty. Sacrificed in the war, destroyed because the need was greater elsewhere.
There was another piece of him, ripped from his chest. The sobbing grew louder.
He didn't know how to move on, when most of his life had been stolen from him. When the peace he once knew he only could recall in memories. The two months of joy.
Bitterness replaced sadness as he cried.
Two months of true happiness—true peace—he'd been allowed. Then it'd all been taken from him without warning, and he'd been given no choice but to fight to get it back. And he did fight. But everything he did, it was never enough. He could never give enough. There was always something more to take from him.
He continued sobbing painfully, even as he heard approaching footsteps on the decrepit dock. He didn't care. His dignity had been stripped from him long ago.
He squeezed his eyes tightly together, in a sad and desperate attempt to calm himself and force his feelings into his heart again, lock them up, and then swallow the key. He felt someone sit next to him on the pier, heard the creak of the old wooden boards.
A gentle arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he was pulled into a warm and familiar embrace. Soft fingers combed through his hair, giving him comfort he hadn't felt in what seemed like ages. It took him a long time to run out of tears, but they didn't mind.
Finally—exhausted and hot with tears—he pulled away. With red, swollen eyes he looked up and saw a familiar pair of purple eyes and dark purple hair fluttering down her face, a sullen Twilight looked upon the young man with pity and remorse.
She gently took his face in her hands, and looked into his eyes. He struggled with himself, wrestling with his feelings so he wouldn't dissolve into tears again.
And she said the words he had dreamed of, wished for.
"I'm so sorry, Spike."
Hope began to blossom in the young man's heart as he embraced his sister a hug. Maybe, he wasn't alone. Holding the broken pieces of his heart.