kafkaesque: having a nightmarishly complex, bizarre, or illogical quality.
The second the door had opened and revealed the one person Layla would give up anything for, her delicate fingers released their grip on the suitcase’s handle, letting it drop to the ground with somewhat of a thud. Both her mind and vision had blurred out everything that wasn’t Jasper, and her actions only proved the statement true as she bolted toward the male. The blonde knelt down before him, the frailty of her arms not preventing her from tightly wrapping them around his physique with all of the strength a girl her size could possibly muster.
“Jas…”
The words she desperately longed to utter caught up tightly in her throat, but she didn’t bother fighting against it. Silence hadn’t ever been a stranger in Layla’s life, and what purpose could words serve now if the unspoken signs of affection between them did so much more? Layla didn’t want to think, and she couldn’t have even if she tried. Jasper’s name rung in her mind ceaselessly as she clung to him with the vulnerability that mirrored that of a child’s. Trembling hands crawled up to the fabric of his shirt, gripping it as if he were to disappear if she didn’t hold onto him. The gentle outpour of tears fell afresh upon his clothed chest, her face gently nuzzled against him.
…— “For a moment, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again...”
Soft sniffles emerged amidst the soft intonations of her lips, which stung like the wound of a knife. The mere thought of his absence pained her to the point of self-loathing and regret. She shouldn’t have ran for the alley-way when noticing the mysterious vehicle surveilling them at the park on that summer night from months past. She should have listened to Jasper when he said that they would be better off waiting a few minutes before departing. No, she was far too stubborn, and for putting him through such strife she simply could not forgive herself, despite his constant efforts to convince her out of it.
With a slight upward tilt of the chin, Layla’s red-rimmed eyes searched for his own, a hand gently caressing the side of his face. She wondered how he may have spent his months here in solitude, and worry was inevitable even though Jasper mentioned to have been in total safety. The beard adorning his chiseled jawline was genuinely beautiful in the most purest and rugged of forms.
“You have me now, for as long as you want. You do realize that, right?”
Layla smiled, though the glint in her eyes of cerulean blue exuded an aura of melancholy and suppressed feelings — secret desires she had whispered to the night skies in hopes of receiving some sort of response from the Universe. His safety, that is all she wanted. Life without Jasper had grown to lose its purpose, and the way she once viewed the world with such bright, vivid colors had contorted into empty shades of grey. Daily tasks as simple as having a meal or being able to sleep became problematic to take on, if not impossible.
Perhaps he was too numb to feel the arms wrapping around him, but in that moment he felt as if he brought the world down with him. Empty hues of emerald permitted themselves to shut themselves tight, and he had begun to feel the flush develop around his cheeks. Jasper had been making a fool out of himself, painting invisible walls with tints of mocking colors. Layla, however, didn’t seem to care. The things I do for love. Living in this desolate area wasn’t so bad. He had her, at least in his dreams. That wasn’t sufficient, though. He had attempted to call her before, but the man who had strove to keep him out of harm’s way wouldn’t hear of the notion anymore.
He’s had enough, just like I have.
Oh, but she was here, clinging to him without any hesitation. And before he knew it, Jasper was clutching at the thick fabric of her coat as well, whispering words that he couldn’t even discern. What had been coming out of his mouth? Perhaps he was still on a high– having brought drugs in his pocket wasn’t too good of an idea. Still, one would have thought he had been rejecting the narcotics that ran through his veins like the life he needed. It was the cocaine, the corruption. There was no other explanation to his constant quivering and nightmares, as well as the woman he deemed his loyal companion. Was she an apparition right now? Was she real? Half a million inquires sprouted in his mind, until he looked up, and saw the familiar blue hues of love staring back at him. One large tear ran freely across hollow cheeks before he pressed his lips to hers with a certain hunger, a certain need.
“But I’m here” He whispered against her. “I love you.”
No sooner did he say those words that he felt completely culpable for the feelings that derived inside of her. She had loathed herself for five months, detested her past actions, and no matter how many times he had endeavored to convince her otherwise, she would not believe him. As stubborn as she was, he didn’t give up, and wouldn’t until she came to realize that what he was saying was the truth. When he looked at her, it was like peering at a paragon of virtue– an angel, by her own rights. Her short pale blonde hair, the deep blue of her eyes that he was like to drown in if he stared too long, her cerise colored lips that were ripe for kissing, the wide of her hips that made him want to slip his hands around, and her legs– legs that he wanted to caress whilst he made love to her.
"I love you so much.“ Came his voice once more, not daring to cease his speaking. He wanted to let her know before it was too late, before he would lead himself to his own demise. She made him see true, made him step directly into the light at the end of the tunnel. Layla was his light, as he had come to know when he left her. Without her, he was nothing. Days would turn into weeks, weeks into months, and still he ventured out into the cold and dark of night, naked as his name day. He would feel the frigidity of the wind, but he would not die. It’s all in your mind, he thought every single time he would commit the act. And it was, for he had near death experiences, but never truly died. Not physically, at least.
"Why—–?” He asked, although he was meaning to say: ’Why did you wait for me?’ In Jasper’s perspective, he was nothing as well as no one. Layla could have had a stable relationship with someone that wasn’t him. She could be happy, as well as look back into her past and not regret anything, yet she chose him. The liar, the sinner, the sadist. It made him c r i n g e.