***

Title: Reflection
Author: Lizzie
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: R, methinks.
Content: Erm, angst, pretty graphic self injury, mildish m/m. Cheery cheery as usual.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and unless I wake up one morning having mysteriously become Vince McMahon, I doubt they ever will be. Damn, that's a scary thought.
Distribution: Not that you're likely to want it, but if you do, just tell me where.
Summary: It�s Matt/Jeff. I�m addicted. And please, if the self-injury thing bothers you, do not read under any circumstances.
Notes: Guess this was kinda inspired by the song �Angels Would Fall� by Melissa Etheridge and a brilliantly astounding idea that I hope I haven�t slaughtered from Ravenette.

***
Reflection
***

I�m looking at him across the room, trying not to stare. But it�s difficult. I should be able to look away, like down at my hands, pick at my chipped black nail polish, tug at my sleeves, but I can�t. I can�t take my eyes off him and I guess I really don�t want to. Besides, it doesn�t really matter if I stare right now �cause he�s asleep. Except it does matter � it matters to me. Because every second I can�t look away from him just reminds me exactly how fucked up I am.

He�s so beautiful when he�s asleep. Not like I�m saying he�s not anyway, but he�s just so fucking beautiful when he�s sleeping that sometimes I think just looking at him might break my heart. He looks so calm and satisfied lying there, like there�s nothing in the world that could trouble him. His hair�s all messed up and strewn all over the pillows and his face and his bare back, and for once it�s not wet or slicked back or whatever � I�m actually sitting on my hands so I don�t just march straight over there and start running my fingers through it. He wouldn�t like that, and I wouldn�t like that he wouldn�t like that. I mean, I don�t want to have to explain to him why I�m playing with his hair while he�s asleep. There�s just nothing I could say that could possibly make it okay.

Sometimes it feels like there�s a rope around my neck that�s holding me away from him, like the closer I go then the tighter it gets. So I know I shouldn�t keep moving toward him, �cause eventually it�s gonna get so tight I can�t breathe, but I just can�t help myself. I keep inching forward, little by little, hoping the rope might give a little, but it never does. And little by little, the closer I go, it�s choking the life out of me. I can�t breathe and that should scare the hell out of me but it just doesn�t, because you know what? Rope or no rope, if I thought he might feel the same way about me as I do about him I�d storm right over there and kiss him right this second, and to hell with the consequences. I�d die for that, and I�d die happy. But I know he doesn�t feel this way about me. So I guess I�m doomed to live my life with him just out of my reach, never quite stepping over the line. But I�ll push as far as I can. I�ll just live short of breath for him.

And I guess that isn�t so bad in some ways. I still get to be close to him after all, even if it�s just as a friend. A good friend, his best friend, but still just a friend. But that�s the best I can hope for and it�s going to have to be enough. Because let�s face it, it�s better to live like this and never be able to be with him the way I want than to live without him. So I�ll never tell him, �cause then I could just kiss what little I have with him goodbye. Besides, how exactly am I supposed to find the words to tell my big brother I�m in love with him? It�s just impossible.

But the crazy thing is, I know exactly what I�d say. Hell, I should do � I�ve had years to think about it, play it out in my head like some twisted movie starring just the two of us. Except there�s one major difference about this in my imagination � Matt loves me too. In reality he�d never understand. And that�s why I can�t tell him. I don�t want to have to live without my brother.

If I keep my big mouth shut, this should all be okay. I mean, I�ve managed okay so far. But lately it just seems harder, if that�s at all fucking possible. I just see him with other people and it kills me. I don�t think I�ve ever been so jealous of Shane or Shannon, and they�re not even the one he�s dating. I don�t even want to think about him. Because every time I do it just reminds me of the other reason I can never be with Matt. You see, even if we weren�t brothers, even if this was so wrong that just feeling it is gonna land me in hell for all eternity, I�m just not his type. Because obviously Hunter is.

It�s fucking depressing to see them together. They just look nauseatingly happy. The first time I walked into an arena and saw them all over each other in our locker room I swear I almost threw up. Shane or Shannon, Adam or Jay � that I could�ve lived with. I wouldn�t have been pleased, but I could�ve lived with it. But he was with Hunter. Hunter Hearst fucking Helmsley, six feet five inches and 250 or so pounds of solid fucking muscle, the best hair in the whole fucking business, the guy who�s like everything I�m not. And I get to walk in and see my brother actually sitting on his lap, wrapped up in his arms, kissing like there�s no fucking tomorrow. I�m surprised they didn�t pass out they went so long without air. And all I could do was stand and watch. They didn�t even noticed I was there.

I can�t compete with a guy like Hunter. Not over Matt, not over anyone. I�m nothing compared to him � he made damn sure I knew that when we were together and I�m never going to forget. How could I? It�s just so true it hurts, just like I�m nothing compared to Matt. I�ve always known that, but Hunter just makes it worse. I mean, I was worth so little to him that no one even knew we were together. He ignored me in public and hit me behind closed doors. I guess I kinda deserved it for ever thinking I was good enough to be with him.

But Matt? Hunter practically fucking worships the ground he walks on. Everyone knows they�re together. Everyone knows Hunter�s in love with him, and Matt would just leave if he ever hit him � he doesn�t deserve to be treated like that. But Hunter�s never going to hit him. He has too much respect for him, he loves him too much. So it�s just salt in the fucking wound to see them together, knowing they�re both happier with each other than either of them could ever be with me.

It�s painful knowing that�s true, because all I ever wanted was to make them happy. I tried everything wit Hunter, I did everything he ever asked of me then he just left and started dating my brother with no explanation. I don�t know if I ever really loved Hunter, but I tried. It didn�t feel like how I feel about Matt, but sometimes I think I did. And sometimes he made me happy. Being with him was good. I just wanted to make him as happy as he made me, but I never could. I don�t think he ever really felt anything for me. I couldn�t make him.

And there�s no way I could ever make Matt as happy as Hunter does. I don�t think anyone could. Sometimes I think I catch Matt with a sad look on his face like maybe Hunter�s not the one he wants, but I guess that�s just wishful thinking. And it�s a pretty fucking horrible thing to have wishful thinking about. It�s almost like I�m wishing him to be unhappy just because I can�t be with him. How fucked up is that?

But isn�t that just the story of my life? Fucked up. I�m in love with my fucking brother. My fucking brother!

He�s still lying there practically motionless in his hotel bed except for the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. I want to call him beautiful but that�s just not the word, even if I�ve used it for him before, if only in my head. Beauty implies something fragile and fine and almost feminine, and Matt�s not exactly any of those things. If anyone here�s feminine then it�s me, the skinny one, the one who wears his hair in pigtails, who paints his nails. And even I�m not really feminine, so there�s no way Matt is. It�s just that �handsome� doesn�t really do him justice. There just isn�t a word to make you understand what he is if you�ve never seen him.

Or if you�ve never met him. �Cause don�t think for a second that I�m superficial enough to be in love with his looks and nothing else. Sure, I love how he looks, I�ll admit that, but there�s so much more to this. There�s just something about him that somehow makes me need to be near him. I don�t even really understand it myself and any explanation I try to give is just gonna suck because of that, so I�ll try to keep it simple. He�s smart and he�s funny and he�s so fucking alive that every time I see him I just want to touch him and be close to him because I think maybe he�s the only one in this world that could ever make me truly happy. He�s all I�ve ever wanted and he�s all I�ll ever want. And it�s not just beauty. I love everything about him. I know him better than I�ve ever known anyone. I�ve seen into his soul � he�s beautiful inside and out.

I just don�t get what I did to deserve this. Yeah, he�s just so fucking perfect that I�m surprised he doesn�t have people falling at his feet wherever he goes, but why me? I haven�t killed anyone. I�ve never raped anyone. I�m not even especially rude and I�m sure as hell not offensive. I�m a nice person. I�m a pretty good person. So what exactly did I do that was so fucking heinous that I had to fall for my brother? I just can�t work it out. Love shouldn�t be like this. It shouldn�t make you miserable every single second of your entire fucking life, so bad you can�t see straight and it�s fucking up everything you do. It�s supposed to make you happy, you�re supposed to celebrate it. But that�s something I�ll never be able to do. �Cause this love is sinful. It�s fucking incestuous. I wanna fuck my brother, or have him fuck me, one or the other. Or both, I don�t know. I wanna spend the rest of my life loving him. But I can�t, �cause it�s just so wrong on so many fucking levels. Being in love�s not supposed to suck like this. Good things are supposed to happen to good people. But if that�s true then why the fuck did God make me so fucking broken?

I�m sorta standing over him now, next to his bed, looking down at him. I wanna stroke back the hair from his face, whisper how I feel, �cause this is the only time I could ever tell him, while he�s asleep. But I can�t. It�s not even because I think he might hear me, even if I�ve got this weird-ass paranoid fear he�ll hear every single word and never speak to me again. I know rationally that he couldn�t hear, so technically as long as I�m quiet and don�t tug on his hair or whatever I�d be okay to do it. But I can�t. And what�s stopping me is even more irrational. You see, it�s kinda like if I say it, admit it out loud, then no matter if we�re the only ones here and no one could possibly hear, they�ll all automatically know anyway. Irrational, right? But it�s like they�ll be able to see it on me, like I�ll give myself away. So I can�t say it. Because no one can ever know. �Cause then Matt would have to find out, and I�d do anything to stop that, even if that means I can�t even have this one moment where I can pretend this is okay, and maybe he loves me too.

I can�t stand this. I really don�t know how much longer I can cope. But I don�t have a choice. I mean, I�m not going to kill myself � I�ve thought about it, I mean seriously thought about it, but I know I can�t go through with it. There�s just something about ending my life that makes me sick to my stomach. So I can�t do that, no matter how much I wish I could. It�d just end all of this; I�d never have to think about Matt again, I wouldn�t have to deal with him being with someone else, I wouldn�t have to live knowing that I�m never ever going to be truly happy. Because I think that�s the worst thing � I�m never ever going to be happy the way Matt is with Hunter, the way Jay is with Adam. I�m never going to have that. Because the one person I�ve ever loved is with someone else, and in a relationship with me that means we can never be together the way I want.

I can�t kill myself. I�ve been at the point where I�ve held a knife over my wrist and I�ve thought I was going to do it, but I couldn�t. I pressed it to my skin and I just couldn�t go through with it. I actually threw up after that. I know I can�t kill myself because I don�t want to think of my life ending. I don�t have a problem admitting that I�m scared of death, not that I think about it a whole lot. I can�t. It just makes me feel sick. But there�s something I can do to make myself feel better.

So I�m walking to the bathroom, somehow managing to tear my eyes off of Matt. The light�s bright after sitting there in the bedroom just seeing by lamplight, and it hurts my eyes, but it doesn�t really matter. And then I�m standing over the sink, looking at myself in the mirror.

Jeez, I look bad. And I mean bad, as in black, bloodshot eye, messed up hair with fading dye, a couple of days� worth of beard that so needs shaving but I just can�t bring myself to care. And when did I get so pale? Maybe it�s the light � it is pretty damn bright after all. Makes everything in the whole damn room look like it�s been bleached or whitewashed or some fucking thing. Except now I�ve pulled off my shirt and tossed it into the bathtub and I�m standing here looking down at my forearms � they don�t look white. Well, bits of them do, but mostly they�re just red. Scarred. Sometimes I wish they�d fade away but right now they look just how I want them to, kinda raw and painful. I can�t explain why I need that, it�s just comforting to know.

I run a hand through my hair, sigh as I notice I�ve got like a million split ends. I should stop dyeing it for a while, get it cut, give it a chance to get a little better, but I know I�m not going to. I mean, what�s Jeff Hardy without multi-coloured hair? Not a whole hell of a lot. And it still looks good on camera so why should I care? It�s not like I�ve got anyone I need to impress anyway.

And my eye really does look bad. Okay so maybe the match earlier was a little more brutal than it needed to be, and falling hard on the fucking ring steps didn�t exactly do wonders for my good looks now did it. Vince is gonna be pissed when I show up for Raw with this fucking black eye. And I know Matt�s gonna lecture me about being more careful out there when he sees this in the morning. And it�s not like I can tell him I was aiming to hurt myself.

There�s a razorblade on the sink, lying there next to the faucet. So I pick it up, hold it between my fingers. It�s cold. The fucking sink�s cold so I don�t know what I expected, but every time I pick up a razorblade it surprises me how cold it is. And how light. And thin. It�s like I�m gonna drop it or it�s gonna slip out of my grasp or something �cause it�s so thin. But it never does. I guess I have steadier hands than I think, either that or the thinness is just an illusion. Maybe I wanna think it�s harmless, like I couldn�t do myself some very serious harm. But I should know my now that I could.

But I love the way the steel feels in my hand. Except it�s probably not steel at all � it�s probably aluminium or some fucking thing. But it�s metal and that�s what counts. It�s not quite a knife � I don�t think I could ever do this with a knife � but it�s metal and it�s sorta comforting to be holding something that solid but that thin. And I know it�s sharp when I prick my finger on the edge, sorta like a ritual, �cause my scars are all eventually gonna fade down. They�re mostly pretty recent and the redness�ll fade. I don�t want anything too thick or ugly or whatever, so a razorblade�s just fine.

My heart�s beating so fast I almost wouldn�t be surprised if I pass out right here. It�s strange �cause usually I�m so calm when I do this, like I know I�m doing the right thing. I know it helps. But it�s like there�s something different this time. And I guess there is, �cause I know Matt�s sleeping in the next room. If I turned my head then I could see him lying there. Maybe I could do this looking at him. Cutting myself while he�s lying there asleep might help me this one time, �cause it�s not like he�ll be able to see me do it. I don�t ever want Matt to know I do this.

Oh God. I looked up into the mirror and for a second I swear I thought I was gonna faint �cause he�s there. I mean, he�s here. Here. In the room. With me. Standing behind me. When the fuck did he get in here? Fuck! How didn�t I hear him? That fucking carpet, it�s like a fucking silencer. And now he�s there, standing there, looking at me in the fucking mirror, this sorta panic-stricken look on his face and I can�t say I blame him �cause he�s just found me in here about to slice myself open with a fucking razorblade. Oh God. This can�t be happening.

Except it is. It so fucking is. I wanna tell him that I�m not gonna kill myself, �cause he has to be thinking that was what I was gonna do, but I�m not. I want him to know. I don�t want to see him panicking like that. But I can�t say anything and he�s not panicking anymore anyway. He�s just frowning at me, in the mirror. I don�t know what to do. What the fuck can I do? I need to cut. I fucking *need* to cut. But he�s there. I should put the blade down. But I can�t. Fuck! Why�d he have to wake up?

�Do it�, he says. And I know I�m looking scared and shocked as hell �cause I can see the expression on my face, and there�s nothing I can do about it. Do what? He wants me to cut? Fuck, I can�t do this� I just can�t fucking do this.

�Mattie, I don�t want you to see this�, I�m saying in this voice that doesn�t even sound like it�s mine, with these words that I didn�t even think up. I sound so small. �I need to do it, but you can�t see�.

There are tears in my eyes now as he�s stepping closer, wrapping his arm around my waist, holding me to him. He�s so warm � I hadn�t realised I was so fucking cold. I can�t stop shivering. And he looks at me over my shoulder, reflecting in the glass. God, how can he look so fucking beautiful in this light when I look like I�m on my last fucking legs?

�Do it, Jeff�, he says again, his voice right there next to me, low, his breath soft on my shoulder, my neck. �I�m right here and I�m not leaving. I know you�re not gonna� kill yourself. I know, okay? Just do it. I�m right here�.

So I do. And it�s like I�m intoxicated. I�ve got the blade in my arm and his arm around my waist, I�m leaning back against him, his fingers are tracing small, soft circles on my stomach� It�s just, I can�t describe it. And he�s looking right into my eyes as he does it, as I do it. I glance up into the mirror and I expect him to be horrified at what I�m doing but he�s smiling this small smile, this little happy smile. Sure, there�s this God-awful look of concern in his eyes, but that�s not everything. He�s smiling. He�s there with me and he�s smiling and he feels so good� I wanna stop but I can�t because I just can�t tear myself away from him, and I don�t want him to be watching but I can�t push him away. All I can think is how wrong this is and how fucking beautiful it is at the exact same fucking time.

There�s blood running down my arm. I didn�t cut deep enough to need stitches or anything, just deep enough so it would bleed enough for me to feel just that little bit better. It�s kinda like the deeper I cut the better I feel in a twisted kinda way, but I�ve learned the hard way that it�s kinda hard to explain how you accidentally cut yourself with a razorblade to the doctors in the emergency room. It�s dripping off of my arm now, into the sink, and the light�s making it look bright red against the shiny white washbasin. It�s just dripping, hitting in individual drops, and my arm�s high enough so that it�s actually splashing as it hits, making that noise like a dripping faucet. And it does feel good, it does. So good I need to do it again.

So I do. Again. Shallower, longer, and I�m looking at Matt all the time I do it. And he�s, oh God, he�s� his mouth�s on my neck, just where it joins my shoulder, and I�m shivering again �cause I can�t believe how good this feels. I�m almost fucking crying and so is he, I can see the tears in my eyes and his, and I drop the blade, hearing it clink against the washbasin as it slides down through my blood. I�m staring at him. I can�t take my eyes off him, just like always. But now he can�t take his eyes off me, either. I can�t believe this is happening. God I hope I don�t wake up.

I gasp as his hand, that one he�s been making circles around my piercing with, toying with the ring, dips down past the waistband of my track pants and holds me through the fabric. I swallow, hard, and he�s smiling at me the whole time. He�s smiling this beautiful smile, and I almost expect it to be mocking, �cause he can�t want this, he can�t want to see me bleed and touch me and be this close, but it really does look like he might. Might? If he doesn�t then he�s a better fucking actor than I ever knew. I�m biting down on my lip �cause it�s all I can do to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head � I�ve never felt anything like this. My arm�s still bleeding and it�s painful as hell, dripping blood into the washbasin, and he�s holding me, his hands pulling my waistband away from my, slipping one hand down, and oh God his skin on mine is just too much. I think that�s how I know it�s real. Because nothing I�ve ever imagined ever felt this good.

�I love you, Jeff�, he�s telling me. And I fucking come right then, shuddering, feeling like I�m gonna fall to the floor but he�s got hold of me around my waist and he�s holding me up. Oh God, I�m actually crying now. He�s looking at me in the mirror and I�m looking back, and I know he�s telling the truth. I don�t know how and I don�t know why but he loves me. He�s just showed me how much he loves me. �I want you to cut me�.

And I can�t question him. I try but his shakes his head, takes another razorblade and places it in my hand, holds out his arm. And I don�t know how to feel as I see the scars there too. He shrugs as he sees the look on my face and I cut him. Not deep, just enough to make him hiss and hold me harder. Then there�s his blood dripping too. Our blood. It�s just beautiful to see, standing there with him, shining, running away. Nothing should be that beautiful.

�I never knew�, I tell him, running my fingertips over his scars.

�I never knew about you, either�, he replies, running his fingertips over mine. �I�m glad I caught you�.

And he turns me. His hands find my cheeks and he�s kissing me and it�s more than I�ve ever hoped for. It�s almost too much, like having my dream come true is just plain gonna kill me. But it doesn�t. He holds me and I hold him and I�m getting blood all over his back but I know he doesn�t care.

�What about�?� I�m asking before I can stop myself but he�s cut me off.

�Hunter? Jeff, I love you�. And that�s my answer. I don�t need anything else. He loves me.

�I love you too�.

He just holds me tighter, like he�s never gonna let me go. And I hope he doesn�t. Even if this is wrong. Even if this isn�t meant to be. Because I love him too much to let him go.

I glance back at the blood as he takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom � it�s bright and red under the lights, shiny and new. He takes a look back over his shoulder and I see him in the mirror. And suddenly I don�t look so bad. Next to him, with him, I don�t look so bad. Because we belong together.

�Love you,� he mouths as I watch him in the mirror, a smile on his face. I smile back. Remember that rope, the one that�s been choking the life out of me for the past I don�t know how fucking long? It�s like that rope�s been cut. I can breathe.

He looks into my eyes before he kisses me. And suddenly this doesn�t feel so wrong anymore. This feels right to me, like the place I�ve always been meant to be, bleeding, sighing, loving him so much it hurts. Maybe we were meant to hurt together all along.

***
End
***