He regrets ever not getting up in the mornings and sitting to eat breakfast with him. He regrets not talking to him more often or listening to him. He regrets going off on his own during the late hours of the night and not coming back until sunrise and(more) making his face crease with worry.
He regrets swallowing every pill. He regrets tying old shoelaces around his arm so tightly that it makes him wince in pain. He regrets sliding the needle into his arm and pressing down on the plunger.
Every damn time.
But, oh, how the feeling afterwords make his regrets fly far, far away and burn up in the sun until he regrets nothing at all and all that's left is bliss.
I had only one regret ever. But, it was kind of a big one, and twofold.
Her name was Alice, and she was pretty. Good girl, went to Temple every week, and prayed with truth and honesty in her heart. Helped out at soup kitchens. Was a generally great(more) kid. Until she met Him.
Nasty little bugger he was. Fancied himself a god because he could pull her strings and make her dance for his amusement. And, he tended to do just that. He would say a few words, and she would do anything he asked her to. Slowly, he corrupted her, started her smoking at 15 and drinking at 17, got her to have sex right after getting her drunk, and turned her from a great person to a terrible person. She could have left him at anytime, but he had made her afraid that no one else would ever love her. He made her less than she could have been, because he could tell that she would have been something amazing. I tried to reassure her and be there for her, but she never listened. And after a couple years, she married him and I left. She had kids with him, and got beaten by him, but she stayed with him. She never thought she deserved better.
I tried again a couple years after her third kid was born, and she had been in the hospital multiple times, but to no avail. She was too deeply rooted in the lies he had put into her head over the years. We lost her a couple years later, and I felt the loss throughout my entire being.
My regret: letting her down as her guardian angel. And letting a saint become a damned soul. They stripped me of my wings.(less)
I dont know if i regret everything that happened and what we had in the past year and a half. I was very happy and there are some things i wish had been different, that we shouldnt maybe have done. But it was wonderful to be with you. I dont(more) necessarily regret what we did together. I just wish that we had more control. I regret not taking control of what was going on. I regret not asking for help when i had the chance. I regret not letting you know that I loved you as a person, not just in the way we said it. I regret not saving. (less)
I lift my hands after I let the razor fall, realizing I don't remember a thing before that. Small streams of crimson ran across my fingers and dripped to the floor. Droplets of relief, splashing in beautiful end.
The clock on the wall strikes 6pm. I've been drinkin(more)g since 10am today, the day I'll call my last.
The haze is becoming stronger now as I struggle to recall all of my experiences being alive. The smell of sunburned skin after skating. Waking up because the air-conditioning has been turned off to save electricity. Holding hand with a crush in the theaters.
My vision is getting blurrier so I rest my head next to the puddles of blood. Oh, how beautifully we rest.
I faintly recall being scared during storms. Or how I'd hurry to bed so Christmas could arrive sooner. My mom would buy us gifts for every occasion. I could feel her love lifting my spirit.
I open my eyes to a white ceiling. I turn my head slowly and see my mom sitting by the bed, eyes red with tears. I forgot how much I truly meant to her. The love of a mother and all its manifestations throughout my life. Her smell remind me of safety as I'm filled with the purest form of regret. I hold back tears and whisper with every bit of strength I could gather.
Roan regrets the ugly, selfish indulgence that let him poison Sebastian. The reminiscence makes his stomach churn and his blood boil, and his head aches like when he's transforming. Luckily, he doesn't; no needles prick up from under his skin, his bones don't melt and crack, and his wings(more) stay neatly tucked between his shoulder blades. Roan closes his eyes and grits his teeth, however, and his heart pounds too fast inside his chest. The memories overtake him: the sun on his untouched skin and the sound of innocent laughter (whatever his mother said about people like Roan); the contact of Seba's smooth skin on Roan's calloused and worn skin; the smell of Sebastian's sweet sweat and the soft sounds he'd make when Roan touched him...
Nearly ten years later and Roan still feels a terrible aching emptiness in his heart. It had plagued him as a child, and the wound was temporarily stopped by Sebastian's soft hands; but it is back with intent to drown Roan, and he isn't sure if he can stand up to it. He wishes desperately that he wasn't an abomination. Why is he a monster? Why are his bones filled with feathers and lust for other men? Why did he hurt and poison the only good thing that had ever happened to him?
Roan had driven himself into a rut of isolation, a road of loneliness, and he isn't sure if he will ever be able to stray from the path it seems the stars had planned for him. Roan is alone to atone for his sins, begrudgingly appreciated by the town for which he works, and hated by the townspeople he stalks as a distorted, stretched shadow at night.
Little does he know, Roan's loneliness will not continue for very much longer...(less)
She thought she would regret this. She thought she would regret his empty chair at dinner, the silence in the evening, the cold space under the sheets beside her.
It isn't like that, though. Now she cooks whatever she wants, turns the volume up to no complaints. And(more) the space under the sheets, it is all hers. She spreads her body out, hugging the warm comforter to her body, smile pressing into her mountain of pillows. (less)
Occasionally Arthur regrets introducing the boys to his brothers.
Now is one of those times, when James and Sean charge past, towing Alfred between him, and the boy's feet are lifted off the ground every once in a while and then he kicks over a vase.
Or(more) maybe it's when Owain and Matthew try to train Kumajiro into the polar bear equivalent of a sheepdog and come back all three covered in mud and grass and some wool and track it all over the carpets.
Or maybe it's when Connor teams up with Alfred and Matthew and they decide to stuff Arthur's best jacket with blood pudding.
Or maybe it's when Alfred attempts to make grits, and manages to nearly destroy half the kitchenware.
But it's not when they all end up on the couch, one big pile of brothers and polar bear cub and there's a knee in Arthur's back but still, it's brothers and he doesn't regret this one bit.
Besides, he's stuffed Connor's, Matthew's, and Alfred's shoes with Yorkshire pudding.(less)
Lovino regrets fucking Gilbert the first time. The self satisfied grin the man gives him the next morning, the annoying voice in his ear. He pushes him away and pulls the blanket back over his head, just wanting to sleep a little longer.
(more) He /should/ regret letting the man pull the blanket down and fuck him again, but it’s harder to care when there are lips on his neck and fingers pulling at his hair.
He stops thinking about it after the third and fourth time, body too sore to care anymore.
Gilbert just regrets that he hasn’t left enough marks.(less)
Regrets seemed like rocks to her. Heavy things that a person could accumulate over a lifetime, stubborn things to lug around and hide in closests whenever possible until they piled up and tumbled out. Regrets were the things that crushed one's last breath, making death a cloying and bitter(more) poison.
She'd tried to live with as little regret as possible, avoiding painful situations and building up emotional distance. She'd been invincible in her youth - immortal.
But now, all the little sadnesses began to add up. All the fears she'd harbored, all the things she hadn't tried fermented into something stronger than sadness or nostalgia. The long, dusty years stretched ahead and behind; she would live a long time still - and then she realized something.
Regrets weren't rocks to be hidden.
They were ghosts.
They haunted her, tugging at her heart the way a rock never could. They followed her, refusing to be locked in closets or pushed out of sight.
She'd tried to avoid situations that might cause regret but in the end, the ghosts got her anyways. (less)
Every time I have something to say but hold my tongue
Going for so long feeling afraid to be myself
Responding to text messages too quickly
Every lie I tell my parents
Tennis shoes with mary jane knee high socks
When the sounds of Hinansho's choking sobs no longer reached his ears, he collapsed to his knees, head in his hands. He had hoped and prayed from the moment he took the boy in that this moment would never come. How he longed with every fiber of his being(more) to somehow have the strength, the force of will, to overcome his nature and defy what he now knew was an inescapable fate.
"Hinansho..." His voice sounded foreign in his ears, his hands clenching as he shook his head. "Hinansho... sumanai...!"
He had no one to blame but himself for these wanton carnal urges, for his predatory gaze that even after having raised him, would not distinguish his adoptive son from other potential bed mates. Hinansho had blossomed into an upstanding young man any father could be proud of; without question even knowing what might happen, taking him in had brought him a rare taste of joy that he knew came of his parent-child bond with the boy. A bond he had prayed would've been enough to subvert lustful impulses before they became directed at Hinansho.
He had come too close. Hands pinning and disrobing him, Hinansho's eyes wide with confusion, a lack of understanding--how could this be real--and his lips and tongue were nearly upon him before he could stop himself long enough to push them--himself--apart.
They left his mouth before he could stop himself, gather his thoughts coherently. 'No, I'll go.' he should've said, 'I just need some space.' He could go see Tsukasa or Yoshi, anything but what he'd done; set fear in Hinansho's eyes, and send him away without having explained anything.
All by his lonesome, his rapid heartbeat threatened to deafen him, the beginnings of tears staggering his breath. Now he was truly undone.(less)
These days, Gilbert tosses and turns more than usual, and the bed sheets have never seen such a degree of disarray. There’s sour milk sitting in the refrigerator, but it has become increasingly difficult to wake up in the morning, let alone brave the world. Voluntarily, that is, because(more) Francis all but dragged him to dinner the other day so they could have a chat.
Unfortunately, when Francis says he wants to have a chat, he really means that he wants to inflict his opinion upon someone. Even if he knows it’s all in his best interests, Gilbert can’t take a man who wears silk scarves seriously. It takes a lot of goading, but he eventually confesses that the reason he’s been bluer than the Red Sea is just petty regret. Nothing to worry about. Of course, Gilbert is rather good at being vague when it matters and detailed when it doesn't, because the rest of the evening is spent making fun of Francis’ shiny shoes.
He doesn't say a word of what really bothers him because he is such a strong, brainless believer in the notion that shame is a pointless thing. Shit happens, he’d say. That’s life. But Gilbert is all bark and less bite, and he lets himself get a little vulnerable nowadays. It’s possible that he’s finally growing soft, finally losing his touch, finally exhausting the comfort of denial. And it no longer matters that that’s almost as hard to think about as all the should-have, could-have, would-haves he has accumulated over the years, because that’s life and shit happens.