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It isn’t love at first sight, you’re smart enough to know that. Where you and he are concerned, there is no love, nor hate, nor happiness. There is no sadness, no anger, no trust nor distrust, and yet there is. You look at him and you feel all these things, each and every one with stunning intensity, and yet you look at him and you feel nothing at all. You love this man as much as you hate him. He makes your skin crawl but he also makes it tingle, he makes you happy as much as you are sad. Jim Moriarty is chaos and order, he is blood and water. Jim isn’t fire, because fire cleanses. You are fire. Jim is ice. Jim creeps up behind you, dulls your senses and wraps himself around you, traps you in his paralysing web of frost until your heart just stops. Jim doesn’t ‘burn the heart out of you’. You do that to yourself (and you do it to him, too). Jim is the slow killer. He is cold comfort. He is your lover, your hater, your life and your death. Jim Moriarty is where you begin, and you are where Jim Moriarty ends.
You want him gone, but you can’t bear the thought of losing him. You want to pull him close, but you don’t want him near you. You want to love him, to be loved by him, but you hate him and he hates you.
You and Jim Moriarty aren’t opposites, nor are you equals. Jim isn’t a villain, a monster or a sociopath. Jim just is. He’s above all that - you both are. Labels are for ordinary people. They for people who need to know that there are monsters out there because they can’t handle the thought that the monsters, the real monsters, sleep in the room next to yours, watch television on your sofa, sit at your dinner table and laugh at your jokes. The real monsters are those who abuse trust, love and compassion. The real monsters made Jim Moriarty, just like they made you.
There is light in Jim, just like there is darkness in you. You are the same person, but divided by two and multiplied by very different stories.
Suffering. Pain. Loss. Gain. Redemption. Sex. Death. Abuse. Love. Hate. Romance. Violence.
In the end, none of it matters. Morality is boring. Good and bad are boring. You are boring. He is boring. Neither of you are evil. Evil is a word used by children, by the naive and the mindless and the desperate, to describe acts of cruelty that they don’t dare to understand. You aren’t good. Jim isn’t evil. You aren’t evil. Jim isn’t good. The two of you, honestly, the two of you just are.
You exist. You are real and you are genuine, and in a way, so is he. You are nothing and you are everything. You are one person among seven billion other people. You are just the same as they are, and yet you aren’t alike at all. You are Jim Moriarty, and yet you aren’t. The world is full, so very full, but you share your world with just one other.
Jim is a psycho. You are a freak. Jim is a monster and you are a coward. Jim is a slut and you are a whore. Jim is weak and you are strong. Jim is powerful and you are pathetic. Jim is the virgin and you are the devil - or is it the other way around? You are a cunt, a bastard and a wanker. You are a hero, an angel and a savior. You are all these things and not a single one of them, but only in their world.
… But their world doesn’t matter. In a way, it never has, because in your world, in his world, you just are. You’re real but you aren’t. You’re lucid, but not for long. The sky is made of diamonds and it’s raining on your face. You’re on your back in a pool of your own blood, drugged or dying or desperate. You’re surrounded by people, are you okay? Can you hear me? Are you awake? LET ME THROUGH, HE’S MY FRIEND…
It’s all so distant. It’s all so quiet and it’s too loud for you; you just don’t care.
It’s him, it’s always been him, and it will always be him. It’s you, too. It’s always been you, and it will always be you. It’s the both of you, really. It could never be anything other than everything.
Your eyes settle on the roof, watching, expecting him to peer over the edge. You’re staring, blank eyed, waiting for those pretty Irish-cream lips to lean over, to twist into a wicked smirk and mouth ‘gotcha!’.
But they don’t.