Title: Debris [1/1]

Author: Airebella E. Spencer

Feedback: must I beg? his_gray_eyes@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13, a little language

Distribution: CM okay, but otherwise, ask first so I can go visit.

Disclaimer: not mine, not now, not ever. Maybe if I'm good I'll get one for Christmas.

Summary: Glass breaks. [cover me challenge]

[A.N]- thank you too lara for kicking me in the ass and inspiring this fic. She is a goddess and a great mini beta. Thanks to eloise because she rocks my socks and always manages to dig me out of all the holes I dig for myself.

" this is my time / this is my tear / I can see clearly now " tear.red hot chili peppers


Debris [1/1]

It's been longer than necessary. I'm not exactly sure why, or how, but the words on my lips are clumsy. Perhaps it's because I'm not used to them.

I rehearsed this, you know. In my childhood I would dream wild fantasies. Dreams about how it was all a nightmare, and you weren't gone. You'd always be sitting on the couch waiting for me when I got home from school, as if you'd never been gone. I used to stand in front of the mirror and practice what I was going to say, because it had to be perfect for you, because you were perfect. Now that I actually have the opportunity to say it I can't bring myself to open my mouth.

I was so diligent, then. Every night I could think of a different scenario, different situations that all ended with me running into your arms and staying there. You, Daddy and I would sit in front of a fire and eat cookies or have a pillow fight. I had the perfect sentences for just about anything, but I would have never planned this. The words don't fit on my tongue: they stick to my lips like sand.

Every time I remember I have stop myself. You aren't Laura Bristow.

You aren't my mother. My mother is dead.

I don't know what to say because talking to you is like talking to a stranger. None of my perfect scenarios fit here, because this isn't perfect, and you aren't perfect. I can see your flaws, and your image in my mind has shattered like glass. I know you as cruel and heartless, because you've caused so much harm. You're a disease, you're a plague, you're a whore, and you're sure as hell not my mother.

Still, there's something there. You look just like her. You have her beauty, and your movements have her grace. You look like a photograph of yourself, of the person you used to be. You remind me of the fucking Mona Lisa, because your creation was a masterpiece, your purpose is a mystery, and your smile is fatally misleading. You're no Carol fucking Brady, and I don't understand how you could stand there and expect me to believe that you're human, because there's no way in hell that you have a soul.

I hate what you've turned me into. You helped him take away my decisions, you stole my happiness and you shattered my perfect little world with your deception. I don't want to hear your reasons, because the fact that you left is reason enough. You aren't human, and I have to keep telling myself that, because one of these days I'll be foolish enough to believe that you actually do love me.

I'm not that naïve little girl anymore, Irina. I'm not the girl with the big eyes and the pigtails standing in front of the mirror anymore. I'm not staring at my reflection, or some picture taken from far away. You can hear me speaking, you can see my tears.

I don't need an explanation.

I don't need to defend my principles to you, or hear what you say are your own. Because we both know it's not true.

People lie.

You lie.

I don't know what to do. But I do know that I don't need you anymore.

You used to be as perfect, intricate, and beautiful. You were like the mirror. I thought you that held my reflection because I knew you would always cradle me, and make me shine through all my imperfections. You are the imperfect you. You are like glass.

Guess what, Irina. Glass breaks.

You are broken.

You think you're my mother?

My mother is dead.