Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. I own notebook paper and a pencil. My friend did this for me. I live in a box. ;)
A/N: This is a little fic I wrote yesterday, out of nowhere. To anyone who cares--I have not abandoned my other fics. I am working on both updates. Blame Microsoft Works for deleting what was supposed to be an update. :P
Huge, huge thanks to Christie for being so incredibly helpful and nice. Also to Erin, because she rocks. Thanks for being so encouraging, you two. I heart you both.
It's all gray: the world.
This cold place she lives in; terrifying and odd.
She wishes it to be an illusion, to know the real from the fake.
It ends up being their worst fear.
It happened on the night he had asked her to run away with him. The night she had refused. The night he had done it without her consent.
The exact moment is hard to pinpoint. She remembers the sudden change rise in her, the abrupt movement of the cardboard sinking slowly beneath her. She jumped off, and watched the top flaps fall deeper into its dark basin.
An empty box.
It can only hold you for so long, before it fails along with you.
Maybe it was the moment he had walked out her door, the hurt in his eyes, the weight of failure on his shoulders. Perhaps it had been then, when she had watched her support sink into nothingness. But maybe it was just that quick second, when what she had done dawned on her.
She remembers the dizzy feeling of losing herself; all control slipping from her fingertips. The saline tears escaping the delicate edges; the bittersweet breakdown between the slants of light.
He is gone.
And he has taken her with him.
Her life is different in this pale universe.
She wakes up to tear-stained pillows and a comforter that smells like white. There is no distant smell of cologne. No trail of her own lilac fragrance.
Because they aren't there.
She is the ghost of herself, walking through the hallways of Yale, chatting along with her mother, drinking coffee at the diner. She is graceful and numb, so perfect that she is flawed.
Sometimes she sees him. Outside her window, on a street corner, the back of the bookstore. Always, she wants an answer. She needs to know why it had to turn out this way. She wants to know how he did the complicated task without even knowing.
But he is gone before she can ask, and she thinks that is the purpose.
There are times when she hates him for it, for doing this to her.
He has done it. He has pulled her into his world, completely his, she is entranced and horrified all at once.
Her mother had once feared it would happen, when she younger, when she had dated him. She had been relieved when it was all over; she had thought he was all in the past. (It was never over.)
He had taken her away that night.
She never thought it could happen. She never thought she could be stolen away.
Her grasp had been so loose; she fell so easily.
And he had saved her.
She knows she cannot blame him. But it would be so easy if she could.
She slips into her bed, closes her eyes and falls back into his arms.
It is unfair, that even though he has failed, he has won.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
not fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
- E.E. Cummings