I debated the meaning of life.
I debated the existence of God.
Fandom: House M.D, The O.C.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters are not mine. I was listening to Coldplay, consequently there are song lyrics from The Scientist in this too – they're not mine either.
A/N: This was written for someone who I think deserves to know just how dark I am.
Nobody Said It Was Easy
No one ever said it would be this hard.
She stared down at the page in her hand. A page covered in black writing. A page with just one red line. A page that confirmed all her fears. The room was dark, lit by one simple lamp, lighting up her the page in her hand, lighting up that simple red line. A red line that confirmed all her fears. A red line that told her life was over.
She sat alone, the page clamped in her hands, she stared down at it so hard that the words no longer said anything, it was all just colours now. Black and red. The red standing out like a fire on the page. The red causing so much damage on an otherwise forgettable piece of paper. The red, like blood, causing her to cry, silently, alone, in that dark room.
She heard the figure approach but made no move to acknowledge it. She thought if she ignored it, it would go away. She thought if she pretended it wasn't an issue then everything would be normal. She would live, she would laugh, she would love like anybody else. But all the time she ignored it, all the time she pretended it wasn't an issue it enveloped her, it devoured her and eventually it became her.
Some were keen to tell her she ran from it. She told them she used it. She told them it was her strength, the tool she used to live her life. She had done things many wouldn't even have contemplated. And yet she wasn't happy. She wasn't even living some days. She was merely doing things to distract her from living. From thinking. From dying.
She knew the person was reading the test results behind her, over her shoulder. She knew they would ask. She knew she could either tell them or she could brush them off. All she did was stare down at the piece of paper clamped in her hands, stared down at the black and the red. At the colours instead of the words.
The question came, it was voiced by woman consumed by tears, a woman tired of crying, a woman begging for distraction. A woman she hadn't expected to see, a woman she'd thought would have been sat by his bedside, holding his hand instead of squeezing her shoulder.
She told her, about the name, who she was. As she stared down at the paper between her hands she told her everything. About the girl, about the horse, about the fire. She told her about school, about her parents, about her mother. And then she told her about 'Remy'. About the mountain, about the fear.
The hand squeezed harder and she found herself turning round to face the woman. She looked into the face of a girl. A girl tired of crying. A girl just like her.
Then came the kiss. The paper dropped from her hand as she moved to pull the woman closer to her. To kiss her, to feel her, to want her, to feel something. To feel anything other than death.
"Nobody said it was easy."
"No one ever said it would be so hard." She replied as she finally left the darkened room, the paper and the girl simply left there as the door swung shut behind her.
R&R, thank you, Circus.