Title: Meet Me At The Bottom
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: I don't own LOST. The title is from Elizabeth And The Catapult's song "Race You".
Summary: Juliet dies. "She floats in a pool of blood or tears or alcohol or tea they drank yesterday night, she doesn't know and couldn't care less."
A/N: This is my first longer fic in English, so I really hope you'll like it. Forgive me my possible misspellings.
Falling is just another way to fly.
That's what she thinks just a moment before she hits the ground. She feels her wings break. (Does she have wings? What happens if she doesn't? Are we all gonna die?)
She floats in a pool of blood or tears or alcohol or tea they drank yesterday night, she doesn't know and couldn't care less. It burns her throat as she breathes.
The words in her mouth fight to be free. Tears or blood or alcohol or tea or whatever run down her face as she whispers the words out loud, even if it doesn't matter anymore.
The metal bar presses against her stomach, hits again and again, tries to choke her and smash her into pieces.
There will be no baby. There will be no happy family. There will be nothing.
James will never get to know she was carrying their baby. More tears or blood or alcohol or tea or whatever.
(I would have married you if you had asked.)
She wanted to believe that the words she has said ("You're pregnant") and the thoughts she has thought ("You're going to die") wouldn't have mattered for her now. She would have said "I'm pregnant" and thought "I'm not going to die".
Flashes before her eyes, a man standing in front of her (is that James?). She offers him an Apollo bar and "It worked". Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing has ever made sense.
She closes her eyes. James's lips taste like alcohol or tears or tea or blood or whatever when his hands are sliding on her body, leaving his scent on her neck. She can't remember what he smells like. All she can smell is burned flesh and it makes her gag. Her throat burns burns burns. I want to die. Please, let me die.
She repeats those words like a sinful prayer. ( I want to die I want to die I want to die.) It's somehow relieving. She has nothing to lose anymore.
The world will burst into light and soft clouds and cotton wool and there will be no pain and no sorrow. Just cotton wool and happiness and marshmallows and everything will be perfect. No blood or alcohol or tears or tea or whatever.
Here, at the bottom of this pit, there's nothing to be saved anymore.
(Tears blood alcohol tea whatever.)