DISCLAIMER: DOCTOR WHO BELONGS TO THE BBC
A/N: I'M WARNING YOU, THIS IS FILLED WITH A HELL OF A LOT OF ANGST. THIS MAY SEEM RATHER OOC FOR THE DOCTOR BUT I HIGHLY DOUBT THAT THEY WOULD SHOW THE DOCTOR LIKE THIS ON DOCTOR WHO CONSIDERING IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE AIMED AT CHILDREN, BUT I'M JUST A SUCKER FOR ANGST AT THE MOMENT AND WELL THIS JUST SORT OF SCREAMED AT ME. I HOPE THAT YOU ENJOY ANYWAY.
WARNING: SELF HARM
His hearts were like heavy steel within his ribcage, tough on the exterior with a riot of dust and rot rusting in their soft centre. They hardly seemed to beat these days, barley a flutter, on the very verge of imploding into a pile of broken debris from all the bridges he had burned over the years. A jagged hole was sliced out of them, her name fitted perfectly into it, a painful reminder of what he had lost. The normal gush of blood that would race through his metal veins with adrenaline every time he ran from a death defying danger no longer made him feel alive.
Without her he wasn't alive, without her he was just a mad old man rattling around the universe in his blue box that made terrible mistakes. When she had been by his side she had stopped him, pulled him back from his own thick blindness before he could do anything too stupid, she had somehow made him a better person. Now she was gone, he was back to his old treacherous ways. He found himself leaving a bigger trail of death and destruction behind him than he had ever done previously, yet not caring because it was nothing compared to her death. If she had still been by his side she would have been most disappointed in him. She had often told him the only reason she had fallen in love with him in the first place was because of the compassion he showed others and his ability of never giving up on people. Now that she was gone that part of him seemed to have disappeared deep beneath his surface. He wouldn't be at all surprised if he never felt compassion again. Without her compassion seemed a pointless ordeal.
He had to accept the awful truth that the chapter of his life where he had ran with his bespoked psychopath was well and truly over. Oh but how they had ran, never stopping, never faltering. That is until now.
He found himself with yet more ammunition for his nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes he would find himself entrapped in a brutal hell. The most common nightmare he found himself having was about her and an idiot in a long, caramel trench coat, with huge spiked up hair that seemed to have a life of it's own. The idiots eyes filled him with a gut wrenching guilt, the pools of brown held no love for her, just curiosity and a bitter annoyance.
Her sweet, intoxicating voice splurged across his every thought. " Pretty boy." Of course the idiot hadn't paid attention to the nickname the curly haired woman had placed on him, nor had he recognised the affection for him swirling within her golden flecked eyes.
However his nightmares started The Doctor would always know where they were going to end and yet he found himself with no escape. It would end in her death, always her death, an explosion of white light Engulfing her, replacing her with an empty space.
He had quickly learnt that sleep was a curse, one that weighed him down so heavily that he found himself hardly able to breath. He could put on a façade when he's awake but when he's asleep he's as vunerable as a newly born child. He knows that he can't keep his eyes open forever, but he can certainly try.
He looked at himself in the mirror, hating the very sight of the man that's staring back. Huge bags circled beneath his bloodshot eyes from the very lack of sleep. He hasn't eaten for awhile, he should probably go and correct that but he knows that his stomach would only reject food that's placed into it. He rolled up his shirt sleeve, tracing the scars embedded into his skin, some fresh, some fading. He doesn't know why he does it, it doesn't bring her back, it isn't like him at all, it doesn't delete his pain. He closes his eyes and picks up the once silver, now crimson blade and places it over some of the fresher scars. The TARDIS hums to him within his mind, a silent plea for him to stop, but he found himself ignoring her pleas as he always did. For it wasn't just River he's let down, but also her parents who still think their wonderful daughter is travelling the stars alongside him. He's too gutless to tell them he's lost their little girl once again, too scared of them hating him. He brings himself to slice open his pale flesh, an action that had almost become a natural reflex for him. A spiral of orange tinted liquid cascades down the full length of his arm and he cuts deeper still, determined to punish himself for his past foolish actions. As his world starts to blur around him, as it often did these days, he heard a crash from deep within the TARDIS. He stumbled through his bathroom door, clutching at his arm, trying to stay awake. He felt his legs wobble beneath him, each step getting slower and slower, each breath a little raspier than the previous one.
The Doctor felt himself tripping over his own feet before it had even happened. He pulled his weak arms out in front of him to try and cushion his fall but instead of the hard floor he had been expecting they made contact with something soft and warm. He glanced up and gasped, staring in absolute bewilderment at what could only be his mind playing tricks on him. " River." He whispered weakly as unconsciousness finally claimed him as it's prize.
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