Preface
From the moment she was brought to our home, as a little three-year old little girl, screaming blue murder every time I had to let her hand go, I loved her. We were constantly together, at first because Mom told me to look after her, as she wouldn't let Mom hold her hand on the road, and the fact she wouldn't go near Dad at all in the first year worried me, but then it was just because I enjoyed being with her. Luckily Mom asked our teachers to sit us next to each other, and at first the teachers rolled their eyes and mouthed horrible things to other teachers, but they soon found out why she had asked. Jane screamed every time the teacher tried to help her with something. If the teacher tried to put her arm round Jane to congratulate her, they'd be met with a flood of tears. A cross on her work would lead to hours of pouting, and because of this the other kids tended to keep clear of her. I hated that. If they only had gotten to know her, they'd have loved being with her, like I did.
I'd get called up to the office in the early days, when they decided to put us in different classes, a lot. They'd sigh and I'd sigh and tell them to listen to me. "She's scared!" I shouted. "Aren't you ever? She's only little. You're big. Can't you help her?" I'd frowned. After a little while they'd hung their heads and admitted she was a lot more than they'd been expecting. So we were in the same class and her grades shot up, and she was happy for a little while. We were happy. All of us. You know, for the most part.
That "while" lasted three years. Because when Jane was seven, her biological mother got in touch, demanding to see her little girl. Jane had cried and cried and begged Mom to stop that horrible woman from getting any closer and then she'd gotten angry and screamed until she was hoarse, and then she'd gotten depressed, refusing to do anything but sleep and cry. I tried to coax her up with bribery, threats which was terrible of me, shouting, whispering, crying, and shouting at my mother because she wasn't doing anything. I see now that she couldn't do anything of course.
Mom was crying too, and Dad. She hugged Jane and forced cereal (the only thing she'd eat) down her, washed her and dressed her, trying desperately to snap her out of her sleepy state. The doctor said the obvious. She was tired. But then he explained that she was emotionally tired, and we just needed to be patient with her. She was getting better. She walked about and got dressed in the new clothes she'd acquired over the recent months. But then the state decided that her mother had limited rights to Jane like she was an object. It made Jane revert back to her depressed state.
Eventually, of course, she was okay. But that's all she was. Okay. Flat, tired and sad. She didn't have her spark anymore. Only time would heal her. She didn't want her as a mother anymore. She wanted her proper mother. Our mother. After a while, at thirteen, Jane simply refused to go. It seemed to bring my Jane back to me. I realised how much I missed her, and how much I loved to have her back.
Something happened then. Something so...wrong it felt right. I can't regret that. I just can't. Not anymore. Not now. Not ever.
The things that happened in those few years seem like a distant memory now, more fake than real. If somebody had told me I'd be where I was here, I'd never have believed them. I'd have told them that they were sick, and that they needed help. But here I am, and somehow, it couldn't feel anymore right than it does. Because now, my world has been turned upside down. How could I have lived like that? What happened...was - is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and now I'm returning my world to it's original, empty state. That's how I feel. Empty. That's it now, nothing else. No light. It's a comfort sometimes, knowing the pain is the only thing proving that it happened, it was real, no matter how much I tried to deny it.
How could I possibly do this? I can't, I know that. But what else can I do, that's for the best? This is the only option now. This is the path I'm prepared to take to protect this. The future is so near, but so far...so far that it can't be predicted, but can be destroyed with one silly movement, one mistake...but I'm not gonna call this a mistake. How could I possibly, possibly, call this a mistake? It would be the best mistake of my whole damn life. Believe me, you'd agree. But you'd never understand, how could you? I couldn't ask you to. I never would. The pain at the end of the journey is enough for you to understand. Never do it. You'll just get burned, if you play with fire.
I've never given much thought to who I'd fall in love with - to who I'd marry, have children with, die with. Perhaps other have, perhaps not. I chose not to think like that as a child, and I sure as hell don't want to now. So why is my heart cracking with the crack of her voice?Why am I killing myself like this? But now I have, and this is the most heartbreaking decision I'll ever have to make - leaving her.
A/N:
Thank you
Little Princezz Everlazt
for providing this great plot, title, and basically being a beta :P
