Disclaimed
"Because sometimes there's more to people than what meets the eye"
There are two people in an elevator.
She looks away from him.
She knows his face.
He doesn't look at her.
He doesn't know her name.
She has blond hair and blue eyes.
She's pretty.
Like a cheerleader.
Like a California girl.
Like a volleyball player.
But she's not.
She's the kind of girl who screams when she's alone.
The kind of girl who breaks the mirror when she sees her reflection.
The kind of girl who lights matches and then watches as they burn.
He has dirty blond hair and brown eyes.
He's hot.
And he knows it.
Loves it.
Abuses it.
He's a player.
He's the kind of guy who leads girls on to push them off a cliff.
The kind of guy who doesn't have a heart because someone cut it out of him years ago.
The kind of guy who can save her.
They're so similar and so different.
He doesn't care about anyone.
She doesn't have anyone left to care about.
She lost her hope somewhere.
His was stolen from him.
They can't go forward. They can't go back. They're stuck in limbo, a terrible place in the middle, where nothing is ever fixed.
Not everyone believes in destiny. Not everyone believes in fate. But that doesn't mean it isn't out there, working its magic, knitting hearts back together, saving souls. There are miracles, somewhere out there, for those who need it. Those who can't be saved by medication or liquor or love. Miracles that don't seem like miracles, but are nonetheless.
Miracles like an elevator breaking down, just to give two people a little more time to save themselves.
The elevator dings and it gives a heart-wrenching shudder before jerking to a stop, the antique lights above them flickering.
Her stomach drops. He swears. The doors don't open. They haven't reached a floor yet.
"What the fuck is happening?" Derrick Harrington yells, striding over to the control panel and furiously pushing the alarm button over and over and over again. He blurts out a string of curse words in a senseless sentence. In frustration, he kicks the door. The elevator shudders again. Derrick's face was wipes clean of anger and more of disbelief. Then, like in a scary nightmare, the elevator creaks and drops. Not the entire way, just a little bit. Enough for him to want to be sick. He's horrified.
This is it, Claire Lyons thinks numbly, elation and fear running through her. I'm going to die. Finally. The word's the ghost of a thought, less than a breath, a accepting feeling in her heart and a bracing feeling in her chest. Please don't let it hurt. She sinks to the ground and curls up in a ball, counting each breath. The higher the number got, the more she starts to panic. She wants it to end. Needs it to end.
Derrick's panicking now. He runs a hair through his unruly-on-purpose hair, thinking. He runs against the doors, hard, trying to shove the doors open. The elevator gives another heart-wrenching drop. Claire exults quietly. He backs away, fast. If he hits the elevator again, they might go all the way to hell. He spares a glance at the pathetic heap of a girl in the corner.
"Hey!"
She acknowledges someone is talking her, but it takes a while. She's not used to people noticing her. The anger in his tone is normal though. Derrick Harrington's always angry. She looks up a him through an arm. Me? She wonders. What the hell would he want with me? Maybe he wants to blame her. Fine. Or maybe he wants to punch something. Whatever. Maybe he, like her, came to the realization that they were going to die. Maybe he doesn't want to be alone. Or, more likely, he just wants one last fuck. Well, no thank you. Despite what everyone said, she's still a virgin at twenty-two and, out of spite, she's going to stay that way.
"What, do you not speak?" He's starting to get annoyed now. "You got better things to do than talk to me?"
She doesn't deign it to answer. The answer is clear. She doesn't. Is he stupid? People like Derrick can destroy a girl with a sentence and they never even know it. Or maybe they do, but they're never put to blame. She'd had to deal with men like Derrick and she was done with it.
"Fuck off," she spits at him, breaking her vow of silence.
Derrick's eyes bulge out of disbelief. "Excuse me?"
"I told you to go fuck off," she says calmly and examines the floor of the elevator.
"Have you fucking lost your mind?" Derrick asks. "We're stuck in a freaking steel prison and you know, you might wanna think of a way or two to get some help instead of shout expletives at me!"
A detached smile forms on her face. Steel prison. True, but soon she's going to be free. Her eyes flick up to Derrick's, glinting. Jaded. Everything about her was.
"Insane," Derrick grumbles, pushing his hands through his hair and pacing. Claire lifts her eyes to the lights above the elevator. How much longer until it finally fell?
Her insides start to feel cold. God, how she wants to die, to fall away. To be nothing more than a name on a tombstone in the fullest graveyard there is, someplace no one will ever be able to find her. She wraps her jacket closer to her. Please let it fall.
Derrick squints at the girl in the corner. Maybe it's the panic messing with his brain, but he swears she looks familiar. More so by the second. "Do I know you?" he asks, trying for lightness in his voice. He doesn't want her to worry that something might happen. He wants her to know that he was it under control. Derrick was always in control.
"Do you have to ask?" Claire laughs dryly. I'm so invisible. It's strange, she reflects. She wants to disappear but she doesn't want to be forgotten. "Ninth grade biology," is all she says.
His face stays blank. Of course. It wasn't as important for him as it was for her. Figures. "We were lab partners," she clarifies. He cocks his head to the side and thinks hard.
"Claire," she says bitterly. "Claire Lyons." She hadn't used that name for a while. She'd gone by her middle name, Stacey. But why lie when it was all over? Despite everything, Claire doesn't want to fade away. She wants them to remember, she wants them to feel guilty, she wants them to look at the mirror and feel bile rising in their throat. She wants them to take the blame for what they did to her. They destroyed a life and she's not letting them get away with it.
"Right." Derrick's still thinking, but he struggles to arrange his face as if he remembers. Time passes.
Tick-tock-tick-tock.
Claire grips the cold floor and looks away, at the wall. Why can't it just be over? Why can't this one last thing be easy? Why can't it just fall?
Hey!
Sorry for the long break. I'm taking 5 from Lips of an Angel, just so I can rethink were I want the story to go. In the meanwhile, just shooting this out there. Multi-chap, but probs just 4 or 5. More of an extended one-shot. Either way...reviews, I'd love 'em, being favorited makes me blush and feel awesome for a day too, so yeah. If you like it, have fun(:
-Bree