Title: Taken Under
Author: Lara-Van
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: a little bit of Peter/OC, but really Peter/Emma
Spoilers: There are some spoilerish moments, particularly those concerning Emma. So if you don't want to know my spin, don't read.
A/N: Thanks for reading! This is going to be very short (for me), just a few chapters. It was inspired by the song Taking Over Me by Evanescence. And also a couple of other Evanescence songs. And yes, the OC is named after Amy Lee in tribute to that fact.
"This is the story of how I lived for the love of a man who would never love me. This is the story of how I died."
~*~
I was twenty-four when I first had the dream. Or rather, when I dreamed him. At first, they were few and far between. Every couple of months, I would see his face in my dreams, tantalizing but out of reach. I didn't make much of it.
As I got older, the dreams became more frequent, and I began to pay attention to them. I watched him. His eyes were dark brown, and I always felt as though I was absolutely loved when he turned those eyes on me. There were different versions of him. There was one, older, wiser, with a deep scar across his face. And the younger one, with long hair that constantly fell in his eyes. It was the younger one I first fell in love with.
The day I realized that I loved the dream man was a frightening one. It was so futile, I told myself. He was not real. But my longing would not be denied, and gradually I came to realize that he was real. As I continued to dream, continued to watch him, I began to learn things about him. His name- Peter. And he lived in New York City. He could fly.
I began sleeping more. Every day, I would hurry home from my job and immediately throw myself into bed, desperate to return to the dreams, desperate to see him again. He was taking over my life. I had always been something of a dreamer, liable to shy away from reality, and now it was even more pronounced. I didn't return my phone calls, because I never checked my messages. I ignored my friends, hardly spoke to my family. My world quickly became about Peter, about falling asleep as quickly as possible so that I could be with him again. I started taking sleeping pills to help me reach him even more quickly. I hardly ate, just enough to sustain me.
When I lost my job, I hardly noticed. All the more time to spend with Peter. When I could no longer make payments on my apartment in Baltimore, I wasn't concerned. I packed my things and moved back into my old room in my parents house.
My sister still lived in her old room- but she payed rent. It was a good solution for Emma. She had been deaf since the age of nine, and our parents had always been very overprotective of her. They'd been unwilling to let her leave, and since the school for the hearing impaired where she now taught lip-reading was only a few blocks away, she continued to live with them. Her independent streak, however, would not let her stay without paying them rent. I had no such compunctions.
"Oh Amy," she said in her slightly off-tone voice, "what's happened to you? You used to be so ambitious. You were going to be the big executive someday. What changed?"
I smiled absently at her. "He changed me," I said, making sure she could see my face to read my lips. "The man in my dreams. Peter Petrelli. He lives in New York City."
Emma's face closed off, pinched tight with worry. She pushed a lock of her beautiful golden hair out of her eyes and put a hand on my shoulder. She didn't say anything, but her expressive grey eyes spoke volumes. I knew what she thought. It was what they all thought. There goes Amy the Dreamer, lost in her fantasies again.
But this time, it wasn't a fantasy. Didn't they see that? He was real. I knew it. And so I kept sleeping, all day and much of the night. I usually only spent the wee hours of the morning awake. Sometimes I would eat.
And then my health began to fail me. Our family doctor didn't know what it was. My parents were worried, but I paid little attention to my body. It was only the wanderings of my mind that concerned me now. But one day I collapsed as Emma tried to coax me downstairs for breakfast.
They took me to the hospital and a team of doctors swarmed around me. I was too thin, they said, but not thin enough to be causing the problems. There was no real explanation for what was happening. It wasn't cancer. It was no disease they could put a name to. My muscles were weak and flabby from disuse. My organs were all malfunctioning, slowly shutting down. My lung capacity was reduced to almost nothing. My bone marrow had softened and appeared to be disintegrating. My heart was weak, but they couldn't pinpoint a reason. Everything was failing me. I was dying.
And still I dreamed. I swallowed their pills obediently, I allowed them to wheel me around in the chair they put me in to testing facilities, I let them stick me with their needles, and I ate their food. But when they weren't poking and prodding me, I slept, losing myself in Peter Petrelli's soulful eyes.
Finally, I woke no more, simply lying there, holding to life by the barest of threads. Or so they tell me. I don't know. I was unconscious, dreaming. He had taken over my life, and I wanted him simply to take my life so that I could spend all eternity in my dreamworld with him.
That was the day they told my family that I had less than a week to live.
Yeah, this is a weird one, even for me. Expect an update by Tuesday.
