A/N
Apologies for this being later than I promised - I tried to upload it on Friday, but FFn was having major issues for the whole world, it seems.
This story is going to hold a few outtakes/companion pieces to Charming Beauty Bright. I think they'll probably work best if you read them after their corresponding chapters in CBB, but obviously it's up to you! I'm going to try to put one up every day, and there should be one for each chapter. I've got seven written already, so I'm good to go for the next week, anyway. Some of them are Jasper POV, as per CBB, but some of them are from the points of view of various other characters. All of them are rather short, and have not been looked at by my beta team, so I apologise for any mistakes or inconsistencies! I hope you like them - let me know what you think?
Disclaimer: They're not mine, right? Their misery is, though.
This first little bit is from Jasper's point of view, and time-wise it falls a month or two before CBB starts.
I can't sleep. The bed is so cold, so big, and I'm so alone. I want to sleep, want to forget, but every time I close my eyes the pain is there, and I can't escape. So I lie here, curled up small, with my eyes wide open. I face the wall, my back to the middle of the bed. If I don't look, it might not be real. He might be here, I might be dreaming. I lie very still, listening, and I can't quite tell, either way. Tension builds and builds, and hope builds along with it. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe if I turn over, I'll wake up, and he'll be there, sleeping soundly. He'll laugh at me for being so afraid.
I'm frozen solid, muscles aching, trying to get enough courage to turn over. Hope slowly rises, and I convince myself that he'll be there. I can almost hear him breathing. I can almost feel the heat rolling from his warm body, making our bed cosy, the big bed that's just the right size for two. I cautiously stretch one foot back, and I only find cold sheets. Maybe he's a bit further over, lying at his customary peculiar angle, just out of my reach. I should look.
I stretch out straight, releasing my limbs from the foetal position I've held for too long. The relief that he's there, that he's alright, starts to flood through me as I roll over fast, ready to throw my arms around him.
When he's not there, it's confusing at first, and then devastating.
He really isn't here. He isn't coming back. It's real.
My hands clutch at the sheets, claws grabbing, spasms running through them as my whole body seizes and shudders. It feels like a clamp, a vice is around my chest, squeezing my ribs and relentlessly crushing inwards. I can't take this sort of pressure, and I dimly realise I'm thrashing, arms flailing and head lashing from side to side as my jaws ache from silently screaming, mouth wide open.
Suddenly the pressure releases, and I draw in a deep breath, drawing air down until I'm almost bursting, and then it rushes out once more, ripping a howl with it. My arms are clutched round my knees, the foetal position resumed, and I wail in an anguished, high-pitched keening, without words.
I can't see, and I can't hear, and the gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder is barely registered as I rock, oblivious, trapped in my small circle of pain. Slowly, oh so slowly, the soft sound of my name being repeated permeates my consciousness. The hand migrates from my shoulder and strokes my back. The gentle, soothing feeling brings me back to the surface, until I realise Alice is there with me, and it's her rescuing me, again. With the increased awareness comes the knowledge of the quiet, and the only sound is the rushing of blood in my ears and the subsiding sobs. Finally, I can speak, though my voice is rough and halting, and my throat hurts.
"Thank you."
She squeezes my hand, then tugs at it, pulling me into a sitting position so she can hug me. She's too small in my arms, but she holds on tight, and there is a measure of comfort in her embrace, inadequate though it is.
I get out of bed, and she pulls the covers back into place after me. We drink tea, and listen to the strange quiet of of extreme early morning. Alice doesn't talk, just shares my anguish, and her companionship stops me from going mad. The mugs cool, I tidy them away and head for the stairs again. The bed daunts me, issues a challenge I know I can't rise to. I slide under the covers, the sheets flat and chill once more. I lie in the darkness, staring at the wall, the weight in my chest pinning me down, holding me motionless.
And I still can't sleep.
