Stars
I created this story from a moment i had sitting in the caf-lol. again i own nothing but the typos. it would make my day if you could tell me what you think :)
i can't wait for season 4!
The world is a cruel place.
Olivia above all knows this. She's know how cold the outside world is, how the cards she's been dealt are seemingly overwhelming in her hands. She knows what it feels like to be cold on the inside-she feels it everyday-as if she can't move, can't breathe without the gaping shift inside her body. And it's been there her whole life. She likes to say she's used to it, that being a double doesn't effect the gape in her skin. But that isn't the truth.
It eats her alive.
Olivia never lets it show, this giant bug inside her, munching away on all her feels, making her raw, numb. But she can feel it all the same, like a bridge has been attached to her back, sticking out and strange angled, with the world walking across it. And while she knows it's not there, sometimes she catches herself looking for it when she dresses in the morning, looking for the deformity that makes her her, that makes her unlovable. Because she is unlovable, she is just as cold and cruel as the world around her. And it's not fair.
But life is not fair, and she knows this as well as she readies herself for bed. She knows that she'll crawl into bed with the empty gap in her body and lay there and breathe, feeling the air rush through her chest and she does so, the tattered edges smoothing out like sand grains on a beach, slowly become glass. It's what she fears the most- that someday she too, will be like the sand on the beach becoming glass, smooth and transparent, where everyone can see just how hard life has been to her.
Olivia climbs under the covers and puts her head to the pillow, sighing. She outreaches for the one next to her and clings to it, trying to stuff it into her chest, hoping that it can fill the void left there in her body that she's had forever. She's never really felt complete, never really felt whole-as if the ying to her yang is missing. She is black and there is no white to mix with her, that there is no grey area to create. She sees the world in black, not black and white, because white would imply she has another half. And this she does not. There is no one there. Not for her.
And with that as her last thought, as it is every night, she sleeps.
Tonight is strange. This is a new dream-one she will remember in the morning. It's dark and she's wandering a road at night. The pavement is wet, the air smells like it had just rained. With heavy eyes she drags them up to the sky, to the brilliant bright and gleaming stars. She stares at them in awe, transfixed to the sky-she'd never seen such a wonderful image before. And then suddenly she realizes she is not alone. She turns her head and the scene is shifting around her.
She is standing on a sea cliff, the twinkling stars clear next to her as she stands still. There is a man with her, a man with dangerous green eyes and dark hair, bundled tightly in a black jacket, watching her watching him. He extends his arm and touches hers and instantly goosebumps erupt from her pale skin and she gasps at contact. There is a fire crawling beneath her skin, warming her frozen body and she can see it, illuminating every vein, every notion and she can't deal with how it feels, how it chases away the shadows inside her, how the cold is seeping away where this new warmth is setting in. He is so familiar and yet distant-like something she remembers from her childhood, the details are fuzzy but they are real. He is real.
"Olivia," he murmurs with his rough voice and brushes back her hair from her neck to place a kiss there. Her skin lights up, tiny flames scorching his lips into her skin and leaving an imprint there. She gasps and grasps him, as he is there and real and his embrace is soothing and consoling, And she tilts her head back to stare up at the stars. His lips attack her skin, his fingers braid themselves into her hair and this all feels fine and dandy-and strangely familiar.
And she clings to him. He is so real. He is so human and she feels inhuman in his grasp. She wants him to rip away her clothes, to place his human hands on her and feel her skin, to warm her up from the inside out, to make her alive and blossoming like a flower. Because here she feels like she is whole, like she is alive and complete. With his fingers tangled in her hair, his other hand against her back, she feels like she is real-like the world is no longer a cold place but a warm one, one where she sees in black and white and grey and all other colors of the rainbow.
She blinks and stares at the stars as he feels her out, she feels him too, the familiar roughness of his jacket, the smoothly rough stubble of his cheek and the course hair atop his head. She can't get enough of him as he can't get enough of her. She loves this warmth he is spreading and she catches a brief glimpse of her skin- it is glowing, alive and well, no longer cold. She searches inside herself for the hole that was there and she finds she can not find it. This man, he is her other half.
And he is not real.
She looks up at the stars and starts to cry, and suddenly everything is dissolving away and she finds herself on the cement road again, damp now from her tears as she sits down and cries, weak and vulnerable, only in her dreams, as she cries for the lost heat, the lost warmth she doesn't have in real life. And even that is dissolving away as the reality of her alarm clock is setting in. Her eyes open, blurry and damp as she reaches out to shut the alarm clock off. Everything is cold again. Everything is just the same as she had when she went to sleep. She wants to hit something, she wants to break something. Her dreams make her reality harder to wake to-like waves against a boat, rough and never stopping except when the moon is out. But there is no moon for her-she no longer wants it.
She trudges to the bathroom and washes her face, her skin. Idly her fingers reach through her hair, following the path of the strangers that night before, in her dream. She turns her neck and gasps, unable to stop the uncontrollable sob from escaping her lips.
His lips against her skin, his hands against her body-she can remember it. But he wasn't just warming her up, just making her human. Her fingers trace the letters he left there against her neck, 5 tiny letters that make her shake, her knees feel weak and strangely- make the hole inside her just a bit smaller.
Peter.
And? what do you think?