Title. The Advantages of Pessimism
Summary. She had always been told not to get her hopes up. It would hurt far less if she expected nothing, her father had always said.
Spoilers. Nothing. None of the moments talked about in or taking place during this oneshot actually happen during Flight 29 Down.
A/N. This turned out to be really long for a oneshot. It was about six pages on word, even after shortening it, but I didn't want to cut any more out. I was listening to Suppose by Secondhand Serenade while writing it, and I used the song's lyrics in this piece because they're just incredible.
Disclaimer. I don't own Flight 29 Down or any of its characters, nor do I own Secondhand Serenade or any of their lyrics. I'm not profiting from either in any way.
The Advantages of Pessimism
Lyrics from Suppose by Secondhand Serenade
The stars were constant, beautiful and comforting that night, the way they always were. A blend of starlight and moonlight bathed the beach were she sat, the camp were the other's slept, and the ocean that surrounded them in a soft blue glow, making everything around her seem ethereal and harmless. If she weren't already feeling horrible, Taylor might have thought that it made everything seem safer and less precarious then it really was, like putting salt on a sheet of ice.
It seemed like nothing on their island could hurt her during the night; not when the stars were watching from above, like holes punched in a page of black paper. Of course, it wasn't true; it never had been. It couldn't be when he had said no.
Taylor bit her lip, eyes stinging with the pain, and closed her eyes. She dug her hands into the sand, squeezing the beige grains until they slipped between her fingers and her nails cut into her palms. The tears eventually fell, but she kept squeezing and allowed herself to forget the present, if only for a moment.
Suppose that I missed you
Suppose that I cared
Taylor had always been told not to get her hopes up. Life had a way of screwing everything up, and it would hurt far less if she expected nothing. Her father—oh, how she missed him—had liked to explain the advantages of being a pessimist to her quite plainly. Whenever there was a 'slump in the market', as he called it, and he lost money, she would ask him why he didn't seem worried over it.
"If you expect nothing from a situation," he would begin, patting her on the head, "you won't fret when it doesn't go your way." Pausing, the grey-haired man would grin like a child, the wrinkles becoming quite noticeable on either side of his suddenly youthful eyes. "And, besides, if it turns out in your favour, you'll have the delight of being surprisingly pleased."
And supose that I've spent
All my nights running scared
And supose that I was never there
Staring attentively up at him as he spoke, her face would light up as he mentioned surprises. "I love surprises, Daddy," she would proclaim, giggling.
His face would soften as he swept her up into his arms, spinning her the way the princes in her fairy-tale movies would when they had finally found their stolen princesses. "I know, sweetheart," he would laugh into her hair. "Oh, I know."
And my eyes are screaming
For the sight of you
He had always sounded so right, all those years ago. She had believed him when he said that it was good not to care what happened. He got to be pleasantly surprised, and she had wanted to share that with him. So, young as she was, she had sworn off high expectations, blind faith and optimism. Pessimism was clearly the way to go, and her father's words were only proven to be correct on the night her mother left.
And tonight I'm dreaming
Of all the things that we've been through
It had been raining on the occasion, but it had slowed by mid-afternoon and stopped completely by evening. Everything outside had been completely wet and the sky had been grey, but the water had sparkled and the air had smelled fresh. The puddles had been clear, deep and, though Taylor knew she was too old at fourteen, the perfect type for jumping in.
Finally, she had given in to her childish side and slipped outside. It had been warm enough that she only needed to put a jacket on over her dress and, because she had no rain boots, a pair of summer shoes.
And I can't hold on to you
So I guess I'll be lonely too
She had returned to the house an hour later to find her parents arguing, their voices rising to the same volume that had become more frequent over the past few weeks. She hadn't heard anything that they had been saying—she hadn't really wanted to—but she definitely hadn't missed her mother's glare when her eyes had fallen on the dripping hem of her dress, the grime streaked up her legs and the mud caked to her shoes.
"Taylor," she had hissed disapprovingly. "What on Earth were you doing? You're filthy!" She had gasped, holding a hand to her mouth as if she suddenly didn't want to breathe the air in the room. "Look at your shoes! Do you know how much those cost us? You've ruined them… and your dress! Soaking wet! For Heaven's sake, go change."
Suppose we were happy
Suppose it was true
Ashamed, Taylor had flushed and kept her mouth shut, biting her tongue to keep from admitting her mistake. What had she been thinking, jumping in puddles? She had forgotten everything in that spun-of-the-moment hour, but her mother would have been mortified if she knew.
Her father, on the other hand, had laughed and told her not to worry. "Don't pester her, Lily. The girl was having fun," he'd protested amiably. "She's still a child, I'll have you know."
"I'll have you know?" Her mother had cried in response, clearly unhappy with her husband's tone. "I'll have you know that I'm sick and tired of this. You don't know everything! Why can't you just act like her father? Do I miss those moments when you do? Is that it?"
And suppose there were cold nights
But we somehow made it through
And suppose that I'm nothing without you
Taylor had retreated to her room before her father could retaliate. She had thrown herself, shaking and suddenly sleepy, onto the couch beneath her window and half-listened as the shouting continued for what felt like a horribly long time. She had been dozing when the front door had slammed and her mother had left, but realized what had happened when her father came into her room with apologizes that she shook away.
My eyes are screaming
For the sight of you
"She's not going to come back… is she?" She had asked, more out of curiosity than hopefulness. If she didn't expect her mother to come back, then there wouldn't be nearly as much heartbreak, she had told herself. It wouldn't hurt; he had taught her that.
"No…" Her father had admitted after a moment, looking guilty but resigned. "I don't suppose she will."
And I can't hold on to you
So I guess I'll be lonely too
"Does your heart hurt?" Taylor had blurted out, the words that she had wanted to say becoming simple and childish when the left her mouth.
"I thought it would, but… no. I think that my heart will be quite fine."
"…Was it the not-expecting, do you think?" She had felt the need to ask, just to make sure that he still believe his old words. The strange lack of sadness that she had been feeling—or not feeling—had needed some sort of justification, maybe.
He had nodded, understanding her vague statement. "I'm quite surprised that we stayed together as long as we did, actually," he had mused, running a hand through his thin hair. "I didn't really expect it to last."
Slow way down
This break down's eating me alive
She knew she had followed her father's advice; she hadn't expected her relationship with him to work out. She had, maybe, secretly, wanted it to work, but she had wanted it, not expected it. Why did it hurt, then? It wasn't supposed to, not when she had worked so hard to keep her heart from being marred. It wasn't supposed to hurt.
"…Taylor?"
And I'm tired
This fire's fighting to survive
Taylor released the pressure on her palms, sand setting into the half-moon cuts her fingernails had created, and quickly swiped at the tears that had fallen. Blood smeared on her cheeks and she got sand in her eyes, but it didn't register in her panic.
The voice was unexpectedly tentative, but she knew it so well.
Tell me a secret (I want it)
Tell me a story (I need it)
He sat down beside her, close enough that she could have reached out and brushed his shoulder with the tips of her fingers. Mimicking her position, he pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. He didn't speak, but Taylor couldn't stand to sit in silence with him when he had ruined hers.
"What do you want, Jackson?" She whispered, forgetting to add venom to her voice. The energy to make such an effort had disappeared, leaving her to glance over at him in defeat. It dawned on her that he had crushed her. Cody Jackson had crushed Taylor Hagan.
I'll listen attentively
I'll stay awake all night
"You okay?" He whispered back, answering her question with his own.
She wanted to slap him, and she might have if she hadn't just wanted him to leave. How could he be so oblivious? He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't be out here if she were okay. She wouldn't have needed to be alone with her jumble of emotions, or have needed the silence in order sort through her thoughts.
"No," she admitted tiredly. "Why would you do that to me? When I asked if you cared about… about us…" Taylor trailed off as a sudden sadness overcame her, and she curled her hands into fists again, drawing blood instead of tears. "…You said no…"
Allow me to whisper (so don't leave)
There's nothing left in me (please help me)
He noticed her movement. His eyes shifted to watch her hands as she quickly let them fall limp. He opened his mouth and she watched him intently, but he quickly closed it. Words seemed to have escaped him, or maybe he just didn't want to say them.
"Jackson… please," she pleaded, almost desperately, and considered at moment that maybe their relationship did matter a lot to her, whether she had expected it to work out or not.
He frowned. "You didn't let me explain, Taylor."
"Explain what?" She asked, holding her hand up, the gritty, blood-spattered palm facing him, without thinking. "I'm not sure I want to hear it."
Not even my body
Is strong enough to fight (let's make this right)
Please help me make this right
"I didn't think that…" Jackson paused, staring at the cuts on her palm and shaking his head as it registered. "It seemed like you were only interested because… well. It's kind of hard to tell with you."
She copied his blank, poker-face. "Sort of like you?"
Jackson sighed, and Taylor realized that she was probably wearing him down and that he probably regretted bringing the whole thing up. Maybe he didn't know the not-expecting rule. He'd been with a foster family before they had crashed. Maybe his father hadn't explained it to him, or maybe her father had been wrong.
Suppose that I was wrong
Suppose that you were here
"Look, Taylor," he said, and she couldn't keep herself from flinching in expectation. "I can't take back what I said, but just listen," he paused, silencing her interruptions with a shake of his head. "I don't care about that 'us'."
Taylor closed her eyes, willing herself not to care. She hadn't been expecting him to care. She hadn't been expecting him to want her. She hadn't been expecting him to feel the way she did. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt because it couldnt hurt. Her father had explained it to her, and he couldn't be wrong. He couldn't.
Jackson continued his speech, though, missing her silent pleads for him to stop. "I don't care about that us because, with that us, we're only friends. I don't want to be friends. I want more, more than I ever have before… I didn't mean to hurt you, Taylor. You should know that."
And suppose that I reached out and caught your tears
And suppose this fight just disappeared
"I… you," Taylor stumbled, flushing as she tried to swallow her surprise. She smiled, growing convinced when she watched his face brightened. "…I believe you. I want it, too."
She moved towards him, inching closer until they were sitting with their shoulders brushing, and instinctively leaned against him for comfort. Her hand found his and his fingers entwined with hers, but she didn't shake the ecstasy his touch gave her away this time. She didn't want to follow her father's advice. She wanted to open herself to high expectations, blind faith and optimism. She wanted to trust him.
Wordlessly, because they never really had needed to talk much before, Jackson stared out at the ocean waves, but she tilted her head up and aimed her gaze higher.
And my eyes are screaming for the sight of you
And tonight I'm dreaming
Of all the things that we've been through
The stars still shone as constantly as they had before, still the same old holes in paper, and glowed just as harmlessly, but she knew better. Starlight and moonlight mingled together, but the ethereal glow didn't seem to bathe the island anymore. Taylor mused that it might be trying to drown them in a false sense of security and refuge, like a siren's song leading to shipwreck.
She knew better then to trust it, though. The stars watching from above wouldn't keep her safe any more than salt on ice could when winter froze the sidewalks.The only thing keeping the heartache at bay, now that she had opened herself to the pain, was her own trust that Jackson wouldn't do that to her.
And I can't hold on to you
So I guess I'll be lonely too
It was okay, she told herself as she glanced over to find him smiling at her, because she hadn't really expected it to work out. It had, though, and she got to be pleasantly surprised, just like her father had said.
But I'd rather be here with you
And she always had liked surprises.
A/N 2. It's such a cliché ending, but I had fun writing it. I also had fun making up a family life for Taylor, especially her relationship with her father. I wanted to show how much she loves and trusts him, sometimes blindly, and wants to believe everything he said. I'm not sure if it worked?
Any advice at all would be really appreciated. If you want to point out any mistakes, I will edit them out when I hear of them.