Letting Go
Summery: Abby deals with Carter leaving in the only way she knows how. Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the computer I'm writing on. Author's Notes: This is my first ever fanfic so any comments are appreciated but go easy on me!!! Would also like to say that this has been SOOO much harder than I expected so a big shout out of respect to all the other writer's out there, you're all amazing!
****************** Abby's POV:
I can never sleep after a long shift. Especially one like tonight. An entire family killed when their car was hit by a truck on the way to their grandma's. A fifteen-year-old girl being abused by her father but too scared to report him. A premature baby born in the ER that probably won't last the night. But to have to do it all without him. No reassuring smiles. No comforting glace. No coffee and chat afterwards. Nothing to go home to but a cold and empty apartment.
I've hated this place ever since Brian, but I just can't afford anywhere else. And I know he would have gladly helped me out but I was just too proud to ask. I didn't want to let him see me afraid. He asked me how I was, and I said I was fine. Fine. That word doesn't even have any meaning any more; it's just an automatic response. Whenever anyone asks, I just say that 'I'm fine'. I keep saying it hoping that I'll start believing it, and that if I believe it then it'll be true, but its not working. I'm not 'fine'.
I need something to help me sleep. I start searching through the cupboards hoping I have some hot chocolate or something like that hidden away, anything to help me relax, to let go. And then I find something. I take it off the shelf, put it on the table, and sit, just looking at it.
I remember the way he looked at me when he held that bottle. It was something beyond pity or disappointment. Like he realised there wasn't anything more he could do for me. Like he'd already lost me. That he could never marry me. It seems to stare back at me, a reminder of everything I could have had but have somehow lost. He tried to help me so many times, tried to save me. But I couldn't let him. Cause then I would have to admit that something was wrong. That I wasn't 'fine'. And now he's gone. I guess he figured that I was a lost cause, too screwed up to ever be recovered. Too screwed up to even be fixed by the amazing John Carter. Even sitting here now I half expect him to run in, and take the bottle away from me, my very own knight in shining armour coming in to rescue me one more time. But no one comes. I'm on my own this time. I watch my hand take the bottle and unscrew the lid.
Just one glass. Just to ease the pain. Just enough to let go.
I keep repeating that over and over again, but even I know I'm kidding myself. Just from the smell I know I'm going to drink the whole bottle. Who's going to stop me? Without thinking I pick it up and pour straight into my mouth. An old trick; no glass means less evidence. But I guess that doesn't matter any more, there's no one to catch me. I take another mouthful, bigger than the last. It tastes disgusting, but that's not the point is it? And anyway, isn't it the worst tasting medicine that does the most good? I can feel the liquid burning my throat. Pain. I hope he's feeling it too. At the thought of him I put the bottle to my lips again, drinking till the pain is too much, then bringing it away coughing and gasping. To anyone watching it must look like torture, but it's the only comfort I know.
With every sip I hate him more. Hate him for leaving, for not loving me enough to stay and work it out, for not being here now to hold me and tell me everything's going to be OK. Hate him so much I can't live without him.
I need him. Need him here just to get me through each day. Why couldn't I see that before? I was the one who told him to leave, to get as far away from me as possible. But I never thought he would. And now all I want is to tell him to come back. To admit that I'm not fine. That I'm lost, afraid, alone, and that I need his help.
The bottle's empty. I can feel the alcohol running through my blood, making my whole body numb. But it's not enough any more. The pain is stronger than ever. I can't make it go away. I try to stand up but my head is spinning and everything's blurred. I lean on the table, and the chair till I find the sideboards and feel my way blindly round the kitchen, searching for another bottle, anything to make it go away. There's nothing. I start throwing stuff out the cupboards, desperately feeling to the back where I know I used to hide them before. There must be one left. Still nothing, but I notice something else that has fallen out. A small box. Sleeping pills. I watch my hand reach out for them, and then pull away.
I can't go there. I don't need them. I'm fine.
Fine?
Just one pill, and the pain will go away.
I close my eyes.and everything dissolves.
************** OK, should I do any more? Please review with any comments or advice you can think of!! Jess xxxx
Summery: Abby deals with Carter leaving in the only way she knows how. Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the computer I'm writing on. Author's Notes: This is my first ever fanfic so any comments are appreciated but go easy on me!!! Would also like to say that this has been SOOO much harder than I expected so a big shout out of respect to all the other writer's out there, you're all amazing!
****************** Abby's POV:
I can never sleep after a long shift. Especially one like tonight. An entire family killed when their car was hit by a truck on the way to their grandma's. A fifteen-year-old girl being abused by her father but too scared to report him. A premature baby born in the ER that probably won't last the night. But to have to do it all without him. No reassuring smiles. No comforting glace. No coffee and chat afterwards. Nothing to go home to but a cold and empty apartment.
I've hated this place ever since Brian, but I just can't afford anywhere else. And I know he would have gladly helped me out but I was just too proud to ask. I didn't want to let him see me afraid. He asked me how I was, and I said I was fine. Fine. That word doesn't even have any meaning any more; it's just an automatic response. Whenever anyone asks, I just say that 'I'm fine'. I keep saying it hoping that I'll start believing it, and that if I believe it then it'll be true, but its not working. I'm not 'fine'.
I need something to help me sleep. I start searching through the cupboards hoping I have some hot chocolate or something like that hidden away, anything to help me relax, to let go. And then I find something. I take it off the shelf, put it on the table, and sit, just looking at it.
I remember the way he looked at me when he held that bottle. It was something beyond pity or disappointment. Like he realised there wasn't anything more he could do for me. Like he'd already lost me. That he could never marry me. It seems to stare back at me, a reminder of everything I could have had but have somehow lost. He tried to help me so many times, tried to save me. But I couldn't let him. Cause then I would have to admit that something was wrong. That I wasn't 'fine'. And now he's gone. I guess he figured that I was a lost cause, too screwed up to ever be recovered. Too screwed up to even be fixed by the amazing John Carter. Even sitting here now I half expect him to run in, and take the bottle away from me, my very own knight in shining armour coming in to rescue me one more time. But no one comes. I'm on my own this time. I watch my hand take the bottle and unscrew the lid.
Just one glass. Just to ease the pain. Just enough to let go.
I keep repeating that over and over again, but even I know I'm kidding myself. Just from the smell I know I'm going to drink the whole bottle. Who's going to stop me? Without thinking I pick it up and pour straight into my mouth. An old trick; no glass means less evidence. But I guess that doesn't matter any more, there's no one to catch me. I take another mouthful, bigger than the last. It tastes disgusting, but that's not the point is it? And anyway, isn't it the worst tasting medicine that does the most good? I can feel the liquid burning my throat. Pain. I hope he's feeling it too. At the thought of him I put the bottle to my lips again, drinking till the pain is too much, then bringing it away coughing and gasping. To anyone watching it must look like torture, but it's the only comfort I know.
With every sip I hate him more. Hate him for leaving, for not loving me enough to stay and work it out, for not being here now to hold me and tell me everything's going to be OK. Hate him so much I can't live without him.
I need him. Need him here just to get me through each day. Why couldn't I see that before? I was the one who told him to leave, to get as far away from me as possible. But I never thought he would. And now all I want is to tell him to come back. To admit that I'm not fine. That I'm lost, afraid, alone, and that I need his help.
The bottle's empty. I can feel the alcohol running through my blood, making my whole body numb. But it's not enough any more. The pain is stronger than ever. I can't make it go away. I try to stand up but my head is spinning and everything's blurred. I lean on the table, and the chair till I find the sideboards and feel my way blindly round the kitchen, searching for another bottle, anything to make it go away. There's nothing. I start throwing stuff out the cupboards, desperately feeling to the back where I know I used to hide them before. There must be one left. Still nothing, but I notice something else that has fallen out. A small box. Sleeping pills. I watch my hand reach out for them, and then pull away.
I can't go there. I don't need them. I'm fine.
Fine?
Just one pill, and the pain will go away.
I close my eyes.and everything dissolves.
************** OK, should I do any more? Please review with any comments or advice you can think of!! Jess xxxx