Author's Notes: Simple standalone at a random shot of inspiration. Tell me what you think. I'm starting a longer fic very soon, so this small stuff is gonna have to hold you until then. Please review!! It really means alot to me!!! Thank Jane for your help!! And for future reference, I own none of these characters...... Please review, and if you want something a bit more personal: email ellaspyrka@yahoo.com or aim (new screen name :-)) Love Among Ruin Yeah so please just say something!!!! Thanks so much!!!
She bared the weight of the world on her shoulders. Everything was collasping down around her. She just couldn't go on. Going back to med school was a horrible idea. Nothin would ever work out. Why did she think she was strong enough? Why did she think she could prove herself wrong? Some inner force driven, angry at herself, angry at him, angry at her life. Why was the world so cruel to her? She hadn't done anything to deserve this torture. Why couldn't she just be happy for longer than a week or two? She dropped her bag off on the floor near her wooden table, hearing the clank of the books against the carpeted floor. She peeled off layer after layer of winter wear, which was really no help against the bitter cold of Chicago. She threw it mindlessly on the sofa, on a rack, all over her apartment. There was no reason to care where it went right now. It's not like she had someone to impress. She walked into her bedroom, ignoring turning the light on, and headed towards her dresser. She grabbed the first shirt she felt and did the same with her sweat pants. She quickly put them on, throwing her hair moments later. Her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, and pure exhaustion. She couldn't go on like this anymore. She headed back to her kitchen. She opened her fridge to find it almost completely empty. She hadn't spent alot of time here lately. She grabbed a bottle of water and set it down on the counter. She wasn't too hungry anyway. She opened her cupboard to grab a glass. She pulled it out, and the glistening of another type of glass caught her eye in the back. She pulled out the half finished bottle of tequilla from when she found out Erik had disappeared. And how she had turned to it, and how Carter had showed up. She closed her eyes, throwing the bottle violently towards the trash can, missing, breaking it. A frustrated sigh escaped from her throat. She headed towards the mess reluctantly, realizing she only made the day harder for herself. She wished the damn sun wouldn't rise in the morning. She picked up the pieces, at least the glass was somewhat thick and didn't shatter into millions of small pieces. She picked up the last piece when she stood up and noticed a trail of blood training down her hand. She silently cursed herself under her breath. It's not like she had to, but it was purely out of habit. She threw out the glass and headed to the sink, turning on the cold tap water and sticking it under. She watched the water flow down her hand, and mix with the blood. It gave her a sense of relief for a second. It was so strange. She grabbed a paper towel with her other hand, trying to stop the bleeding, to see if the cut would need stitches or anything. It wasn't deep. Just barely penetrating the skin. She held the towel on it, letting it soak up the blood. She threw a bunch of paper onto the floor, soaking up the rest of the liquid, it's smell deep and penetrating. No. She wouldn't give in. She soaked it up and threw it away. She would wash the floor the next day. Or when she got a chance. She walked to her bathroom, to get some gauze for her hand, since it hadn't stopped bleeding yet. She pulled out a few pads, and placed them lightly on her hand. She didn't have enough energy to put some pressure on it. She looked at herself in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes, the pale skin, the sulken face. She looked like a zombie. Or close enough to one. And it wasn't because of all the hours as a med student, or the double shifts as a nurse. Or all the stress of working in the ER, or any of Romano's bullshit. She didn't know what it was. It felt like a part of her was missing, or damaged. Just not there. She wasn't fully there everyday. She walked out of the bathroom, stopping by her closet, reflexively pulling out a sweater. She didn't care what it was, as long as it was warm. She pulled it on, and instantly realized, it wasn't hers. It was his. It held his scent. It held his aura. She let the sleeves dangle at the end of her hands, twisting and turning them as she headed to her sofa. She turned on the lamp next to hear, bathing the the room in a light yellow glow. She sat down, bringing her feet up to her chest and wrapping her hands around each other. She suddenly felt so empty, so alone, so deserted. No one gave a damn about her. She could die right then and there, and no one would even bother to wonder where she was weeks from then. She curled up closer to herself, still sensing him in the sweater. It was almost comforting. Yet painful at the same time. She laid her head down against the sofa, feeling a tear come down her eye. She could cry now. She knew she could. Only because no one was there. She didn't need to be on guard, or care what someone would think. Sometimes being alone was the best remedy. The stillness of the whole situation was shattering. The clock from her kitchen ticked away seconds, and she stayed there, thinking. Thinking about him. As much as she wanted to believe she was better off without him. That he was an asshole. That she shouldn't forgive him. That she should forget him. She couldn't. Because for once in her life, she was finally happy, finally content. She found out she could be happy. It didn't take much, yet it took everything. They had so many problems, so many differences. Yet she wished they could have given it one more shot, not given up so easy. Neither would have given up that easily on each other before. What made a relationship so different? It should have made them stronger. It only pulled them apart more than ever. She closed her eyes, captivated by the atmosphere. She wished he was there. She just wanted him there. No words, no talking, nothing, just him simply holding her. Like he always did. He gave her strength. He knew her better than she knew herself. And it scared her half to death. That someone could be with her, and she wouldn't scare them away. That they wouldn't give up on her. She didn't know if now, they were finally a goodbye. If they were over. She wanted to hold on to some hope. But it was hard. It was too hard some days. She tried not to think about him, not to care. But the thoughts of him followed her everywhere, they had history every place she went. The trauma rooms, the lockup, the desk, the lounge, her apartment. Every place held a memory for her. Not all of them were good memories, but they were memories none the less. She tried to be nonchalant about them hoping to forget them, push them out of her rememberance. It wasn't easy. She couldn't even go on the roof anymore, unless she absolutely had to. Look at her. Just look at her. The one person who was determined not to show emotion, to not love, to not give a damn, to keep the pessimistic view she always had, sulking over a man. But this wasn't just a man. This was John. And as much as she shouldn't have believed him, she had. She believed he would keep his promises and always be there, be the one thing she could always rely on him. She hadn't pictured herself marrying him, with children and the white picket fence. But she had dreamt of how she would feel if he really did propose. For real. For himself. For her. For them. And everything always feel apart on her. Because that's what always happened. She should have known it would end like this. He was too good for her. He deserved someone who had a better life. Someone gorgeous and enthusiatic. Someone who wouldn't weigh him down. He already weighed himself down enough. She was way too much for him. It's not like she asked to be this way. It just sort of happened. So he survived her for a few months. Almost a year. A year that had flown by too fast. A year that she wouldn't want to change. For anything. She felt a few more tears spill down her cheeks, tasting the salt of them. He had promised her that he would be her crying shoulder, her shield through the strife, that he would support her, no matter what, be with her, help her, love her. She hated love. Because it always ended in heartbreak. She couldn't love because she would always end up hurt. She would get over it, no doubt, but it took a piece of her with it when it left. And she learned to trust a little less, put in a little less, hurt a little more. All the opposites of what was supposed to happen. She looked at her clock. 12:57. It was almost one o'clock in the morning. She had a shift at 7. But she couldn't move out of her spot. Something was magnetically keeping her there. She stayed there in silence for while, engulfing the moment. Remembering for the next time she decided to trust, or love again. She would always end up like this. She always did. She heard a slight knock at her door. Too light to even be heard. But she heard it. She pryed herself off the sofa, more wasted effort since it was probably one of the neighbors figuring out which door was his after a night out on the town. And a little drunk at that. She opened the door, slowly making sure no one was going to attack her. She had grown a bit paranoid since he wasn't around. Yet he was around. He was standing right in front of her. Hair matted with fresh snow, eyes streaked from tears. They must be a mirror image of each other, minus the snow. She thought she was dreaming. But the sting from her eyes, the taste of the salt, the pain from her hand told her differently. She was defintely wide awake. She didn't say anything, she just watched him breathe. He was alive. He was okay. He was there. She walked straight into his arms. She didn't care that she had to be the weak one. She didn't care that she was falling apart for him. This was her second chance. She may never get another one. She wasn't going to let him go. They just held each other. Neither one wanting to let go.
She bared the weight of the world on her shoulders. Everything was collasping down around her. She just couldn't go on. Going back to med school was a horrible idea. Nothin would ever work out. Why did she think she was strong enough? Why did she think she could prove herself wrong? Some inner force driven, angry at herself, angry at him, angry at her life. Why was the world so cruel to her? She hadn't done anything to deserve this torture. Why couldn't she just be happy for longer than a week or two? She dropped her bag off on the floor near her wooden table, hearing the clank of the books against the carpeted floor. She peeled off layer after layer of winter wear, which was really no help against the bitter cold of Chicago. She threw it mindlessly on the sofa, on a rack, all over her apartment. There was no reason to care where it went right now. It's not like she had someone to impress. She walked into her bedroom, ignoring turning the light on, and headed towards her dresser. She grabbed the first shirt she felt and did the same with her sweat pants. She quickly put them on, throwing her hair moments later. Her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, and pure exhaustion. She couldn't go on like this anymore. She headed back to her kitchen. She opened her fridge to find it almost completely empty. She hadn't spent alot of time here lately. She grabbed a bottle of water and set it down on the counter. She wasn't too hungry anyway. She opened her cupboard to grab a glass. She pulled it out, and the glistening of another type of glass caught her eye in the back. She pulled out the half finished bottle of tequilla from when she found out Erik had disappeared. And how she had turned to it, and how Carter had showed up. She closed her eyes, throwing the bottle violently towards the trash can, missing, breaking it. A frustrated sigh escaped from her throat. She headed towards the mess reluctantly, realizing she only made the day harder for herself. She wished the damn sun wouldn't rise in the morning. She picked up the pieces, at least the glass was somewhat thick and didn't shatter into millions of small pieces. She picked up the last piece when she stood up and noticed a trail of blood training down her hand. She silently cursed herself under her breath. It's not like she had to, but it was purely out of habit. She threw out the glass and headed to the sink, turning on the cold tap water and sticking it under. She watched the water flow down her hand, and mix with the blood. It gave her a sense of relief for a second. It was so strange. She grabbed a paper towel with her other hand, trying to stop the bleeding, to see if the cut would need stitches or anything. It wasn't deep. Just barely penetrating the skin. She held the towel on it, letting it soak up the blood. She threw a bunch of paper onto the floor, soaking up the rest of the liquid, it's smell deep and penetrating. No. She wouldn't give in. She soaked it up and threw it away. She would wash the floor the next day. Or when she got a chance. She walked to her bathroom, to get some gauze for her hand, since it hadn't stopped bleeding yet. She pulled out a few pads, and placed them lightly on her hand. She didn't have enough energy to put some pressure on it. She looked at herself in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes, the pale skin, the sulken face. She looked like a zombie. Or close enough to one. And it wasn't because of all the hours as a med student, or the double shifts as a nurse. Or all the stress of working in the ER, or any of Romano's bullshit. She didn't know what it was. It felt like a part of her was missing, or damaged. Just not there. She wasn't fully there everyday. She walked out of the bathroom, stopping by her closet, reflexively pulling out a sweater. She didn't care what it was, as long as it was warm. She pulled it on, and instantly realized, it wasn't hers. It was his. It held his scent. It held his aura. She let the sleeves dangle at the end of her hands, twisting and turning them as she headed to her sofa. She turned on the lamp next to hear, bathing the the room in a light yellow glow. She sat down, bringing her feet up to her chest and wrapping her hands around each other. She suddenly felt so empty, so alone, so deserted. No one gave a damn about her. She could die right then and there, and no one would even bother to wonder where she was weeks from then. She curled up closer to herself, still sensing him in the sweater. It was almost comforting. Yet painful at the same time. She laid her head down against the sofa, feeling a tear come down her eye. She could cry now. She knew she could. Only because no one was there. She didn't need to be on guard, or care what someone would think. Sometimes being alone was the best remedy. The stillness of the whole situation was shattering. The clock from her kitchen ticked away seconds, and she stayed there, thinking. Thinking about him. As much as she wanted to believe she was better off without him. That he was an asshole. That she shouldn't forgive him. That she should forget him. She couldn't. Because for once in her life, she was finally happy, finally content. She found out she could be happy. It didn't take much, yet it took everything. They had so many problems, so many differences. Yet she wished they could have given it one more shot, not given up so easy. Neither would have given up that easily on each other before. What made a relationship so different? It should have made them stronger. It only pulled them apart more than ever. She closed her eyes, captivated by the atmosphere. She wished he was there. She just wanted him there. No words, no talking, nothing, just him simply holding her. Like he always did. He gave her strength. He knew her better than she knew herself. And it scared her half to death. That someone could be with her, and she wouldn't scare them away. That they wouldn't give up on her. She didn't know if now, they were finally a goodbye. If they were over. She wanted to hold on to some hope. But it was hard. It was too hard some days. She tried not to think about him, not to care. But the thoughts of him followed her everywhere, they had history every place she went. The trauma rooms, the lockup, the desk, the lounge, her apartment. Every place held a memory for her. Not all of them were good memories, but they were memories none the less. She tried to be nonchalant about them hoping to forget them, push them out of her rememberance. It wasn't easy. She couldn't even go on the roof anymore, unless she absolutely had to. Look at her. Just look at her. The one person who was determined not to show emotion, to not love, to not give a damn, to keep the pessimistic view she always had, sulking over a man. But this wasn't just a man. This was John. And as much as she shouldn't have believed him, she had. She believed he would keep his promises and always be there, be the one thing she could always rely on him. She hadn't pictured herself marrying him, with children and the white picket fence. But she had dreamt of how she would feel if he really did propose. For real. For himself. For her. For them. And everything always feel apart on her. Because that's what always happened. She should have known it would end like this. He was too good for her. He deserved someone who had a better life. Someone gorgeous and enthusiatic. Someone who wouldn't weigh him down. He already weighed himself down enough. She was way too much for him. It's not like she asked to be this way. It just sort of happened. So he survived her for a few months. Almost a year. A year that had flown by too fast. A year that she wouldn't want to change. For anything. She felt a few more tears spill down her cheeks, tasting the salt of them. He had promised her that he would be her crying shoulder, her shield through the strife, that he would support her, no matter what, be with her, help her, love her. She hated love. Because it always ended in heartbreak. She couldn't love because she would always end up hurt. She would get over it, no doubt, but it took a piece of her with it when it left. And she learned to trust a little less, put in a little less, hurt a little more. All the opposites of what was supposed to happen. She looked at her clock. 12:57. It was almost one o'clock in the morning. She had a shift at 7. But she couldn't move out of her spot. Something was magnetically keeping her there. She stayed there in silence for while, engulfing the moment. Remembering for the next time she decided to trust, or love again. She would always end up like this. She always did. She heard a slight knock at her door. Too light to even be heard. But she heard it. She pryed herself off the sofa, more wasted effort since it was probably one of the neighbors figuring out which door was his after a night out on the town. And a little drunk at that. She opened the door, slowly making sure no one was going to attack her. She had grown a bit paranoid since he wasn't around. Yet he was around. He was standing right in front of her. Hair matted with fresh snow, eyes streaked from tears. They must be a mirror image of each other, minus the snow. She thought she was dreaming. But the sting from her eyes, the taste of the salt, the pain from her hand told her differently. She was defintely wide awake. She didn't say anything, she just watched him breathe. He was alive. He was okay. He was there. She walked straight into his arms. She didn't care that she had to be the weak one. She didn't care that she was falling apart for him. This was her second chance. She may never get another one. She wasn't going to let him go. They just held each other. Neither one wanting to let go.