Hello, fanfiction world I am leaping out of the closet after reading so any works for so long I finally have the courage to share my own. I can only hope that my ideas are up to your standards and enjoyment. On a very important side note please teach me grammar! This dyslexic chick did not go to school for anything related to literature. Constructive criticism will always be given a welcoming-backrubbing-hug.
She slowly releases the glass from her lips sulking in the Argentina blend that was slowly staining her lips red. The sound of chatting and laughter fills the room. 'So, this is what friendship looks like, feels like?' she questions in her mind. It is hard for her to believe that it is real, that something or someone could fill the room with warmth and love. Taking another sip from the rim already covered from her lipstick, she realizes that just as a room can be filled with warmth and love, it can just as easy be depleted to an arctic isolation. Tilting up the glass further forcing the rest of the contents down her throat she closes her eyes hoping that when she opens them the reality faced in front of her is true.
Eyes still closed she sets the depleted glass down on the table in front of her. Gripping the sides of the table as she can hear the sounds of happiness fill her ears. 'Deep breathes, Lena' she says to herself, 'It's real, you can face it'. Another burst of laughter fills her ears, 'you have to open them' she tells herself, she has to confront what's in front of her. Listening to her former thoughts she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. Immediately her eyes flick across the room, only seconds later to stare at the vocal point of the sound filling her world.
Except it is not part of her world, nor part of her reality. The image changes scenes as the characters surround each other in a coffee shop. One makes a witty but heart filled joke at another, while another gives a supportive suggestion to fix their problem. Without even realizing it she is pouring herself another glass. Eyes still glued to the fiction show on her screen that is deemed to be her fantasy.
A newly filled glass means old thoughts, and rising doubts in her mind. Forcefully reaching for the remote she sets the screen to the feeling of her soul. With the room completely silent her thoughts scream at her, 'worthless, bitch, follower, unlovable, undeserving, alone'. As the tears stream from a breaking grasp, and a shaking hand curves to her mouth the spiral of liquid is the only restraint holding the gut retching sobs that so desperately seek freedom from her throat.
As the alcohol and her thoughts consume her a sharp but tiny ring fills her ears, hesitantly she reaches for the object that created the noise. A bright light fills the shadows of her face when she reads:
Kara Danvers: Hi brunch tomorrow?