She knew she would never do it, would never be able to commit to something so, final.
But standing there, the cold December air biting at her cheeks, city lights flickering in front of her, car lights below her, snaking through the avenues like a river of red; Alex couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to finally have that sweet release.
What it would be like to finally be free of every thing that caused her so much pain.
What it would be like to stop every waking moment from being a constant reminder of the love lost; what had been between them and could never be again.
She wondered what it would be like to fall.
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, letting the cold air stab at her lungs; holding her breath until the air needs to break out of her, force its way out, ripping her to pieces in the process. She repeats her actions, focusing on the hurt, the pain, the loneliness, how she just feels so goddamn, fucking broken.
The pain that sits in her chest as she continues to slowly drag in the cold air into her lungs, making her teeth ache; the sting of the night air on her face, biting where salty tracks lay down their lines on her skin; they all act as small reminders that she is still alive, but no longer living.
She used to be so in control, wanted for nothing, had all she needed. She loved and was loved. Thought she was invincible, that nothing could change. Piper changed that.
Now she is barely holding on to an existence, everything but heartache taken from her, left with memories and shadows of a life once full, now empty and haunting.
She sighs, her breath hanging in the air in front of her, swirling and dancing with a rhythm unconnected to her, before dissipating, leaving no trace of its existence.
Glancing down, she wonders if there is anyone left that would notice if she disappeared. Would she ever find out, recognise the name in the column of a paper maybe, shed a tear for a past lover before moving into the arms of the one that held her affections now? Or would she cry, consider to herself that if those words hadn't been uttered, those accusations thrown, that anything would have been different?
A baby screams in the apartment below, a shout followed by a bottle smashing in the alleyway, a siren flares in the distance; evidence of life carrying on around her, the noise bringing her round, grounding her, anchors her to where she stands.
Alex knows it won't end like this, she is a survivor. She will survive this.
Somehow.
She steps further back, breathing out a long, slow breath that makes her insides ache as she forces every last molecule of air from her lungs. Hoping she is releasing her pain with the particles of air that escape her, breaking away into the night sky.
But she knows.
Knows that the pain she feels is hers to carry.
It's not as simple as moving on.
It never is.
After her world fell apart, after those first few days that blurred into one, after those initial sleepless nights, it made way for an existence revolving around a different bar each night, the vain hope that cheap and plentiful alcohol would numb the pain enough for her to stumble back to her apartment, to fall into a dreamless slumber.
But hers was a pain that was too much to be numbed by alcohol alone.
So then it became a new game, a different bar, a different woman and every time just meaningless sex. Names and faces weren't important, it wasn't like she was trying to find a lasting relationship from all of this.
She was just trying to find oblivion at the bottom of bottle, in the cries of her name from someone else's lips in the heat of the moment.
They were always tall (but not quite the right height), blonde hair (but never the same style), blue eyes (without the same sparkle) and she hated herself for it; hated that she sought these traits out, made the comparison, because ultimately there was no point, since the women she had could never compare.
They were never her, never Piper.
So she seeks out a stronger thrill, something that floods her veins; that for a bright, shining moment actually frees her enough to forget, to not remember, allowing herself to no longer feel anything.
For a while it is good, and the opiates bring a certain bliss less peace. But soon every drug induced haze is filled with her face, every touch is like hers, tracing indistinct patterns on bare skin in the moments following their expression of passion, their desires; their want and need of one another. The memories surface quicker, the pain hitting harder than before, providing no escape and no respite.
So Alex locks herself away. Deprives herself of anything or anyone. Struggles through the withdrawals without help, fighting the constant urge for one last time as her system returns to normal, as the memories collide with thoughts of the present, of what she would say if she saw you like this, whether she would help, or turn away like before.
She's stayed clean for a couple of weeks now, but now she's fighting a different demon, one that follows her, a constant noise in the haze of her reality, urging her to relapse into those warm arms that welcomed her so freely when there was no one else left.
But she deals with it, fights against it with the strength she had before and has finally rediscovered.
Because she's not willing to let someone else's actions dictate her life anymore.
Because despite of all the pain and hurt, she had it good for a while.
Because stood on that ledge, she's finally realised.
You don't have to jump to be able to fall.
You just have to be able to let go.
A/N: I know its short (was challenging myself to write something to a certain word limit) - and not normally along the lines of what I tend to write (happy, fluffy Vauseman), but I hope you thought it was OK :)