A/N: Just another one shot I wrote up tonight. I hope whoever reads it, enjoys it enough to review.
Disclaimer:I don't own anyone portrayed below – I wish I did.
When All is Lost and Nothing Gained
What if this storm ends and I don't see you? What if the wind blows and I can't reach out to you? What if lightning echo's and rips our hands from each other?
What if?
What if my heart is unable to take it?
He stands there at the door. He's waiting for her to turn and see him. He's begging silently. Begging for her to: Please don't turn, let me go by invisible, I don't think I can take this. He can't look her in the eye, he can't look at her face. His heart will break.
Her head turns and she sees him. Oh God, she sees him.
She lies there and she smile up at him. How can she smile at me, he thinks, how can the corner of her lips turn up at the sight of me?
He walks forward, his steps hesitant and slow. He doesn't want to reach that bed. He can't stomach this.
Her hand reaches for him and he stalls, he tries to move forward but he can't, it feels like his feet are literally glued to the floor that holds him. He can't take her hand. He can't touch her.
The smile falls from her face as she watches him falter, her hand drops to her side as she watches him stop, her head bows as she hears his whispered, 'I'm sorry.'
She closes her eyes and tells him, 'It's okay.'
It's not okay and they both know it, but he doesn't have the guts to disagree. He's finding out he never really had any guts in the first place. He has fault but not guts.
He tries to move forward, to get past this, to comfort her, to love her but he just stands there. Like a coward.
He closes his own eyes and takes a breath. It doesn't work, his hand still shakes at his side. A tears falls from his eye. He lifts his shaking hand and wipes it away.
She doesn't see his tear, he's glad.
He opens his mouth to speak, but comes to find that he has nothing to say. Nothing that he hasn't spoke a thousand times. Nothing he can say to take it back.
He closes his mouth and stays mute. He was always better mute that he was with words.
She looks up and his heart seizes and he has to turn his head to look away.
He hears her sigh and he wishes he can turn his head and smile like she had, but he's not strong and his head hangs. It feels like a weight, but it's his to bear.
After all, this was his fault.
"I…" he starts only to trail off. See, words aren't his strong point. Where does he start? Where does he end? He already knows how it began and this is almost the end. "Should I go?"
Coward.
"I think that would be for the best." She speaks, her words straight to the point.
He nods and turns his head towards her. He grits his teeth and keeps her gaze. His eyes bore into hers and he tries not to let them look down.
Tries.
But they do and his eyes close for a second and when they open he's staring at her again and he's sorry. He's so sorry.
She looks at him and she knows he blames himself. She knows he wants to take her hand and tell her everything will be okay, but it won't be.
It's already over.
"Goodbye Stephanie."
He sighs.
"Goodbye Paul."
His eyes take one more look at her and his gaze travels the line that starts below her left eye and travels down diagonally over her lips and ends at her chin.
The doctors say she was lucky, had the metal reached her throat she would have bled to death.
He turns his gaze away and walks towards the door.
He wishes her luck, hopes she finds a better man than he ever was to her, prays that someone can look at her and sees nothing but her, like he can't.
"I'm sorry." He whispers one last time.
How can he look at her face for the rest of their life and know he could have stopped this from happening if he hadn't had that first drink.
See, coward.
Please just take these photos from my hands.
What will they think of me?
Crack the shutters and let me cry.
She's been home for a week. Or is it two? She doesn't know, she closed the curtains the minute she got home and hasn't opened them since.
She gathered the photographs that were scatter around thei-…her home and threw them in the trash.
She took all the mirrors down that she could and the ones she couldn't, well she doesn't open those doors anymore.
She's pretending it doesn't exist. If she can't see it, then it can't exist. The only light she gets is from the TV set, as she sits curled up on her sofa, it's easy to play pretend when that's the only light.
She's good at pretending, she is, but not good enough. Because she can't pretend enough so that she forgets.
It's always in the back of her mind, 'Don't reach up Stephanie, you'll touch it and then it will exist.'
Sometimes when she dreams, she reaches up and the world doesn't end.
She never reaches up when she's awake, because she doesn't want her fragile little world to smash and break.
There's knocking at her door and the ringing of her phone but she never answers. She can't let the outside world in. She doesn't want their sympathy and pity.
She can't go on like this.
She should be strong and face her troubles.
It's hard and she's scared, what will people say?
Paul reacted badly, so why should she expect anyone else to react differently.
A voice in her head points out that, not everyone is a coward like Paul.
She finds herself agreeing.
She takes a deep breath and stands. Her legs are shaky as they lead her to that door she closed so long ago.
Her hand reaches up and she reaches for the handle.
Her hand grips it and she tries to turn it, she does, but her arm is locked and she can't move it at all.
Her grip tightens and her palm starts to sting. Her minds screams at her to let it go, tells her it's not worth it, hide.
But she's tired of hiding, so bone tired that she pushes down through the pain and the door swings open.
She's standing in the threshold of her future and her ending, all she has to do is take a step forward and she'll start healing.
But she's terrified of what she'll see in the mirror.
Turn back, her mind screams, it's easier to stay in the dark and pretend.
She wants to be brave, she's sick of pretend. She steps forward.
It's easier than she though.
Paul made it look hard.
She makes it all the way to the mirror but she can't look up.
What if she's the monster that parents tell their children to watch out for?
She closes her eyes and her palm find the cool tile of the wall in front of her. It makes a path to a light switch that hasn't been flicked on since she stepped foot back home.
She flicks the switch.
Her eyes are still closed but behind her eyelids she can see brightness. Like when there's a slither of light sneaking in through the curtain in the morning and warms your face. But this isn't the sun, this light is artificial.
Her eyes open and all she sees is white for a second, her vision blurred. She could like forever in those two seconds, she wouldn't have to pretend because she wouldn't see clearly and in those two seconds that last forever she wouldn't be disfigured, she'd just be smudged.
But her vision clears and she the scar.
It could have been worse, it could have reached her throat and she would be dead.
A part of her pleads, 'Why didn't it reach my throat?'
She grips the sink and just stares. It's a white line and she wants to say it's not noticeable, but it is. It's raised and white and noticeable.
She is the monster of the horror stories.
The same voice that pointed out Paul was a coward, scoffs and tells her she's not a monster, tells her, that she's just a girl with a story to tell.
Her hand reaches up as a tear falls and she traces the scar.
It feels funny, tingly. She was sure it would be numb.
She smiles through her tears as she realizes, her world didn't shatter.
The phone rings in the background. She looks at her watch. 7:00 pm. Her mom.
She answers.
I'll reach out and never let go, I'll show you that rainbow that shines in your eyes.
You leave me in pieces as you rise from the ashes and show me your soul.
I'm standing on the edge, arms open wide, and you're giving me the time of my life.
He stands there at the door. He's waiting for her to turn and see him. He's begging silently. Begging for her to: Please turn and look at me, look up and smile. I miss your smile. She doesn't smile much now he's noticed. Keeps her eyes cast downwards, so people can't stare and gawk.
She doesn't look up. He clears his throat to let her know he's there. He watches her freeze, the pen stops in mid stroke and her grip tightens on the pen.
He steps forward.
She looks up.
He takes another step and offers her a 'Hi.'
She opens her mouth to reply but the words get suck in her throat. Her hand drops the pen and her hand reach up and covers her face as she turns her gaze away from him.
He takes a few more steps into her office until he's standing next to the seat opposite, he pulls it out and she looks up at him again.
"Can I?" He questions.
She nods.
He sits and watches, watches as she picks up the pen and bows her head. Hiding.
"What do you need?"
"Nothing." He replies. Well, he needs her to smile, but he doesn't think she's ready to hear that just yet.
He sees her frown, sees her fighting with herself to look up at him. He wishes she would look up.
"Then you can go." She replies bitingly.
"I'm not here to gawk at you." He quells her fears. He's seen her scar and he still thinks her beautiful.
She wins the fight and looks up, confusion clear as the blue in her eyes. "Then why are you?"
"I…" He pauses. He's good with words, just not around her. Not behind the scenes anyway. "I missed you."
She's surprised, he sees that as the confusion slips away. The blue is brighter.
"I tried calling you, but you never picked up." He explains. "I was worried and then I saw that you were back and I was glad." She has no idea how glad. "I should have said hi sooner, I just wanted to give you time to settle in."
She tilts her head and he almost thinks she's about to smile but she doesn't and something inside him is sad. "Thank you."
"I heard about you and Paul."
Rejoiced at the news when he heard.
"Wrestlers gossip. Gossip spreads."
"Do you blame him?"
"Yes." She answered. It was his fault, but she blamed him more for leaving her to deal with the aftermath herself. "But I don't hate him."
"Do you still love him?"
"No." Her love for him left when he turned and walked out the door with a whispered 'I'm sorry.'
"Then I hope you don't think this too forward." He began. "But I was wondering, if I could take you too dinner?"
Surprise was a cute look on her. "Excuse me?"
"Please?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
She bowed her head again and he missed her eyes.
"Look at me." She whispered.
"I do." He commented.
"Well don't you see it?" She barked.
"No and I miss it."
"Miss what?"
"The way you smiled."
"Chris…"
He missed the way his name fell from her lips.
"I do, Stephanie, I miss your smile so much." He admitted. "Smile for me."
He watched as she hesitated, her eyes looking into his own, trying to find some cruel joke he was playing. There was none.
The corners of her mouth lifted and he felt his own lift.
"Beautiful."
She blushed at the compliment and he stood. She watched him walk around the desk and reached for her hand. She let him take it and pull her up.
"I'm going to make you mine." He whispered as he leaned in.
"Chris?" She whispered as her hand grip his own tighter.
He kissed her and brought his free hand up and trace her face and he felt her sigh into him.
He pulled back and when he looked at her she was smiling.
"See, beautiful."
End.