So I know, I'm still writing Opposites Attract, but I was listening to this song and I'd been watching Clay/Sara clips all day, and the idea popped into my head. I couldn't resist writing this. It's quite depressing, I'll admit that now, but hopefully you'll all still like it. I wrote this specifically for my bezzin on here, Katie, (KTxx, check her out, she's awesome) 'cause she's one of the only Clay/Sara shippers I know. She reviews all of my stories, all my chapters on OA, and I never told her too, she's one of the only people who stick by my decisions and read my fics continously, and she's become one of my best friends. Love you rainbow ;) This one's for you! :)
Enjoy!
My Immortal – Clay/Sara
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me
It had been three weeks, four days, eight hours and thirty-three minutes exactly. And in that time, he had never felt so alone. He was scared, he was vulnerable, and most of all, he was lonely. He had no idea how to cope through these difficult times. Difficult? Difficult was an understatement for the pain and the darkness he was going through. He'd felt like he was living in his own personal hell. Who knew, maybe this was hell, and he just didn't know it.
He wouldn't have known even if it was hell. He barely left his apartment, except for work. He tried to pretend like there was nothing wrong, like everything was fine. But it wasn't okay, and it wasn't fine. He was hurting. He was hurting so bad inside and he just couldn't tell anyone about it. He felt numb, and he couldn't explain that to anyone. Nobody knew what he was going through.
He could do nothing about it; his heart was aching like someone had ripped it right out of his chest. He felt like the carpet had been pulled out from underneath him when everything seemed to be going great.
He drank a lot, too. As if it would somehow numb the pain, he drank like there was no tomorrow. Eventually he would cause his liver and his kidneys damage, and he knew that. But he didn't care. He didn't care at all. He was too blinded by the pain and the numbness he was feeling to care about anything.
Nobody knew about his pain because he never got round to telling anybody that he was married. He had the most beautiful wife in the world. In his eyes, no other girl mattered to him but her. Nobody could ever be as perfect as his wife. He didn't want any other girl. He wanted his wife. And she was beautiful. She had long, honey blonde hair that fell past her shoulders in little ringlets. Her green eyes were bright as emerald diamonds, which sparkled brightly in the sunlight and the moonlight. She had a very slender figure, and height wasn't her best feature. She had a small frame, and had fit perfectly into his arms.
He didn't cry. He was too numb to show his emotions. He wished he could cry. He wished he could cry, scream, shout, or just feel anything. But he couldn't. The loss of his wife was killing him inside. At least that's what it felt like to him. He felt she was always the best part of him, the best part about him, but now that she was gone, he too was dying.
He couldn't even tell his best friend and one of his clients about her. He couldn't bring himself to deal with the pain. The pain of reliving the moment in which she died was too much for him to take. One minute, she was just there; the next, she was gone. And the last thing he said to her was about the pen he was using. The last conversation he would ever have with his wife and he was babbling about pens. But then again, how was he to know that that conversation would be their last? Her death was sudden and unexpected, hence why it hurt more.
She didn't have many friends in college. She was a very quiet, reserved kind of girl who kept herself to herself. She wasn't unsociable, she was just painfully shy. And when she'd met Clay, she opened up with him. They met in a strange fashion. And the memory of that was one thing that made his heart hurt less.
Everyone was jumping from the bridge by the college into the river below. It was everybody's new favourite pastime, and they had both wanted to try it. Multiple people had jumped from the bridge while she just stood there, but she couldn't bring herself to jump. Then, from nowhere in particular, came Clay. He stood with her on the ledge of the bridge and inched closer to her.
"That's a long way down." He had stated.
"Thanks, that really helps me right now." She retorted with a very sarcastic tone to her voice.
"Sorry. I'm just not a huge fan of heights. Beer bongs, I can do. I think they are a beautiful college tradition. Streaking through the quad, that's another one." He explained.
"I could do that." She nodded.
"Yeah? Man did I pick the wrong school. I'm Clay." He grinned rather boyishly as she giggled.
"Hi, I'm Sara." She'd introduced herself with a girly grin of her own.
"How about we do this together?" He suggested, inching closer to her again. He held out his hand for her to take, and she did. She took it in her own and smiled. "On the count of two."
"Wait!" She'd protested. "On the count of two? Nobody goes on the count of two." She'd laughed as if he'd just suggested they fly to the moon.
"Yeah, I know. It'll be our thing; something to tell the grandkids about." He nodded confidently.
"Oh." She laughed. "Well I'm going to tell them about streaking on the quad." She said, rather confidently as if she was showing off.
"Man nobody wants to hear that from their grandparents." He shook his head as she laughed. "Actually, I take that back. Everyone wants to hear that from their grandparents." He laughed as she did once more. "Atta girl." He smiled. "You ready? You okay?" He questioned looking over to her as she nodded. They started to swing their entwined hands as he began counting. "One. Two."
And with that, they'd jumped together. They jumped from the ledge of the bridge they were standing on and plunged into the freezing water below them. They'd laughed and smiled at each other as they swam towards each other.
"See! How bad-ass were you?" He laughed, as she inched closer to him and placed one of her hands behind his head, planting her lips firmly on his. She pulled away after a moment and swam past him.
"Tell that to the grandkids." She smiled as she swam.
And that had been the first of many kisses for them. He'd always treasured the day he first met her, but he had no idea that one kiss would lead to their marriage. He'd told his friends at college that he was dating "a smoking hot chick" in his words at the time, and they'd merely laughed and slapped him on the back as boys often did.
He would've given anything to see her again; to have that moment over again, and say something meaningful and romantic. Just a simple, 'I love you' or something would suffice. He'd tell himself to prepare for a lifetime of pain and a never ending ache in his heart.
He'd been the only one at her funeral. He'd thought that maybe some of her college friends that she did have or her family would care, but nobody did. It was a private ceremony in which the priest had given him many sympathetic glances. He didn't want anybody's sympathy. He wanted his wife back. He'd asked the priest to give him some time with his now dead wife once he'd finished his prayers, to which he complied.
He'd sat at the side of his wife's coffin, taking in the breath taking beauty she still held even when she was dead. She looked peaceful and relaxed. He hoped for her sake that she was, and that she wasn't in any pain. And he hoped more than anything that she wasn't feeling any sort of pain that he was, because that would hurt him even more. They'd had the decency to dress her in a black dress, with her favourite necklace tied around her neck. She had her wedding ring and band around her finger, and he slid off his as he cried and gently placed it on her finger with hers. He just didn't want to remember what he had done with it. He remembered the moment she gave it to him.
He walked in from the bedroom, into their kitchen where she was standing in one of his shirts and nothing more. She looked to be getting a drink for herself when he entered wearing a black suit with a tie. He was undecided on what to wear to his upcoming interview with a sports agency and needed her opinion.
"Hey, Sara." He'd called as she whipped her head round at the mention of her name. "What do you think?" He'd asked, with a shrug of his shoulders and a sigh. He wasn't sure on what to wear but it was vital he made a good impression on them.
"I think you look like a boy playing dress up." She'd answered honestly. He sighed once more and looked down at his suit before looking back up at her.
"Come on, this is my shot. I got to get in the mail room, and then I become an assistant, then they make me a junior agent and then –"
"And then." She'd finished for him, having heard him say that one too many times before.
"Help." He'd requested her help with his appearance for the interview. Girls were good with fashion, right? They knew what to wear and what not to wear. Surely she'd help him out for his interview.
"The person interviewing you, it's a woman, right?" She'd asked, an idea already forming in her head.
"Yeah." He nodded.
"Jeans and a button up shirt. And go heavy on the boyish grin." She'd told him, moving closer to him and placing her drink on the counter next to them.
"You sure?" He'd asked, not quite believing that he should wear a pair of jeans to an interview.
"Hey, it got you me, didn't it?" She'd giggled, moving her head up to his height and placing a kiss on his lips, which he returned.
"You just don't think that it'll be too casual?" He asked, not believing that she was totally confident in her outfit choice for him. She'd waved her finger at him before turning around and rooting around in one of the drawers. She pulled something out, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Then he saw it when she turned around once more. A velvet box with a wedding band inside.
"Here." She said, walking back over to him and taking his hand with the ring in the other. She'd slid the ring onto his finger and smiled. "Married says mature, stable and dependable. Everything they'll want to see in a future agent." She'd confirmed her choice with a smile as he looked at her in confusion.
"Only I'm not married." He shook his head at her idea, as she bit her lip and stared at him like a school girl.
"Then marry me, you knuckle head." She'd smiled.
"Yes." She giggled at his slow and simple response. "Yes." He repeated with a heavy dose of the boyish grin she'd fallen in love with.
"Well there's that boyish grin." She'd giggled once more, clasping her hands around the back of his neck and kissing him with delight. He felt her smile into the kiss, and before he could blink, he was grinning too.
He'd also remembered the first client he'd tried to get. He wasn't sure on what to say to him, but he had a speech prepared. He'd asked Sara to listen to his speech as if she was an upcoming sports star looking for an agent to sign with.
"And I promise you, that the energy and resources I'll dedicate to you and your career will be unmatched." He'd made his point with a hand gesture, looking right in her eyes. She was painting her toes a coral pink colour as she listened to him.
"Okay, I'm in." She'd smiled, raising her arms slightly in a cheering motion. She'd been convinced by his speech and even if he was the last person she'd want to sign with, if he'd said that to her and she really was an upcoming sports star, she would've signed with him. "Can I give you my two cents?" She'd asked, placing the lid back on the nail varnish she was using.
"Sure." He'd agreed, wanting to know what she really thought.
"This is about that wide receiver, yeah?" She'd asked, wanting to get her facts right.
"Yeah." He'd confirmed, leaning back into the couch he was sitting on.
"I think you can do better." She shrugged as she moved from the armchair she was previously sitting on, next to him on the couch.
"Babe, this guy is a big deal. I mean he can change everything for me." He'd explained, not quite understanding what she'd meant.
"You said it yourself, he's a bad guy." She elaborated.
"And if I only represent good guys, I may not have any clients at all." He'd replied, with a slight laugh.
"Now I don't believe that." She'd shaken her head in disbelief. "I don't think you do, either."
"The guy's great, Sara." He'd replied, looking at her as if she was crazy.
"He's not great. He's just a great player." She'd argued back, leaning forward. "And the man I love, knows the difference." She nodded. "And that's what's going to make you a great agent." She replied, tapping his chest lightly. "You'll find players that you can believe in and clients that become friends. You'll find someone that has integrity and character and heart, and that will change everything for you." She'd confirmed her beliefs that she believed to be fact with a nod. She'd tilted her head back and smiled at him as he sighed in defeat. "And that's the man I fell in love with." She finished, placing a light kiss on his lips.
Her funeral was the only time he had cried. After that, he entered a state of depression in which he convinced himself that he had to be strong for himself, his work, his clients, and most of all, for Sara. He knew she would scold him for being miserable if she was around to do so, so he tried his hardest to be strong. But it didn't work a lot of the time. He was putting on a brave face for the outside world, when inside, he knew he was an emotional wreck.
They had been listening to Willie Nelson's "Angel flying too close to the ground" when she passed. She'd walked into the living room in a stunning white summer dress, with her hair loose around her shoulders.
"I love this song." She smiled, as she walked gracefully into their open plan living room.
"You look beautiful." He smiled back, noticing her appearance. Her hair was perfectly falling into curls, and her beautiful white summer dress ended mid-thigh.
"Well thank you handsome." She replied softly, her voice sounding angelic as ever. "Dance with me." She'd requested, walking closer to him.
He'd risen from his position in the chair he was sitting on at the table where he was doing his work, filling in boring paperwork about his clients. He'd walked around the table he was previously working at and met her in the middle, just in front of it. Her hands clasped behind his neck, whilst his hands rested on her waist. He softly placed his lips on hers, and smiled when she pulled away after a few moments. They'd danced for a few seconds longer before she spoke softly.
"You know what I want?" She'd asked with a smile.
"What?" He'd replied with a smile that matched hers.
"Grape kool aid." She'd giggled as he pulled his head up and looked at her, laughing at her predictableness. She'd run her hands down his chest before walking into the kitchen and going to the fridge. She pulled out the pitcher of grape kool aid that they had made previously and poured it into a glass.
He sat back down at the table he was previously working at, picked up his pen and began writing. His pen had soon died on him and he was more than annoyed.
"You know what I hate? I hate these pens." He'd protested, looking back down at his work. "It's either way too much fluid or not nearly enough. But it's never the right amount and they cost like, a fortune."
At that point, he hadn't noticed that she'd placed her glass on the side and looked to be in pain. Something wasn't right, and she felt it. She didn't know what it was that was wrong, but something was definitely wrong. She turned around to look at her husband working momentarily. He'd looked up and noticed her expression, but didn't think anything of it.
"What you looking at, you goof?" He'd smiled, not realising the seriousness of the situation. Within seconds, she'd gone from staring at him, to collapsing onto the floor. "Sara, hey!" He was panicked now as he rushed to her side. He tried to support her so she could breathe, and was scared to death about what might happen to her. He grabbed his phone and within an instant he was back by her side. He called the paramedics and explained that it was an emergency and they needed to be here as soon as they could.
And they were there within minutes. He was so scared for his wife, she had been fine one minute, and the next she was lying on the floor, unconscious. They had moved him out of the way so they could tend to her, and he watched in fear from a few feet away. He had no idea what they were doing to her, but whatever they were doing, he hoped to God that it would help her. It just had to help her. She was going to get better. They had more time together; they were supposed to have the rest of their lives together. They were supposed to have kids and watch them grow up and have their own kids, and tell their grandkids about the time they jumped from a bridge into the river; just like they'd said when they met.
As he watched them lift her onto a stretcher, his worst fears were confirmed. He'd lost her. They covered her with a white sheet as they lifted her up and out of the apartment, telling him he could come to the hospital if he'd like. He didn't know what to say. He'd just lost his wife. His one true love; his soul-mate; his best friend: gone, just like that. And it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to him or to her. She didn't deserve to go so quickly. But he had lost her before he even truly had her.
He lost the best part of himself of that day.
And he hadn't changed the record since that day. He couldn't bring himself to do it. It was a constant reminder, as if the pain he was feeling wasn't enough, that nothing was right. He hadn't changed it, and he hadn't played it since, either. It would force him to relive too many memories of that day and he couldn't and wouldn't deal with that. It was too hard for him to face that she was gone and never coming back.
He saw her sometimes, in his dreams. She'd be there, and he'd be there, and it was so real, it was like he was actually living and feeling it. He'd tried so hard to tell himself that she was gone, but to no avail. So he settled for seeing her in his dreams. Sometimes they were good dreams; dreams where they'd watch their grandchildren play on their front lawn, where they'd watch their children go to senior prom and go to college, where they told their grandchildren about the time they'd first met. Those were the dreams that he treasured. But it wasn't all the time that he had those dreams. More often, she haunted him. And she told him to stop being miserable, to open up to somebody, the right somebody and get it all out.
It was as if she had never left. Her presence still lingered around the apartment; he could still smell her perfume on her side of the bed and by the dressing table. He could still smell her smell in her clothes that he kept so that he wouldn't forget her. Because sometimes, he did forget. He forgot little things about her, or them, and it would kill him. He wanted so desperately to remember, he did, he truly did, but he couldn't for the life of him remember.
He wished that she could either be fully with him or just fully gone. Because having her half gone and still half alive in his dreams was killing him. Her presence was felt nearly every second of the day and it wouldn't leave him alone. He felt her in a room with him. He'd tried so hard to tell himself that she was gone. But he just couldn't handle the fact that his beloved wife was gone. And though she was still with him, he was alone through this dark time. And he just had to face that. As hard is it may be for him, he had to accept the truth.
His wounds would never truly heal. He was too deeply scarred emotionally for him to ever be normal again. Not unless he spoke to someone, and told them everything. But he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't allow himself to do that. Because if he told someone, he might start to feel better, and if he felt better, he'd maybe allow himself to like another girl. And that's something he couldn't live with. There were too many memories that they held. And time would never be able to heal that. Nothing or nobody would ever truly be able to heal him.
But throughout all of this, despite all of the pain and the suffering, one thing was for certain.
He would never love anybody as much as he loved Sara.
So? Love it? Hate it? Let me know!