Alone
Story Title: Alone
Story Summary: It's too late. Now, no one is pushing to be by her side. No one is around to care, or listen. No one but herself. She trusted a dying girl, and all she got from it was the gaping hole inside of her growing deeper. Episode tag - "Lucky Thirteen".
Genre: Angst
Chapter Focus: Prompt #28 of the 1000 Theme Challenge, "Alone"
Chapter Rating: T/PG-13 for angsty Thirteen
Word Count: 480+
Author's Starting Notes: This is part of my theme collection. Figured I'd give you guys something today.
Time Stamp: Posted December 2008
(#28)
Trembling hands cave in, breaking under the pressure from around them. Empty lungs grasp for air that isn't coming in. Pounds of anguish flow free from the only open vent. Still, the void festers and billows. Her legs can no longer take it. She falls. The dull thud of flesh on carpet is nearly enough to calm the tears. But, in an instant, the pain it brings melts away into the abyss swallowing up her insides. She can't describe it. Not in many words at least. The only thing she can think is how true he had been. Everything he said.
"You're in a downward spiral of destruction. You'll keep spiraling, keep screwing around, keep slashing away at every person who tries to help until no one tries to help anymore, 'til you've hit bottom. 'Til you're dead."
She almost wants it to come now. She feels as if she skipped a step. Straight from the numbness to the searing pain. The feeling inside her just won't go away. Nothing helps. Not people, not food, not sex, or drugs. Nothing. It's almost as if it's indestructible, this burning desire for more than just contact and medical puzzles. She needs something, or someone. She knows it won't happen though. She has ruined everything, doing just what he said. She pushed and pushed, putting up walls before she even knew.
Now, it's too late.
Now, no one is pushing to be by her side, to hold her hand, to figure out what's wrong. No one is whispering sweet nothings in her ear in an invalid attempt to quail the effects of disease. No one is around to care, or listen. No one but herself. She trusted a dying girl, and all she got from it was the gaping hole inside of her growing deeper.
Before she left the hospital, she saw Spencer. In the eyes of the cured patient were so many things. It was a look of happiness, of acceptance, of sorrow, of pity, and of apologies. Spencer was practically begging for forgiveness because she could live, and Remy could not.
Remy doesn't know what's going to happen. She doesn't know when she's going to die, where she'll be, or what will have happened between now and then. But, as she lays on the ground, she does know one thing. She cannot - will not - go on the way she has been. She can't come in her apartment every evening with tears raking down, painting lines of self-pity on her normally complacent face. She can't hold herself together when her body is shaking from something that is not her control. She just can't do it.
As the sobs begin to die down, and the darkness of her living room embraces her, she finally admits it to herself.
"I don't want to be alone anymore."
And that's all it takes for the pain to swallow her whole.
© Everything written above belongs to me (FF user, Paint Me a Symphony). If somebody is out there pushing this as their own, they are lying. I may not own House M.D, or its characters, but I do own this.
If you like Thirteen as a character, and think you might want to try writing about her as well as other people, go to my profile for the link to the Hadley_Fest.