A/N: I know you have a choice when choosing fanfictions to read and today you chose mine so I thank you.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, though I wish they did.
As time drew on, so did Clara's never ending hopefulness that one day she would be able to be herself again. It was still too early to decide that though, for she still found herself laying on that mattress every night, and crying until she fell asleep. Then she would cry more whenever she woke up, and then she would try to go back to sleep, but wouldn't be able to. The images were unbearable, ones that Clara wished she had never had. They still danced around in her head, and it was probably because of the fact that she had been alone too much. If bad things happened to the Doctor when he was alone, she believed that she was beginning to understand that. Every night, she would lay there and she would be overtaken by a strange form of sadness, one that made you feel dull and numb inside, and the only way you could feel anything was if your cried or if you were hurt physically. Clara eyed the knives sometimes, more than she would have liked to admit. Would they help take away this never ending dullness? This unfeeling pain that settled in her gut? She could only wish for such things, knowing that for a second it would cause her great pain, and then all she would have was a scar upon her skin. It was something she had been avoiding, and even though one may think it easy to avoid, Clara was in a low place. Because without the Doctor, she fell apart. Even if her life wasn't centered around him originally, she had almost made it that way. Made the dumb decision to jump into the time stream, and made the dumb decision to go with him whenever he came to save her.
In more ways than one, she blamed him for these visions she had every night. For she was always dying in them, she had been so much in such a short amount of time, and even though it had been over a month since she was broken, it didn't matter. Yes, she had seen him a couple of times, but both times she insisted she stay behind, only to become deeper and deeper in her self pity. At least, that's how she saw it. It didn't matter that what she was going through was traumatic, because she didn't see it that way. She thought she was just being weak and stupid, and an idiotic girl. He had called her clever once, and she remembered all of the times that people had called her intelligent, but Clara couldn't feel that way about herself no matter the instance.
Today was a day like any other, a Monday to be exact. The Doctor may or may not have been coming that Wednesday, and Clara tried to tell herself she would be fine if he didn't show up at all. However, she had had the breakdown again. That's what she was now referring her attack as, "the breakdown". In her attack, she would find herself dying, literally she would feel like she was dying, like her soul was being burned and ripped to shreds. That had happened the night before. Her screams awoke the children, and Mr. Maitland was scared for her, telling her that perhaps she ought to go home with her father for a while, but no, Clara couldn't do that. Her father would worry too much. In the kitchen is where she had made herself an area, for there was a table there used for dining. Either she sat in that spot, or in her room, and no where else. The Maitlands were worried about her, she knew, they even called some of her friends and asked them what they should do. Everyone said she would get over it, but she couldn't.
Clara now sat in her spot in the kitchen, she just stared at the grain of the table as she often did. It was a normal Monday, she would make supper for everyone soon, make desert. She had been making too many souffles, too many anything, she had even begun to write down her experiences in detail. The lives she had lived. The Doctor, he lived for over 1000 years, and yet she had lived and died twice that many times. It wasn't like she remembered everything, who could? But she remembered more than she should.
Because she was supposed to be dead.
This was one of those times she needed a friend, and that friend was specifically the Doctor. She didn't care if he loved her anymore, that had fled a long time ago from her system. All she cared about was wether or not he would notice her depression. If he would try to fix it. And above all if he would succeed in fixing her.
Clara Oswald sat on a wall.Clara Oswald had a great fall.
All of her friends and family came,
But they couldn't put Clara back together again.
A/N: Tell me what you think, yeah?