A/N: I feel so sorry for Dylan. He's totally awesome. And everyone hates him, even though he did nothing wrong.
This was inspired by Alexa35's Too Long oneshot, where the bracket format is also used. Read it and die of amazingness. It's honestly the best oneshot I've ever read.
...
She'll never love you, you think as you stand in that brightly lit room. She won't ever look at you that way.
But it's okay, because you'll be dead in a few moments anyways. And then maybe she'll feel even a tiny bit of remorse.
Or she'll be happy that you're gone.
(But you're fine with that, because if you can make her happy, even just this once, you'll serve your purpose.)
...
You watch him gently brush his hand on her elbow as they talk. She smiles at him lightly. She'll never smile at you, never chuckle, or even twitch her lips upwards because of something you said.
(This is how a heart breaks.)
The Doctor promised. He said that she would love you, and she would love you so much that you would spend the rest of your life with her. He promised she'd love you. He guaranteed that she would love you. He said you were perfect for her. That's why he created you. You were created for her.
(It hurts. It feels as if someone punched you in the chest, leaving a giant black hole that sucks every positive thought away from you.)
He lied.
She doesn't love you.
She loves him.
(It hurts so much.)
After all, who you want to love you? You're nothing compared to him. He's everything you're not; talented, intelligent and handsome.
No one would want a birdkid that couldn't fly. No one would want you. You're naïve, you're stupid. You don't know anything about the world. He does. He's seen everything. He's suffered alongside and fought battles with her.
How you can you even begin to compete with that?
(It's too much pain.)
She glances at you from the other side of the room. Your heart stops beating for a second. You love everything about her, her smile, the way her laughter lights the room, and the times when she lets her armor slip for a split second and he can see who she really is. That moment when her carefully constructed facade slides away when she looks at a flock member with such care and compassion.
(A way she's never looked at you.)
But now, looking ar you, her eyes are filled with hatred. She hates you for dropping into their lives. She hates you for asking her to teach you how to fly. She hates you because you're... you. And you're not him.
(Two pieces, four pieces, eight pieces, sixteen pieces... Your heart can't stop snapping in half every time you realise she doesn't care for you at all.)
She walks through the doorway, sliding past you gracefully. You can smell her soap and a faint hint of the chocolate she ate earlier. She smells like home.
But you know she isn't home. She's hostile, not hospitable.
A strand of her hair brushes lightly on your bare arm. Goosebumps appear all over your body. The spot of contact doesn't stop tingling.
(There are no more shattered bits and pieces of your heart, its now all gone into that black hole.)
You stare after her in amazement. How can anything be so perfect? you wonder. How can someone be so protective over her family, so agile in flight and so furious at her enemies?
I'm an enemy, you realise. You're not one of her flock. To her you're a threat. She will never look at you with so much as a trace of love or caring.
(You won't survive without her.)
You look to where he is, standing nonchalantly, as if he never smiled at her, and as if he wasn't the recipient of her heart-shattering compassion.
His dark hair is messy and his clothes are rumpled, but he doesn't fail to look threatening as he stares as you with even more hatred than she does.
She hates you, but he would kill you if given half the chance.
He despises you.
Loathes you.
He'll celebrate the day you die.
(And if you don't die now, you'll die of heartbreak.)
...
You snap out of your reverie. You're in the science lab, holding that deadly needle to your arm. You were programmed, designed and made to be with her. To love her, to adore her.
Without her, you're an obsolete experiment.
(It hurts too much.)
You plunge the needle into your arm. The pain starts to spread. Wasn't death supposed to be a relief?
Your consciousness begins to dim. You realise that being her friend would have been good enough. If she laughed at a joke you told, or smiled at you when you entered the room, you would have been totally happy and content with only that tiny piece of her heart.
(The pain fades, as well every other emotion.)
…
You senses start to come alive again. You know you're not dead; you can hear your ragged breathing and voices around you.
(The black hole forms again. You almost gasp in surprise at the pain that sits where your heart used to be.)
You open your eyes, and with a start, you know you're Life's cruel joke.
She won't love you. She won't even be your friend.
You're not good enough.
(This is how a heart breaks.)
…
(It's broken.)
