Resistance
Authors Note: I don't own these characters but the story is mine. This story contains the
Occasional swear word, it's not like every second word kind of swearing,
but it's there.
Rating: M for some swearing and future F/F
Reviews: Please don't hesitate to write me a review, tell me if you like it or not. This is
my first try at a Shalimar/Emma fanfic.
I'm sitting on a stool in a club, the music is loud and I feel the sound waves move all around me as I wait for my drink. I close my eyes and think of that tall, thin, young woman that looks at me like the day starts because I exist. That young gorgeous, confused girl that probably is looking for an answer to that feeling that asks the question, the question of who I am and who I should be fucking.
She's looking for an answer, and I probably shouldn't get involved cause god knows how many times that I have been run down in the dirt because of that same question. God knows how many hearts have been torn out and left to bleed all because of one question, a question that picks at you and demands to be explored at someone else's expense.
It's that question that doesn't care whose heart you break, just as long as you find that answer. How do you find the answer to that question is unanswerable, you'll spend the rest of life trying to find that answer. The only way that you'll find that answer is the day you die, and then you'll realize the truth, the truth that this was all meaningless, that you spent your entire life running around looking for that answer. The question that has been driving you mad for most of your life is nothing but a bag of shit; you've wasted and hurt your life and your self to find an answer to a question that means nothing.
The bartender gives me my drink and I give her cash and whisper a thank you as I down it like a shot even though it's not meant to be drunken so. She looks back at me and back down to my hand to see the empty glass that's still griped tightly in my once upon a time innocent hand, She looks back up at me and raises an eyebrow. I look back at her and nod in reply as she walks back towards me to grab my glass and disappear to the bar rack stacked with the unlimited supply of courage.
I call it courage because it's the best thing to call it other than another anti depressant, another shield from the torment of your past mistakes. Or the mistake that happened moments ago, who cares nothing matters when you down that golden anti biotic to ease the pain and destroy the disease. But the problem is that it doesn't destroy the disease, it keeps that plague of the mind deep in your mind where you can forget it for the moment and begin to feel a false sense of clarity. It helps in it's self to release all the tension that's been deepening recently, often, uncontrollably.
The bartender's back with my drink; she places it in front of me and before she leaves she takes a moment to look me in the eye and with a sincere smile she says, "It's on the house". I open my mouth to reply but the woman is gone and my attention is back to that golden courage that seems to whisper back to me encouragements and offer of an answer. Answer to a different question, the answer that I'm sure that I won't remember tomorrow morning.
So I drink it lovingly, letting the strong taste flood my senses. I'm at ease all is good once again.
