Author: Hello There...Ah, Well This is my First Fanfiction EVER. And basically my First attempt at writing an actual story EVER, so I don't really think I'm ready for flames yet, you know? At ALL. So yeah, please avoid that. You know, you don't even really have to review =) I just wanted to get some guts and try expressing myself or...erm...thoughts? In another way besides drawing or playing the piano.
I have been reading Fanfiction for a total of 2 years, (most of which is Slash or something, unless the a female character is really strong or has a one-sided love towards someone because I kinda like watching people WORK for love) yet I still don't really get how to do this whole thing. I suck at dialouge and to tell the truth I don't really plan on actually doing another chapter because I'm horrible at getting actual scenes in the story done, but slightly less horrible at getting feelings down.
And I guess that's enough of my babbling so here I go. (Seriously PLEASE don't flame)
Pairing: Dr. Cox/JD WHICH MEANS SLASH.
Title: It Was
Summary: Love was never easy, and nobody seemed more aware of that fact than Dr. John Dorian. JD/Cox
Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs, and if I did it wouldn't even be 1/100th as funny as it already is.
Warning: Again it's SLASH, and it's OOC at the moment because I'm not used to trying to get actual people's feelings down...I'm just used to writing down my own.
It was his hips. The way they swayed to the silent beat; reminding me of a jungle cat, ready to pounce.
It was his chest. Built and sturdy, clearly showing that the Irish doctor was not one to be trifled with. Chest connected to strong shoulders that always seemed to be moving, one in front of the other and vice versa. The way a military man would walk. With pride, anger and dedication.
It was his thin lips. Surprisingly enough, they were very attractive especially when the man was in one of his ranting modes where his lips would curl up even more and a perfect set of white teeth continued to growl at you.
His fiery hair perfectly matched his ever growing temper and the way his face would plant itself inches away from yourself whenever he was lecturing someone, mainly me.
Breathe smelling somewhere between a Crest and a deep citrus scent, I would float away while staring into his eyes. They were blazing and I couldn't help but wonder what I did THIS time to make him so utterly pissed off at me. Those blue eyes were piercing, and I could feel myself shriveling up in his gaze. Those thin and long hands of his were waving about in the air, dangerously close to my face as if he wanted to knock some sense into me for once.
I had made a mistake, and it had effected his work. I had made him angry, given him hell (again) and I did not deserve to be around him any longer.
It was at times like these, when those blue eyes looked at me with anger and disappointment, that a strange emptiness filled me and life had lost it's meaning because I had made someone else suffer. Vicious thoughts would enter my head and whisper lies to me:
'All you do is cause pain'
'Nobody would love you, they pity you'
'Go die, nobody would miss you'
'Stupid, ugly, faggot, disgusting'
Nobody would want to be around me. They would only start around him though, the man who's opinion mattered the most to me, the man who put me down everytime I saw him (I took every word to heart), the man who smelled of an earthy scent and some hand sanitizer, the man who I loved.
And I was proud to admit it. No matter how many people would gossip behind his back and call him horrible names, some deserved and some not, I promised that I would always be there for him from now on. Just like he was for me, as my mentor, because nobody really understood him.
Understood how lonely he was, even though he had a son and a wife. Both of which he barely ever saw due to the fact his wife had made stupid choices, decided to be unfaithful (with THREE men mind you) and take Jack, HIS son, to her mother's because she didn't want to around him anymore.
SHE was the one who made the choice to think of herself above her family so it hardly seemed right that she got to keep Jack while she went out every night.
Jack was a nice boy, brilliant even just like his father, and loved his father dearly even if his shifts at the hospital frequently kept Jack from seeing him every day (or week.)
When he was taken away, everyone could tell that it had left a huge whole in his life, which came as a shock because half the people at the hospital wondered if he was even human.
Yet that didn't stop the jokes.
I could hear what those imbeciles were thinking of every time they would make fun of him:
'He stepped on us during our lowest points, so it's time to repay the favor'
And so they did.
But HE was above all that, and simply ignored all of the whispers even though he could stop it all with one punch, or even one look. My mentor was strong on the outside, but weak on the inside. He was quickly digging his own grave, and was heading towards another mental breakdown.
And I slowly began to fear that I could do nothing about it.
It was his wall. The way nobody could EVERdream of penetrating it or even catching a glimpse behind those lit eyes. It was perfectly built and succeeded in shutting everything out, so I couldn't even hope to break through his FIRST layer of defences. That's right, there wasn't just one wall. All of his actions indicating the exact opposite of what he was thinking; His eyes, his hands, his words, his stance, and his lips all told lies. I'd like to believe that EVERYBODY fell for his act, and I was the only one who could see through him because I knew him better than anyone else.
In my heart, though, I knew that it was a lie. Just like everything else.
I probably knew him least of all.
Heck, I wouldn't be surprised, because I couldn't even imagine what went on in his mind, because the only thing that came in and out of that wall was anger, any other emotion was useless,
unrecognizable, and too difficult to deal with.
Unnecessary and, most of all, weak.
There was a time in which I had tried. Tried to break through them and see what exactly lay behind those eyes, and I had liked to think I had done my best to help him or at least ease a little of his pain. But I was afraid, and scared because I didn't know what exactly was on the other side of the wall. Maybe it was emptiness or nothing at all; just an illusion of a man who once was.
I had tried, but he had pushed me away like the stubborn jackass he was.
And hopefully still is.
The naive part in me had hoped, and held on to that silly dream in which I was the one who could help him through this. The divorce. So, I had followed him, pretending to be unknowing of everything and clumsy, thinking that maybe he would forget some of his sorrow. That is, if he focused on me and only me.
It didn't have to be his attention focused on me, in fact, it could've been anything and I would've been happy to accept it.
Even his hatred, which did end up to be the case.
It didn't hurt too bad since I loved him completely and wholly, and I knew that this was no time to be selfish and focus on ME and my pain. And I began to avoid it, thinking that if I don't brink it up in the light that it won't grow, you know? It'll eventually disappear. I loved him and as long as those eyes burned onto me nothing else mattered.
I was in oblivion and nothing could touch me.
I L-O-V-E-D him.
'L' is for the way you LOOK at me.
'O' is for the only ONE I see.
'V' is very very EXTRA-ordinary.
'E' is even more than anyone that you adore can
Huh, I'm feeling oddly sappy today, because usually I hate talking about me feelings or my love life. Or lack there of. But anyway, it had worked for a little while, and I had successfully become THE distraction, even though my voice now gave him headaches and he couldn't stand to look at me or more than 30 seconds. I saw his eyes become brighter and his laugh turn into a light and easy sound as if he had forgotten about the divorce and Jack. He started to talk to people again, mainly Carla because she was apparently the only person in this 'god-forsaken-hospital that can actually start and intelligent conversation and finish it without sounding like a complete buffoon.' (His words, not mine)
His appearance began to change too.
The wrinkles around his forehead slowly faded away, his eyes lost the surrounding red rims, and his complexion ride itself of that sickly yellow color that had been present for so long.
Too long. And it was at that moment that I had felt truly happy for once in these 4 months and nothing mattered.
It didn't even matter that he didn't look at me, and that when we DID end up connecting eyes he eyes would dull with hatred (Yes, that's right...DULL it wasn't even explosive hatred, just a type of hatred where you wished the other person didn't exist). Or that every time I was in the same room as him he would tense up into a rigid stance and his hands would start to twitch.
As if waiting to unwind the muscles that were winding together near his temple; the start to an oncoming migraine. My voice even made him physically sick, how pathetic was that?
I must be one heck of an annoying FUCKER to be this deeply hated.
My face, My personality, My love, my voice, my neediness was all ugly.
Everything. Everything. Everything. Everything.
I could barely stand to look into a mirror nowadays, ever since the day that I finally opened my eyes and saw myself for what I truly was. I had stared straight into that mirror, looked into those bloodshot eyes, and tried to find anything worth while in me. And as I tried harder and searched deeper, the bags under my eyes seemed to grow larger...deeper until they resembled bottomless pits of purple. The gray hairs on my head seemed to glow (My god, I'm only 29! Fucking stressed out) and just now realized how hollow my cheeks were. Did I lose weight?
Anyway, I looked and I don't remember how long this took place; Maybe it was around 10 minutes or maybe it was a hour. It didn't really matter, because it was then that it all clicked.
I saw nothing.
Was this what I had been forcing him to look at all these years? This empty shell of a person with no ambition? A deep sadness wormed its way into my chest because I didn't know when I had simply stopped caring about everything. I mean, everybody had told me love wasn't easy but they had never said not to get too involved into it, and they certainly never mentioned losing ones self in it.
When had this begun? I had asked myself that, but after much contemplating I soon discovered that it didn't matter.
(GOD, WHEN HAD THE WORLD BECOME A BLUR!?! WHEN DID LIFE SUDDENLY 'NOT MATTER)
I utterly and completely hated myself. And I understood. Understood that I couldn't be the one to help him because I could barely help myself. What he needed was a strong and healthy person to lead him through this, and I realized that he most definitely did NOT need me. Not for anything, and not in his life. I was a bug on the windshield, his problems had nothing to do with me (even if I loved him) and I was a fool to think otherwise or that I could make him forget so easily. In fact, with all my screw ups at the hospital I was probably making his life harder; just installing a new form of chaos he had to deal with.
I wasn't his wife (even though I prayed every night), and I wasn't his child. He didn't need me, but a friend. And since it was basically impossible to make him STOP hating me at this point, I couldn't be that friend even though I couldn't stand the thought of anyone touching him, hugging him, or making his life happier but me.
Which was selfish. And then the dangerous thoughts had started again, like dripping acid.
A quick rush of emotions would pass through me and soon all I'd be left with was depression:
'He didn't need me. Maybe if I disappeared his life would be happier or at least a little easier, and it would be so EASY too. I'd just float away and nobody would notice a thing. It'd be quick and painless.....for them'
And that's what I had thought at the time, and it sounded devilishly like the truth. I had forgotten how much my friends loved me and cared for me and began to think suicidal things; it was disgusting. The smiles they wore every time they would come up and talk to me, happy to see me, just became a dull blur and I couldn't feel the warmth. Those comforting hands were but a memory, and I didn't realize how quickly one can forget what warmth, love, or home feels like. I regret not holding onto those feelings, but it was too late to feel sorrow for losing that because it was my fault anyway.
Time had just stopped, and I didn't remember the last time I took a shower, ate, or even slept. I think it had been 4 days at maximum, but 3 days at minimum. So what if I had stopped eating? Life had seemed to go on, in my mind, perfectly well without food and as long as I could walk I didn't need anything. I didn't believe that this was effecting me or anyone until I went into work one day after my two days off (I had the weekend off) and wobbled my way into the changing room. A series of names were written over the cubbies that held the workers scrubs, and I began to panic because I found that I couldn't READ. My eyes swept across the blurred letters in fear.
'Don't worry. Don't worry, it's just from a lack of sleep it'll get better as the day goes on,'I thought just trying to calm myself down. I closed my eyes and counted to twenty, then slid my eyelids open once more. I what I was greeted with was perfect vision, and I let out a sigh of relief, pressing my hand against my chest in order to try and stop that thunderous thumping. Picking up my scrubs, I looked at them with apprehension.
I didn't want to be here, at the place where I have a hundred percentile of bumping into him, and the place where I feel the most alone. As I started to love him, I began to listen more closely to his insults just because I loved to hear him TALK. His voice was addicting and vindictive. The insults began to hurt even more, because it was hard not to believe the one you love. And I believed that I was ugly, stupid, and the worst doctor the world has ever seen.
It wasn't that all my patients died, but I was given most of the terminally ill patients and every death hung over my head like a reminder of how much I deserved the pain. Fair's fair, you know? I knew I had a wierd way of thinking but my brain simply TOOK over and due to my hyper nature it could breach 10 subjects in a matter of minutes. I tried not to dwell. So, I put on my scrubs and braced myself for a new day.
Hopefully a brighter day. Pushing open the door, I briskly walked into the brightly lit hallway that was too cheery for my taste. My resounding footsteps seemed to prove to me even more how utterly alone I was. Too caught up in my own thoughts, I barely noticed Carla leaning against one of the counters with a rather large document in hand. She saw me though and a smile quickly found it's way onto her face as her eyes lit up with enthusiasm. Trailing after me, she attempted to get a response from me,
"Oh Bambi!! I haven't seen you all weekend, and you wouldn't even believe how often Turk has been moping around the apartment complaining about not being able to see his 'Vanilla Be-"
And that was the moment in which I decided to face her because I couldn't just coldly ignore my friends. I spun on my heels and tried to meet her eyes with a smile of my own, my signature, goofy smile and surprisingly it had worked until she whispered those few words.
"Oh Bambi, What happened to You?"
And I saw myself reflected in those sorrowful chocolate eyes. The way she saw me was different from the way I saw myself. My emptiness wasn't present in those eyes, maybe a bit of it was still there but the majority of it had been replaced with sadness and wanting. The shadows under my eyes looked like an unhealthy black and I couldn't help but feel amused that I had suddenly up and become a character from 'Return of the Living Dead'
I would've laughed if I wasn't too exhausted at the thought of it.
Maybe now was an inappropriate time too. Her tiny and gently hand brushed slowly across my cheek and I let out a shaky breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I needed this so badly, just someone to care for me and hold me. I had never really been held before. Not even by my mother, which wasn't exactly surprising if you ever met the bitch. The woman couldn't feel anything besides lust and the desire to crush anything that got in her way; including her own son. She wasn't that abusive though, and she even fed me dinner every night when I was a kid. Even if macaroni wasn't that tough of a meal to make it was the thought that counted, at least that's what I hoped.
She would slap you though. If you ever complained, talked back, or even attempted to be ungrateful that cold and hard hand would connect to your face. So quickly that you didn't even realize if happened until it was over with until after it had happened and you felt the burning sensation on your cheek. It didn't hurt that bad, and she always made you feel like you somehow deserved it. You never knew what to expect around the woman, one day she would embrace you into a warm hug and whisper how much she loved you and how you where the only thing keeping her from offing herself, and others....weren't so pleasant. She was drunk, and she didn't necessarily mean them sometimes. But I had quickly decided that 'worthless' MUST be her favorite word.
My mother would bring home men. A countless number of them that I didn't even believe had names, because names didn't exist in our family. In fact, I didn't remember her calling me by my first name once. How ironic, right?
She would bring them home and have sex with them. Sometimes in front of me because she occasionally forgot that we only had a one room apartment, and other times she would just lock me out and let me sit there in the cold of New Jersey. That didn't stop me from hearing them though, the disgusting grunts and whatnot. I would close my eyes attempt to escape this cruel reality and it worked.
I loved it.
"Bambi...god....lost.....weight....sick....dangerous." Only a few words were deciphered from the unintelligent blabber that suddenly exuded from her mouth. I let out a harsh cough at the suddenly weight that was suddenly crushed onto my ribs and around my back; she was hugging me. There was no muscle around or anywhere near my ribs so they were currently very fragile and then I was aware of how much weight I had actually lost. An unhealthy amount because it was even more difficult to lift up my arms due to the fact they felt like lead at the time. I managed though and inhaled the smell of her, of home. I tried to think of anything, ANYTHING that could resembled 'intelligent' at the time but nothing came up but a deep coughing fit which shook my whole body.
I couldn't breathe, my arms and legs felt like jello, and worst of all...my vision began to swim again.
The hallways were still brightly lit but apparently that wasn't enough to stop the edges of my vision from darkening until I couldn't see anything at all. I knew I was still conscious because I tried to raise my hand to touch my eyelids to see if they were closed but only managed in lifting it halfway. I settled for leaning against the woman embracing me, and finally giving in to the thing which I had been wanting all along.
"Carla, I-I..H-help?" And then I fainted.
How manly.