Author's Note: This was written after I watched the episode "Bad Dreams." One of my favorites, since most of my fics are centered on it. I basically became interested in what Olivia was like as a young girl, and came to the conclusion that she must have been very solitary, very isolated. She's special. There are themes of self-mutilation in this, perhaps a tribute to my own disease, but ones that I felt could be attributed to Olivia's character. She's the kind of perfect that makes it so much harder for her to break down. This isn't really happy. The song lyrics, italicized, are by Natalie Merchant, "My Skin." Dedicated, of course to Maggie and Jillian, whom I love dearly. Enjoy…
Cold And Broken Hallelujah
Take a look at my body
Look at my hands
There's so much here
That I don't understand
Your face saving promises
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
Contempt loves the silence
It thrives in the dark
With fine winding tendrils
That strangle the heart
They say that promises
Sweeten the blow
But I don't need them
No, I don't need them
All you saw around you were walls, both literally and figuratively.
There were, of course, the high, iron-bolted doors shutting you into the hellish school, and then there were the internal barriers you built around yourself, protection against everything, against every rock they threw at you, rendering you emotionless to the way you were treated. You couldn't remember the last time they'd made you cry.
They called you Han here, an irony to your solitude, your way of surviving this place. It didn't matter. The girls despised your beauty; the boys shunned your indifference to their claims on you. It was easier to be alone. You weren't expected to act a certain way, or try to fit in because you blatantly didn't.
While they were out playing tennis or sailing or whatever pretentious things normal rich boarding school kids did, you spent your time in the meadows on the grounds, laying amidst the tall grasses, your long blonde hair fanned out, carpeting the damp ground. You felt so insignificant then, almost as if you could stay there eternally, and no one would notice you were missing.
Sometimes, you'd stop and wonder; why didn't being so alone bother you? The only conclusion you could come to was that it was easy for you. When it came down to it, it was better to be lonely than to be dragged down deep by the thoughts and conceptions of everyone else. You had yourself. And when you were home, you had Rachel to keep you company. But, as you knew all too well, the less connections you maintained, the better off you were.
You could remember everything about the day you realized. The sleek, grooved feel of the gun in your nine-year-old fingers, the echo of the bullet as it tore from the barrel, the blood that burst like a poppy on His white shirt. You could remember your mother screaming. You could remember how much she hated you for what you did. You could remember how much you hated yourself.
I've been treated so wrong I'm a slow dying flower I need
I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
Frost killing hour
The sweet turning sour
And untouchable
O, I need
The darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
I need this
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
Angel sweet
Love of my life
O, I need this
The door slowly opened, jilting you back to reality as Juliette walked in.
Juliette was your roommate, and maybe the only person who really could honor your self-provoked isolation. You weren't friends – you were too singular for that – but she respected your preferred silence in a way no one else really could.
"Hey, Livia," she called to you gently. "Dinner's in a few minutes. Want to walk down with me?"
You appreciated her crescent of a smile upon her perfect face, only a glimpse of what happiness she was capable of, of what normalcy she was capable of.
"Sure," you replied quietly, rising to your feet. You quickly checked your reflection, simply brushing your hair back down your shoulder blades. You didn't give a damn about your appearance – you were dressed for practicality as opposed to vanity. But still, even if you didn't believe it, there was a raw, artless beauty to you that was so electrifying they couldn't help but to stare at you, outcast though you were. You stepped out of your shared room and walked in tandem alongside Juliette, matching her steps perfectly, a second shadow so faint it was withering away.
Do you remember the way Your face saving promises
That you touched me before
All the trembling sweetness
I loved and adored?
Whispered like prayers
I don't need them
No, I don't need them
The dining hall was always a tricky maneuver. You wanted to sit by yourself, but that was an impossibility considering there were barely enough seats for everyone. So you usually sat with Juliette and her band, slinking back into yourself, trying to mold yourself to the stiff-backed chair. Juliette was always nothing but kind to you, yet the same couldn't be said of the rest of them.
So you sat awkwardly in your seat, as you took in the cutting words of the girls gathered in a circle that didn't include you, blatantly uninterested in the secrets they spilled so openly. None of it mattered to you, so out of sync with whatever petty pieces of trivial information they bought and sold, an illicit trade of gossip. You were curious in spite of yourself; what did they say about you when you left?
It was surprising, how similar they all looked, the girls with their curtains of blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and china features, the boys with their dark, short hair and mischievous grins – all of them wearing some form of the navy blue uniform with the school's coat of arms emblazoned proudly across the breast pocket. You had something about you, subtle yet defining, that set you apart, a span of time discrepancy that differentiated you from them. Perhaps it was the knowledge packed behind your pupils, or the way your face seemed haunted at times, with the look of a girl who has seen more than her years. Nonetheless, you were special.
O, I need
The darkness
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
I need this
I need
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
The angel sweet
Love of my life
I need this
Is it dark enough?
Can you see me?
Do you want me?
Can you reach me?
Or I'm leaving
"So, Olivia." You looked up quickly, brushing your hair away from your eyes where it had naturally fallen, a subconscious safeguard between you and them. One of them – Katrina? Katherine? – had addressed you, innocent inquiry written all over her face. "Are you going to the boat race tomorrow?"
You shook your head.
"Don't you get out ever?" she continued, eyes widened with what was indisputably fake interest.
This was why you preferred to stay separate from them. None of the games, the tricks, the manipulation, made any sense to you. Rather, it did, but you still couldn't see the purpose.
You met her level stare, the raised eyebrows, the lengthened lashes, and rose to your feet. "No," you said simply, slinging your messenger bag over one shoulder, smoothing the pleats of your skirt. "I don't."
As you turned away, marching off to your dormitory, you heard the whispers.
"Freak."
"What is she, crazy?"
"She has major issues."
"Loser."
Stumbling through the door, you sank to your knees on the floor, feeling the weight crushing you. You couldn't explain the brokenness you sometimes felt, rushing through you like wind through a pinwheel, catching on the frayed edges and spinning you so fast you didn't know where it began or how to stop. You broke like this when you allowed yourself to feel – to think of your mother, your sister. Of Him. All of it made you buckle onto yourself, collapsing in on the weight intent on smothering you.
Under the mattress, your fingers sought out the flat, dull, silver blade, picked carefully out of a standard razor you'd been given along with your soap and shampoo. Holding the tip to the inside of your wrist, you slipped it neatly into your flesh, feeling the give of skin to the edge. Holding your breath, you slid it along until you reached the other side, bridging the distance from beginning to end with a single cut. A thin line of blood welled up from the slit before breaking and running little rivulets down your pale, smooth skin. They washed over your many scars of shame, hundreds of little lines forever traced into your arm, an everlasting reminder of the pain you longed to feel.
Numbly, you carved deeper and deeper, navigating your way through your veins. You were so sick of this numbness, of feeling so detached. This was the only way to feel anything besides your loss.
You wrapped your wrist with a strip of bed sheet, torn neatly from a corner to staunch the scarlet soaking your skin. Through this, you didn't cry, didn't say a word. What could you say?
All you ever wanted was for someone to save you. Secretly, you longed for someone to talk to, to confide in. You could tell yourself it was okay, but it was nowhere nearly as reassuring as hearing the words fall from someone else's lips.
Slipping off your white-buttoned shirt and stepping out of the dark, pleated skirt, you dressed in your plain white nightgown. The breezy, evening air was cool on your bare skin as you pulled the nightdress over your head, the skirt skimming across your skin before falling just below your knees. As you slipped beneath the sheets, you were shocked and infuriated to feel a single tear, warm against your cheek.
You didn't know how long it had been before the soft thud of the door signaled Juliette's reappearance. Keeping your eyes closed, you steadied your breathing so that she'd believe you were asleep. You could sense her weight shifting on the floor as she stooped down and stayed there for a long time.
Eyelids fluttering lightly open, you saw, with horror, that you left the blade on the floor. She must have known your secret; she looked over at you, her eyes taking in your heavy breathing, seemingly closed eyes, and sprawled limbs.
You kept your eyes shut as she gently leaned over you. Her breath was cool and sweet, falling into your lips. Pressing her lips to your forehead, she kissed you. The words you were longing so desperately for were spoken into your ear as she stayed by your side, brushing a finger across your clutched hand. Her words of consolation stayed with you long after she slipped into her own bed, lulling you to sleep finally.
"It's going to be okay, Olivia."
You better shut your mouth
Hold your breath
Kiss me now you'll catch my death
O, I mean it…