I was right when publishing the last commentfic: Joining Tumblr was the biggest mistake of my adult life.
So now, here's another one inspired by a song someone posted. The song is You Won't Be Mine by Matchbox Twenty, and can be found on YouTube.
*sigh* Unedited, unadulterated, untouched. Sorry.
Claudia spent a lot of time in Myka's room these days.
It was hard to live with Pete in the wake of the Yellowstone incident. Sure, the redhead understood that he was going through twice the loss that the rest of them were – he hadn't only lost his partner, he'd also lost his freaking One when Dr. Kelly rode out of Univille on the fastest horse she could find.
As much as she knew he'd loved the vanished vet, though, she knew it was Myka's unscheduled departure that was really perturbing his chi.
And heck, she was the same way. She'd lost the big sister she didn't even know she wanted when Mrs. Frederic read that letter, and it was just not okay with her. Thus, the occasional creepy squatting in Myka's room.
She'd taken everything, and that was maybe the biggest shock of all. She'd somehow managed to sneak every last book, every stuffed animal, every single piece of clothing out the door without any of them growing wise to her plans in the less than twenty four hours it took for Regent Security to take H.G. to her new super secret loony bin.
Everything, that is, except for one book.
Claud had certainly been curious about it – Myka had left it on her empty desk, closed and perfectly centered as if it were just there for decoration. The battered-looking jacket was faded and roughened brown leather, and the pages within it were golden brown and aged. It was a perfect specimen, exemplary of exactly the kind of book Myka had her nose buried in most of the time.
All it had taken was a quick glance at the faded title for the really smart girl to figure out why it had been left behind.
She and Myka had a lot of conversations over the time they'd spent together, especially after bonding over Pete's near-death experience at the hands of their mutual least favorite favorite author. They both loved to hate Sylvia Plath – her work was morose and depressing and so damned good they couldn't help but read enough of it to recognize the woman's work. Claud had picked the classics – Frank Herbert, William Gibson, Neal Stephenson – as her favorite authors and works. Myka had smiled and chosen only two things.
As You Like It by William Shakespeare and The Time Machine by H.G. Wells.
The latter of the two lay abandoned by its owner inside a life she had left behind.
Claudia left it alone out of respect for Myka's decision, but the more she thought about the book the more she realized how tragic the story had become. Little Myka Bering's favorite tale had become true in a totally unexpected way, and when it ended badly she had been so guilt-stricken she'd given up one of her most cherished possessions to be rid of the memories.
After about a week, she couldn't stand it anymore. It was so sad she scooped the book up and wrapped it in her arms like a teddy bear and carried it back to the bed. Then, feeling slightly guilty but also sort of like it was the right thing to do, she opened it to start reading the story that, truthfully, she'd never really managed to finish.
A crisp, folded piece of paper fell into her lap, opened to reveal pristine and beautiful penmanship in perfectly straight lines and oh damn it's H.G.'s handwriting and sheshouldn't be reading the words ah crap too late.
My dearest Myka,
I trust you may not wish to read my words now, nor may you ever wish to, but I believe I owe you more than any other an explanation. My actions should rightly have made you to feel betrayed – and my dear, I do not blame you for that. I deserve such scorn.
You must understand something: it was not my intention to harm you. True, it was part of my grander plan to become reinstated within the Warehouse, but I knew within moments of meeting you that I would not bear being able to take advantage of you. I fear, in the end, I did so anyway.
You were my friend, my ally. You were a confidante in a world where I had nothing but my pain to keep me company.
There are so many things I wished to share with you, places I wished to show you. You and I – Wells and Bering – we might have done great things together. I had such hopes for the future – our future.
Words fail to convey how much you mean to me, as words fail to describe the feelings that drove me to my darkness. Both curl around my heart tightly, dozens if not hundreds of tendrils clasping my heart and keeping it within. But where the darkness is cold, hard, and unyielding, my feelings for you keep my heart warm in a soft and kind embrace.
Both hurt, however. I know I can never love you the way you deserve to be loved. I can never be a person worthy of you, though for as long as I can bear it I tried, Myka. You must believe I tried. The darkness is a desperate and cunning thing. It calls to me even now to complete my plans. I know not where they intend to take me, but I hope they might not keep me conscious during my incarceration. I fear I have been driven mad by my grief, so mad that only the end would satisfy the insatiable need within me to destroy in equal measure for all I have lost. However, I know now that I cannot bring myself to harm a world with you in it. I need you safe more than I need air.
These disparate, irreconcilable necessities will never allow me peace.
Please do not blame yourself for my actions, Myka. Take solace in knowing that you missed only the darkness, and that you healed it for as long as it might have been healed. When I became your friend, I did so not with an agenda, but with hope.
I beg you to be happy, and perhaps think of me kindly from time to time. But if you cannot do both, then I beg you not to think of me at all.
Yours always,
Helena
Claudia had tears in her eyes by the time she finished the note, and she couldn't help but wonder if that was why the book had been left behind. Had Myka seen it, and just couldn't bear to hear the words?
No.
Claudia knew better than that.
Myka was strong enough to accept a broken personality as an explanation for H.G.'s actions without leaving the Warehouse. She had left this place – her home – because she believed with all her heart that H.G. Wells had used her, and that she had been too blind to see through those manipulations. And really, that made everything so, so much worse.
Claudia wondered of Myka ever knew how much H.G. loved her.
She wondered if it would have helped.