"You're worthless." The tiles were her one comfort at the moment as she lay curled into a ball on the floor. Damp, smooth - and most of all, they're solid. Real and solid and everything she needs. Nausea slowly took the place of her dizziness, and she whimpered a little, if not out of self pity then sheer pain.
"You're nothing to me."
Those words were never vocalized. They never left his lips (dry, cracked peach lips that were rough and warm at the same time, liquid vicodin as he dragged them across her collarbone) and to be honest she couldn't remember the last time he'd uttered something less than positive about her. "You're ugly."
It was sadly cathartic to lie there and let her thoughts wash over her, pooling in a chaotic clump of whirling memories and realizations that she can't for the life of her block out. It's deep breathing and graceful tears as she tries to hide the fact that she's broken, shattered. Hyperbole envelopes her, but then, it always has. Smudged mascara stains are like pinpricks on her cheeks.
"You're never going to be good enough."
It's the enough part she can't wrap her head around. Fairly clever, standard looks, mildly interesting - just shy of someone worth caring about. She coughs violently one time, and then once more voluntarily, because the air being forced out of her lungs stifles the crying.
"You love me."
She knows she could try not to, and she knows that there's a definite chance she could fall out of love with him, but the thought of that vulnerability scares her - ironic for someone lying on a bathroom floor.
"I love you."
Those words he did say. It's irrelevant if he's lying, or even if she knows it. She's done looking for something that will make her happy; done holding her heart as it splashes and spills out of her clamped hands. Done picking up the clipped puzzle pieces and shoving them together, knowing they're too bent to fit.
He's content. She's accepting.
Tomorrow won't change a thing. It really never will.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Heyyyyy kiddos. So. Um. I hate when authors apologize for their work, but I'm going to be a hypocrite. Oh well. So. Sorry if it sucks. I know that's not even vaguely Teen Titan-y at the moment; I have two characters in mind, but I'm keeping my options open so I figured it would be wise to just leave it up to the reader to decide who I'm talking about. As far as what this actually is...um. Ha. Well. You see....okay, fine, I'll just say it: I have no idea. It may be just a drabble, it may be a sneak peek of a longer story, etc. Like I said, keeping my options open.
Oh, and by the way, this is the first piece I've ever posted on this site, so in honor of that, how about no flames? Pretty please?

- Adelsa

P.S. Re-reading this story, I think I might have sporadically changed tenses halfway through...my bad. If anyone sees any grammatical or spelling errors in this I would love for you to point them out to me.

P.S.S. Is that how you spell vicodin? Ah well.