Disclaimer: I do not own the characters.
Title: The Reality Of
By: Meilin Li
Notes: It is one of the Summers women. Which? You pick.
"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves."
-William Shakespeare
She blinks and gives into the mendacity that offers her refuge.
She is not of this earth.
She is something more.
And at the same time she is not.
She is the typical female; defiant, sardonic and hopeless.
"Damnit! I can't do this!"
"You can and you will!" Gulp; the vampire's unyielding glare was more than enough to motivate her into action.
But those eerie eyes would always intimidate her, impede her, hold her back, force her to retreat.
Hah … not this time. As if she would give him the satisfaction!
She flies through the air, unnatural as it were and lands but a few feet away from him. Why did he have to insist?
Why did it always have to come down to this?
She is a secret.
An enigma never-ending.
She plays out her innocence masterfully, as if those mysteries did not lie within.
She smiles sweetly.
She hugs gently.
She kisses tenderly.
And she loves indignantly.
"Hey…"
He smiles, one of those smiles, "Hey yourself."
She circles him, his eyes indulgently on her, "I was thinking … could you, maybe take me back there."
"You want to go back?" His eyes register alarm and he almost chokes on his coffee.
The finger that trails his jaw halts gradually. He knows what she's talking about.
"I can't."
A frown mars her features and she insists like he's done so many times before, "You can."
Does a moment always pass this slowly?
No answer?
"Fine, I'll do it myself."
It is becoming a habit; what these socialists call … running.
Every so often she trips.
Once in a while she falls.
Occasionally she has a hard time getting up.
But one way or another she always, always seems to end up in his embrace.
Who said that this game of constant tug-of-war was actually fun?
Tch … certainly not her.
"Where are you going?"
There was a flippant disposition about her, "Out."
"Where?" There he goes, insisting again.
A single look into his eyes is followed by a halfhearted shrug. "Don't know. I'll tell you when I get there."
His defeated nod comes after the pregnant pause.
He's relenting. So why isn't she budging?
Why is her heart bathing in her stomach?
A defeated sigh.
Fine if the fates wanted to play this way …
" … Wanna come with?"
This slip of a girl dreams.
She dreams of prairies and flowers.
Of family and friends.
Of chaos and destruction.
She dreams of the end.
"Mommy…!"
Mommy would protect her.
Mommy would make all the bad things go away.
On the contrary there was no Mommy, only a girl with a golden halo.
But she's desperate! She'll seize whatever the skies have to offer.
And so she hangs on tightly to the girl with the golden halo.
Too tightly.
Like sand she slips away …
Like him it forces her to face reality …
Alone.
She tries not to think too hard.
She tries not to imagine what it's like to be something other than a Summers.
How could it be that this surname implies so much?
It tells her that she has a bond with these people.
It proves to her that she belongs somewhere.
It establishes the fact that she is who she is.
It confirms her existence.
But a name does not make a family … !
… Or does it?
It is just a name right?
… Or does it insinuate more than that?
They're a family together, "I'm here."
"Not all the time."
The chuckle melts into a loving smirk, "Oh but I am little girl."
She can feel him in her mind; she's able to recognize that presence anywhere. "I know …"
"Then don't fight me." His arms wrap her up in his embrace.
"I'm trying not to," was the straightforward reply. "You're the one fighting me."
He has trust issues too.
She pretends.
Because when she does, things are that much easier.
Her daily routine is unaltered, perfect and impeccable.
She is not only reassured by this familiar rhythm but also immerses herself in it.
She drowns herself in this mocking ritual of a perfect world.
She buys herself time; playing a game of make believe.
She feels like she is five again.
She is obligated to play pretend …
Lest all fails and she once again loses herself completely.
Really, how else can she escape reality?
She was so simple. So carefree. So normal.
… Then he got to her.
The power that he has over her …
He makes her different.
He makes her feel.
He makes her love …
He isn't supposed to feel this way, but he can't help but feel the same.
Trepidation loomed about his very soul.
She was nothing like he had experienced before.
She was warm, yet cold; sweet, yet bitter.
He has all the reasons to dislike her.
But he doesn't. He can't. His feelings were quite the contrary.
He needs her.
He needs to escape with her.
She's something he can't live without.
Conceivably, she does not want this anymore.
Then perhaps he does not either.
This make-shift romance under the lavender skies.
But they are drawn together; tied to each other.
Like the earth and the moon.
Their union is inevitable.
Even discrepancy between them flows gently, lapping softly like swells on the sand.
Till death do they part.