Title: bare

Author: Airebella E. Spencer

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: craved and appreciated- his_gray_eyes@hotmail.com

Distribution: CD okay, anyone else abide by my Golden Rule{Ask first, post later}

Disclaimer: Not mine. Need proof? Go ask the man with the huge office.

Summary: short vignette…a reflection, if you will, of ATY in Sydney's POV.

AN: just thought I'd note that this piece was completely unexpected. Inspired by a rising sun, or a hungering need, or perhaps both. That and I heard the lyrics to a song that made me want to cry. No beta, so bare with me.

"Hold on/Hold on to yourself/Cause this is gonna hurt like hell" sarahmclachlan.holdon

[bare]

She felt naked.

The city was alive around her, and she was dead. The lights and sounds of the environment around her were foreign and faded. Noise reached her ears as an irritating buzz. A phone rang, and she knew it was hers.

She felt naked.

The plane was warm, but she was frozen. The woman next to her admired her fake auburn curls and her artificial green eyes, endlessly prattling on and on about European football and women's lacrosse. The flight attendant came by with her whiskey sour and touched her with concern, because she hadn't been acknowledged. Her eyes blankly stared out at the Atlantic, and her pupils began to drown in its endless lengths. Her vision was swallowed by a flood of tears that led her into a gentle slumber.

She felt naked.

The terminal was crowded, but she was alone. Confused tourists stood poised beneath the grid of flight arrivals and departures, staring up at the small lights in amazement. Men and women in expensive pressed suits brushed past her with an inconsiderate speed, lost in their own worlds of paperwork and figures.

She felt naked.

The neighborhood was her own, but she was lost. Girls jumped rope along the sidewalk and boys zoomed passed her with their paper airplanes. The nursing baby in her mother's arms was reminder of the life that she couldn't have while Arvin Sloane was still alive. The streets and the signs and the noise confused her tired mind as she followed the map in her head.

She felt naked.

The voice was loud, but she heard silence. It was familiar and urgent, caring and worried. Her father wanted to know if they'd made it, the both of them. Her eyes watered and she began to cry.

She felt naked.

The reflection was spotless, but she was dirty. She pulled the red wig off of her chestnut curls and threw the contacts into the trash with an unsteady hand. In the scalding hot water she scrubbed her dry skin, cleaning away her sins, washing away her pain. Her skin was red, but she kept on scrubbing.

She felt naked.

The church was holy, but she was a sinner. She didn't believe, she never believed, and she couldn't believe. Something brought her there and she strangely took comfort in the praying woman and their restless children around her. She didn't belong, she was out of place, and she was lost.

She felt naked.

The house was nearly empty but she was suffocating. A new claustrophobia brewed from somewhere within her and she was scared. Through her tears she heard Francie's concerned words, and she pushed her best friend away.

She felt naked.

The traffic didn't exist, but she drove slowly. The freeway faded into a highway and the four lanes merged into one. The road was long and lined with small towns but she didn't stop. She kept driving, she took a turnoff, she reached a cliff. The car was parked at the edge and she could see the ocean a safe distance below.

She jumped.

She felt naked.

She cried.

[end] I'm betting that this makes absolutely no sense. Good. Its not supposed to. Hope you enjoyed. Ask questions, and I'll get back to you with answers.