Broken Glass
If this were a story then someone would enter right about now.
If this were a story then someone would have heard the cries of frustration, the dull thuds of fists hitting the walls, the crash of glasses shattering.
If this were a story then the door would fly open to reveal someone here to save her from herself.
If this were a story then they would be shocked, but understanding. They would hold her and soothe her. Everyone would rally around, they would be there for her, and no one would question her actions.
If it were a story then there would be no reports to fill, no room full of disapproving senior officers watching every move she made. No one would dare suggest that her sanity was slipping; that the pressures of command were becoming too much, that she was out of line.
But it wasn't a story. It was life.
There was no one to pick up the shards of glass but her. If she went to the doctor with the cuts on her foot he wouldn't sit her down and make her discuss her problems, he would patch her up and send her on her way.
If someone entered her quarters right now they wouldn't react with sympathy but with horror, the rumours would begin, no one would trust her state of mind.
If she finally lost control, if she raged at those closest to her and let some of the stress building in her mind boil over they wouldn't "understand."
She didn't blame them.
If someone told her that they loved her then that wouldn't equal a happy ending. Relationships aren't happy endings; in fact they aren't endings at all. They're work, they're compromise. And she'd be damned if she had time for either. It was all very well for them they could tut at her for forsaking herself but if she made the slightest selfish action they she knew how they would react. Just look at Michael Sullivan, just look at Kashyk. Both experiments in another life, both universally disdained.
They expected everything.
They expected nothing.
She be damned if she'd give them either.
If life were a story then someone would open the door right now and run to her. They would pick her up and ease her burden and they would live happily ever after with no more hardships.
But this was not a story and she had to pick up her own broken glass.