A/N: Dark and angsty, people. I'm a bit hesitant, but here goes. Could be considered an outtake from chapter 3 of my current story we fall through the gaps, but also works by itself. Lyrics from Radiohead's No Surprises.
[REPOSTED.]
pieces
'a heart that's full up like a landfill.
a job that slowly kills you.
bruises that won't heal.'
...
Her finger glides over the safety.
On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
(And it's like her mind can't choose which one.)
She sees his smiling face over the balcony of a beautiful Tuscan villa, hands grasping the shoulders of a young boy with shockingly blonde hair and ice blue eyes. She stares into those eyes, and they stare back (keep looking looking looking don't stop) and she drowns, falling, and her hand scrabbles for a hold on anything, anyone.
He pulls her up. Tells her he loves her.
i know. love you too.
are you going to take care of me?
And she grins goofily because this is perfect, the three of them, and they are perfect, just playing hide-and-seek and running everywhere.
(I found you)
But then she wakes and JJ says 'good luck' and maybe she didn't hear quite right, but it sounded awfully like 'goodbye'.
Oh god, it hurts, it hurts so much.
.
It's dark now, and she walks away, far away.
Into a darkened room now, softly lit with candles, and she laughs because this gesture is really sweet, and she's chosen only to remember him as Ian, and she can only see the electric blue in his eyes, but they are shining.
He guides her to a homely antique wooden table and he starts telling her its story, and she laughs because it sounds absolutely ridiculous and he's probably made it all up. But she keeps laughing and she is happy and she forgets and thinks of nothing except this wonderful man in front of her.
lauren reynolds is a lie. lauren reynolds is dead.
(Did it have to be a wooden table?)
.
Her finger glides over the safety.
On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
She loves the cold. She remembers her grandfather's cabin in the Alps. Snow-capped mountains and fresh air.
She loves the cold. She remembers standing outside the church after Matthew. Blood drips freely.
She loves the cold. The metal presses against her forehead.
(It would be so fucking easy)
Except it's not.
.
She sees him more often than not. And it's strange (is it?), but when she sees him, it's pure elation.
It's euphoric, and she's like one of those pretty colourful dancers on the stage, leaping, twirling, arcing through the air, there is a rush, and she spins spins spins –
– breathes.
.
She wakes and her pillow is damp and moisture slides easily off metal.
The sun shines through, and it burns her (fire is blue) and she is so confused…
…but her tears dry yet again.
...
'i'll take a quiet life.
a handshake some carbon monoxide.
no alarms and no surprises.
no alarms and no surprises.
silent.'