The Rest is Silence
Story Title: The Rest is Silence
Story Summary: There's still a lot in her life. Her job almost makes her grin a little some days. Then, there's the chase, capture, and sex with random strangers. But, the rest… the rest of her life is nothing but silence.
Genre: Angst
Chapter Focus: #848 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "The Rest is Silence"
Chapter Rating: T
Word Count: 650+
Spoilers: for "Lucky 13"
Author's Starting Notes: The Rest is Silence is another thing I've managed to write during my angst-a-palooza. This is centered on Remy and focuses on the pattern her life seems to have taken on. I hope you enjoy it, and if you do (even if you don't), I'd love to hear your comments.
And, if you like Thirteen, try checking Hadley_Fest by going to my profile. It's gonna be wicked.
Time Stamp: Posted 12th of January 2009
(#848)
Her body spasms violently, jerking from deep within the confines of her soul. Her breath comes out ragged and uneven as her lungs try fruitlessly to get the oxygen needed for survival. Purple splotches appear within her vision making everything blur and disappear. The blood pumping through her veins speeds to levels that should not be reached. Despite all of this, she feels free, like she's floating through a sea of bliss and euphoria. She feels disconnected from everything around her, as if experiencing this through another's eyes. Almost as if in a dream. Only it isn't a dream, not even a nightmare.
The wave of freedom breaks, pulling along the rough sands of life. Slowly, her jerky movements quell, and her pulse and breathing even out. She keeps her eyes closed tightly, in hopes of not having to return. But, she opens them eventually. Reality crashes back into her like a freight train the second her gaze focuses on the smug face of the no-named woman in her bed. The woman opens her mouth to speak, but Remy hears nothing. Lips move forming words. Ears wait, catching no sound at all.
The familiarity of the sensation makes her feel a bit better. She is used to it now, this inane cloak that covers her life so disastrously. No Name reaches for her, and she withdraws herself back into the safety box of unresponsiveness. Inside, nothing can get to her for she is alone. It is the companionship of her thoughts that makes the place a safe haven. Nothing can get out either.
Remy stares at her guest blankly; unsure if kicking her out this early is suitable. Certainly the girl won't mind so much. Remy decides against it. The woman will leave when she feels up for it, as all the rest do.
Every night goes in the same pattern. She clocks out at five, is dressed by six, out by six-fifteen, and back in by nine-thirty. She practically has given herself a bedtime. If only she could sleep.
Ever since her diagnosis, she moves around in a haze that leaves practically everyone in her company uncomfortable. They don't feel that way at first. None of them do. They are carefree when the offer of drinks arises, and when their bodies meet on the dance floor. They're still in that realm when they're on the way home and, still, while writhing on the lush mattress. It never seems to catch them until afterwards, when the thrill of everything has died down.
Uncomfortable and awkward, people eventually pull away, seeking refuge from her non-existent personality outside of her apartment. The second the door closes, it consumes her completely.
Don't get it wrong, there is still a lot in her life. Her job, for one thing, almost makes her grin a little some days. And, the satisfaction that comes from the chase, capture, and sex with random strangers is enough to get her to smirk at the very least. But, the rest… the rest of her life is nothing but silence. Silence accompanied by a dull buzz of noiseless chatter and faceless people.
She isn't so sure when she became to so in tune to the silence that she stopped paying attention to the world around her, instead hiding in the fuzzy box it provided. She just knows that her hiding causes people to see her correctly, for what she is. It is only in her safety box that they see what it is she has become; an empty shell trapped in a dome of milky darkness that leaves her eyes damp and her skin cold.
One day, the shaking won't mean good sex. Some day, the uneven breath won't even out again. On this day, though, all that is leads up to the giant fuzzy box in the sky. One may call it heaven. She calls it continued silence.
© Everything written above belongs to me (FF user, Paint Me a Symphony). If somebody is out there pushing this as their own, they are lying. I may not own House M.D, or its characters, but I do own this.