Title: Time Passes
Author: Lioness Black
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine, just good fun.
Time passes. I knew that time passes. I probably knew better than anyone that time passes. Sure, everyone knew it, but no one had else had before sat around and wondered "When is this going to be over? Can I just stop feeling this now?"
Now we were all feeling it.
For the most part it was over. We were heroes. I would go on to be rich, rather handsome (if I do say so myself), and a general success. I could have whatever I wanted. These things ended up being a big house, five cars, supermodel girlfriends who didn't have half a brain to their name.
At seventeen.
No one else was really into it, but that was okay. I could be Animorphs spokesboy. I didn't mind. Everyone was paying attention to me, which is how I liked it. I wasn't class clown for nothing you know.
I had it all. I had success, I had cool stuff, I had my Dad and my Mom.
My mom. You know the story. I don't have to explain it to you. My mom is the reason I know what I know. The reason that I know better than anyone else.
Do you know how hard it is to be finally getting over something, to finally look back and see yourself go from when it happened to this moment. To look back and see how your wounds have healed over and you're just left with a big, nasty scar. It doesn't hurt anymore, but you can look at it and remember the pain.
But you don't have to look at it everyday.
Time passes, and you can look at the scar and see that you've accomplished something. You accomplished losing one of the most important people in your life and surviving.
Do you know how hard it is to be at that point, to ignore the scar, be amazed at the scar, but then have it ripped open a second time and have a vat of salt rubbed in it. They might as well just chop it off, because no one can survive that without a damn good reason.
I had a good reason. So we went for it and won.
But you can't accomplish anything without some cost. We didn't.
I had a big ugly scar, ripped open twice, healed over again, nastier than ever. Right next to it? There's another one. Maybe not as big, maybe not as nasty, but it was deep.
It's when you're sitting in your big empty house, thinking about your five cars, your stint on Leno, and the number of thread count on the streets you're currently sitting under, that's when your thoughts wander toward Rachel.
It's the mundane things. Why? Well, it was the mundane things before. It was the stupid comments. It was the banter, the bicker, the half-crush, the everything. This time it wasn't a trick. This time she was really dead and nothing could be done about it.
You don't have to wonder about whether or not you're going to get through this. You don't have to think about getting around it, when it's going to be over. You've accomplished it once, you can do it again.
Time passes. You're aware.
But when it hits deep, just when you thought you had it beat, you have to wonder if time is just a number. It may look healed, it may look like it's not as nasty, it might look like you're just living the good life, but it's deep. And deep down, deep in the bottom of it, it won't ever really heal. It will always be a big, messy bloody spot.
And I know a lot about blood.