A/N:
NOT A HAPPY FIC! NOT HAPPY! AT ALL!
Character death
NOT HAPPY
Suicide.
All my love,
CBC
Miranda hummed to herself as she brushed her teeth, watching in the mirror before she spit, rinsed, and put away her toothbrush.
Running her tongue over her slick teeth, she swallowed, and smiled at her reflection.
There truly wasn't anything left.
Stepping into her bedroom, she sat down on the bed and picked up her phone from the bedside table.
She called Caroline first, and left a short message, "I love you Bobbsey, have a good day at school tomorrow, and be sure to finish all your work. Mommy loves you, baby. I'm going to call Cassidy, then go to bed. I love you, Caroline."
Hanging up, she dialed her second daughter, and left another message, "I love you, Bobbsey, have a good day at school tomorrow, and be sure to get all your work done. Mommy loves you, baby. I've already called your sister, so I'm going to bed. I love you, Cassidy."
Hanging up again, she rolled her neck in a slow circle before releasing a sigh.
She hadn't seen her babies for four months. Not since Greg took them away from her.
Her heart broke, and a few tears slipped from her eyes.
It's not as if they'd ever called her since the change, they were much happier with their father. Four months, and not even a phone call back. She'd called them every night, and every night she wasn't answered.
Runway was flourishing, and growing, but Irv was still looking to get her removed... so nothing was ever remotely peaceful.
There truly wasn't anything left in the world.
Placing her phone back on the bedside table, she opened a drawer, and removed a stack of envelopes. Flipping through them quickly, she nodded to herself when they were all there. Placing them beside her phone, she took a deep breath before exhaling slowly, and grabbing the bottle she needed from a second drawer.
She counted the pills as she swallowed them.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
She laughed suddenly, ignoring the tears that were slowly beginning to streak down her cheeks.
Who would ever have thought the Devil herself would take the 'cowardly' way out.
Who would have ever put their money on Miranda Priestly sitting in bed and swallowing a deadly dose of Valium.
Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Well, they could all rot in hell.
Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
Stephen. Gregory. Irving.
Nineteen. Twenty.
Page Six and all the damn reporters.
Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three.
She'd watch from hell as Runway went up in smoke. She'd laugh and haunt their dreams. The perfectly kept Ice Queen had hidden her depression, and anxiety, from the world. Nobody but Gregory knew... fat lot of good that did for her.
Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six.
She was almost through the whole bottle... so she reached back into the drawer and pulled out her Prozac. Why not go out with a bang?
Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.
She'd written twenty-nine separate letters for various people. Her Will was with her lawyer. She'd had the perfect excuse to change and edit it after her divorce with Stephen. It was now fixed, and perfect. Nobody would be cheating her daughters out of their inheritance, or the charities out of the donations she would be making.
She swallowed her last Valium before opening her Prozac and beginning to swallow them as well.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Her most expensive clothes were being auctioned off. Half of the funds being spread out amongst charities, the other half added to her daughters' accounts. Her less expensive clothes were being donated to various women's homes. The childrens clothing she had would be donated to various orphanages, and foster care systems. She had rooms full of clothes. Hopefully someone would be made happy by getting a new outfit or two.
The grandfather clock rang out, and echoed in her lonely townhouse. Midnight.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.
She laughed again.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
She could feel her body beginning to slowly react to the consumption of so many pills.
Thirteen. Fourteen.
She gagged but swallowed down the bile.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
"Happy Mother's Day, Miranda." She spoke out loud into her quiet room.
Nineteen. Twenty.
There truly wasn't anything left for her in the world.
It was now midnight. Her daughters hadn't even bothered to call her on Mother's Day. She'd not gone into work, like she usually did... even on Sundays... because she never went into work on Mother's Day. She had been desperately hoping her daughters would call her, and they could go out for brunch, or an early dinner.
Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three.
"Devil ran away her Demon Spawn." She mocked the headline that had been in the papers the previous month.
Lying down, she swallowed two more pills, and submitted herself to her painful fate. Oh, she knew all about overdosing.
Her mother had overdosed on painkillers when she was eight.
Little Miranda had walked in, and the sheets had been soaked with vomit, and her mother had been lying in the middle, curled up and small.
"The apple never falls far from the tree..." she murmured as her stomach churned, and her death began.
There truly wasn't anything left in the world.
A/N: Right... so... that was depressing.
I really don't exactly know why I wrote it, but I did.
So then I posted it.
Reviews are loved and appreciated.
What did you think?
Man... imagine if I used my sad energy and continued to work on my other fic... I'd probably kill everyone... x_x
I'm sorry for my super long time to take updating G-D-T or H-A-H, I'm trying as hard as I can... but I'm still struggling to stay caught up in my classes.
Thanks for all your wonderful reviews on all of my work. (WOW! 'The Soldier' is ALMOST at 100! Thank you!)
All my love,
CBC
P.S. Happy Mother's Day.