Author's Note: With this story, I'm kind of flying blind. Unlike most of my stuff, this is completely unplanned so if it comes off confusing, I'm so terribly sorry. I'm writing what comes naturally and how it ends is as much as a surprise to me as it is for you. If anything ties in, it's completely coincidental. I'm usually much more literately efficient than this. That also means that any suggestions you might want to drop in the reviews would be greatly appreciated and taken into consideration!

To those who were like, how could Shelby do that with Rachel there? To be fair, she did try to make her leave quite forcefully.

I'M DANCING WITH DEATH, I SUPPOSE

Maybe I'm tired of the game

Of coming up short of the rules, of the shame

And maybe you feel that way too

I see me in you, a girl full of anger and hope

On the edge of waking, Rachel hears the sound of plastic, hollowed plastic, hitting the floor. Her eyes shake at the noise, waking her from that limbo between conscious states. She slowly sits up, startled by the waking noise that doesn't come from the television which is still playing the movie. "Mom?" she calls out, disturbed by her lack of presence in the room. She scans the room, mostly making out shadows from the dim light of the movie.

She gets out of bed, pushing the blanket off of her. "Shelby?" she tries instead, guessing on the woman's reluctance to answer while being addressed in such a way. From under the bathroom door, light peeks out and she makes her way across the room to knock on the door. "Mom, are you okay?" she asks, wondering if she's still ill from the alcohol. Without a reply, she knocks again, harder raps of her knuckles.

"Mom!" she repeats, a half yell. "Open the door!" She places her hand on the handle, turning it tentatively and softly pushing inwards. She spots her mother's legs spread loosely across the floor and swings it open.

Like most of the house, the bathroom is ultimately bare, filled only with essentials. Three empty pill bottles are sitting atop the sink, lids uncorked and at their sides. On the floor is the fourth bottle, the one she'd heard topple to the ground. Her mother lies, almost peacefully, across the floor, her head propped awkwardly against the walls.

"Mom," she says again, uncertainly as she falls to her knees. "Are you- wake up," she tells her, shaking her arm. There isn't even a shimmer of a response. "Mommy?" she says weakly, the reality of the situation setting in. She shakes her harder until her entire body rocks with the movement. "Wake up!" she yells at her, panicked. Her hands grab onto her mother's shoulders, rapidly asking her for some cooperation.

Running out of the room, she searches for a telephone. Each moment, she wastes in utter lunacy unable to spot the cordless phone sitting on the side table. Instead, she runs blindly passed it and grabs onto the one in the kitchen. The ringing is torturous, she stammers as she tells all the information asked of her. The questions come like a test she hasn't studied for and she takes, what seems to her like hours, to inform a three minute phone conversation. The woman on the other line is patient, understanding.

The woman informs her to check her breathing, her heart rate, to have the pill bottles at the ready. Rachel follows instructions effortlessly, as she always does, and waits with tear-stained cheeks and shaking arms upon the floor of the bathroom, holding her dying mother in her arms.

A girl with a mother who just couldn't cope

A girl who felt caught and thought no one could see

But maybe one day she'll be free

It's so lovely that you're sharing, no really, I'm all ears

The ambulance ride had to be one of the worst things Rachel had ever gone through. She sits in the cramped family seat, holding onto her mother's hand so tight she was cutting off circulation, what little there was of it. If she died on the ride over... Rachel simply couldn't handle that thought. All she can do, staring at her limp body is wonder and blame. She blames Shelby for being weak, blames herself for falling asleep, blames Quinn for ruining her mother's life, blames God for being a jackass, blames the paramedics for taking too long. The list is eternal, there's more than enough anger and accusation to go around.

But where has all this caring been for sixteen years?

For all those years I prayed that you'd go away for good

Half the time afraid that you really would

When I thought you might be dying I cried for all we'd never be

Shelby has her head lolled off to the side, seemingly peaceful if not for the restraints upon her wrist, holding her to the bed. Rachel protested this, but the doctor's had insisted on the precaution. She insisted her mother wasn't dangerous or violent, but the diva was particularly shaken and didn't make much of a case. Regardless, they had told her, Shelby was a danger to herself.

The woman slowly opens her eyes, immense pain upon her torso. She's disoriented, tired, in agony, trying to make sense of things. She barely moves, it would take too much effort to do so. Within her line of blurry sight, she makes out two figures in the room, the padded sound of their voices becoming a bit more clear.

"Daddy, please!" cries Rachel, stamping her foot to the ground. "I'm not going anywhere, she needs me!"

"Honeybear, she clearly has no care for what she's putting you through. She's a grown woman, she can take care of herself," replies the man with greying hair, putting a hand to his daughter's shoulder.

Rachel though, shrugs his hand away and takes a step back. "No, she can't," she replies, crossing her arms across her chest. "She's all alone," Rachel murmurs, heartbroken. It's pity, Shelby realizes. She's in the mood of self-wallowing, and she knew unrequited love from anyone couldn't be true. What her daughter passes off as love is pity, a mere sense of obligation to be there for her.

"You can't single-handedly fix her life," Hiram pleads. "You haven't been home in three days, let's go, you can rest and if nothing comes of it, you can come visit her tomorrow. You've done everything you can for her; brought her here, called her parents, got a therapist at her ready. Now, you need to take care of yourself."

"She needs more than a therapist and a mother I've called who told me, 'it was just a matter of time before she did it'! How can you be so heartless? I'm all she has."

"All she's done is cause you pain! I know you want a mom, baby, but she can't magically fill a void. You want her to be part of your family, I get it, but it's not that simple."

"I'm not leaving, but you're welcome to at any time, daddy," Rachel says finitely, turning around to go back to her mother's side and notices she's awake. "Mom! You're awake! I was so scared."

Shelby swallows thickly at being noticed and looks away, not able to find her voice and not sure she even wants to.

"I'm going to get a doctor, okay?" Rachel says. Shelby shakes her head, then reaches out to grab her hand; the side of the bed rattles at the pull of the cuffs. "What?" Rachel asks of her, but she turns her head away once again. A sense of sadness crosses the girl's face.

Silence passes over the room and Shelby looks up at the man in the doorway. She can't read his expression though, not even sure she wants to know what he's thinking. She turns away again, a cocktail of shame and anger.

"Daddy," Rachel says quietly, looking over to the man. He glances at her, and for about a moment he seems ready to say something, but instead he nods and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. Silence again. Shakily, Rachel reaches to enclose her hand upon her mother's. Shelby recoils, but without much leeway, she can't force the hand away. The teenager's dark eyes bore into her. "Why?" the girls questions, a tremble of her lips.

"Why?" Shelby repeats, incredulous. Rachel only sits there, waiting for the answer. But it doesn't come. "Why didn't you let me die?" Shocked, Rachel gapes at her mother; how can she even ask that question?

"I know you're hurting, but-"

"But? But what?" she swallows harshly. "I'm so tired, Rachel. I just-"

"Okay, then get some rest and we can continue talking-"

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm tired of this bullshit. I can't-"

"I understand how bad you feel, but life is worth living, it'll get better and you'll get through this. Just like you get through everything. I believe in-"

"You have no idea what I've been through! I'm just done. I'm tired. I'm tired of 'getting through' things. I'm tired of waiting for something better... I have nothing left."

"You have me."

Shelby doesn't respond. Rachel truly believes that statement. But it's not true. And Shelby simply can't bring herself to take that away from her.

Author's Note: -does the review dance- It's a real dance, I swear.