Title: Unstable
Author: Amanda
Rating: PG
Summary: A really short Sydney POV vignette. ATY. No Vaughn (sacrilege, I know)!
Classification: angst
Feedback: Of course!
Distribution: Please let me know
Disclaimer: Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone, and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions. My fic is merely a form of worship of their handiwork.
Notes: Robin, you're a rock star! Thanks always for your encouragement, patience and invaluable feedback.
*****
I can taste my own blood.
My tongue explores the smooth edges of the cut on my lip as I try not to listen to this woman. I rattle the chains that bind my ankles and concentrate on the sound to drown out her voice.
She used to be one of the people who kept me sane. One of the people whose purity and goodness upheld my sense of right and wrong, like the legs of the solid oak dining table I used to hide under as a child. One of the people who began disappearing, one by one, starting with Danny.
Losing Danny sent me reeling. But I found a new purpose, eventually, and I held on to his memory for strength. I was shaken, but standing.
Then she was next. My mother, the essence of love and light and all that was good in the world. She didn't disappear; she never existed. I started to teeter.
"What could she ever say that would satisfy you?" My father. He's not like them, tangible and pure and solid. He's like me, shades of gray and misty uncertainty. We sacrificed our purity to preserve it in others. It used to make sense. Oh Daddy, you were right! I've made a terrible mistake. I was unstable, losing control. I was so stupid. I can't listen to her. I'll be lost. I can't.
But I'm running out of people to prop me up.
Will – my rock – won't ever trust me again. I failed him. And what's worse, I won't ever trust him completely. I can't help it. Secrets have a way of coming out, and one slip like Danny's would destroy me. But – oh God – what if I've already destroyed him?
Who's left? Francie? How long can a one-legged table stand? How long can a broken kite resist the pull of gravity? My mother's voice is tugging on the string, and I can feel myself falling, down and down. Faster and faster.
I can taste my own blood.