A/N- A result of listening to too much evanescence (taking over meeeeeeeee). Tis more personal than anything I've written very lately, Luka's darker thoughts on the carby relationship. Could be set many places in season 9 as is very brief on actual detail, so no actual spoilers in there folks. Tis very short, shorter than most things I've written, but hopefully is short and bitter. Many thanks to everyone, and as always to Annie for being an amazing beta. So review, and leave me your two cents, because they cost you so little and mean so much to me. To risk being a little Cathi-esque…..peace xXx
There are some things which are left unsaid. Always. There are some things which we were never meant to say, others that we wanted to, yet never could. So are we cowardly? Certainly. Are we perfect? No. We all have cracks on our surface, every one of us - the popular teenager, the doting mother. What gets us through the days is how we relish in the faults of others. The surge of happiness which we get when we see another fail. That surge which we try to hide beneath our calm, collected exterior. It never truly leaves us, yet remains dormant at times, even when we consider ourselves content. Although it is at those content times when we begin to contemplate what might have happened, had we not left so many things unsaid.
'Hey Abby, how are things?' I ask, hoping to prompt a somewhat negative response.
'Just a little tired, you know…long shift…no coffee?' she says, that hint of sarcasm once more apparent in her voice. I grin sheepishly at her, before responding,
'No, I meant…with Carter.' It isn't that I want her back, I was never happy with her, I just resent that Carter could make her happier that I could, love her better than I could. Her firm, unknowing yet brisk response that things are 'okay' delights me, I relish in it. The word 'okay' suggests that things are bland, emotionless, that there's a gaping hole.
She sighs and says that he's going through a hard time, and I can't help but wonder why she isn't there with him, struggling through it all. She doesn't just say 'he', she calls him 'John' and her voice softens and becomes suddenly so delicate. I hate that. I hate how she never said my name like that. I hate how I was just 'Luka'. Never 'Luka'.
I sit and watch as he comes into work, throwing sideways glances in her direction, lingering, but not confident enough to walk up to her and confront her. I enjoy watching how awkward to two of them are, and begin to treat it like a sport of some sort, as I sit at the edge, merely a spectator, watching and waiting for the game to really begin.
Some people say it's weird, I say it's therapeutic. Spectating is always so much more fun than being in the thick of the action. To enjoy the game, without having to experience the personal risk of it. To enjoy it, yet be able to let it go when it finishes, not to have to help clear the mess.
To risk is to gamble, and to gamble is to give yourself the chance to lose. To lose everything that you spent so much time obtaining in the first place. The years make you wiser, the years make you bitter. We are all weak, we all fail, yet through the jagged cracks in our calm exterior, we allow others to see into our soul. In the end, what we leave unsaid can be heard just as easily as what we do say. Age does not interfere with human nature, and so we can be left with a choice, to accept and show how we love to see others fail, or to hide our inner thoughts and dismiss them as a forbidden desire.
