Disclaimer: All characters belong to JJ Abrams, Bad Robot, and probably hoards of other talented people who deserve the credit (i.e. not me).
Title: I Need to Believe
Author: SilverTree
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Post 'Reunion'
Author's Notes: This is my first-ever fanfic, so puh-leeze be gentle with me. I noticed that several other authors have recently posted 'journal-writing-as-therapy' type of stories about our favorite agent, so I hope I'm not stepping on any toes! Seriously, I've been working on this for awhile and no stylistic infringement is intended J Please read & review, I would be honored to hear what you think.
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The therapist tells me that writing this journal will help me to deal with losing two years of my life. I'm all for progress, don't get me wrong, but I'm not sure what this is supposed to accomplish. But my father really needs to see me trying, and I'm seeing the therapist for his benefit, so here we are.
I found that I can't listen to music anymore. Forget the CD that Marshall gave me, I can't even tolerate the CD's that used to be my favorites. They used to be a comfort, an escape. And now I can't imagine a time when I could listen to them and feel anything but pain.
I remember that I used to love taking long candlelit baths, letting music wash over my skin like the scented bubbles in the tub. I'd lay my head back against the porcelain and feel the tension draining out through my fingertips. Feeling the music swirling around me in gentle currents, drawn in with every breath. And then I'd open my eyes, and Vaughn would be there. He'd dip his finger into a glass of rich red wine and trace my lips, letting me taste the wine on his skin. And his gaze, the most intimate contact by far. Trailing over the sudsy surface of the water, filling in details from memory wherever the bubbles obscured his view, he would bring a flush to my body that couldn't be blamed on the hot water...
And then I jerked awake in a tub of lukewarm water, in the unfamiliar bathroom of my new apartment. Alone.
The music had comforted me in the only way it knew how - it had carried me away to a place where I was happier than I ever will be again. Away from the stark, cold reality of losing my mother, Francie, Will... and Vaughn. It made me remember how it felt to be safe and loved. Strangely, out of all the memories that are missing, those are the ones I wish I could be rid of. This would all be so much easier if I didn't remember how good I had it for such a short time. If I didn't cry every time I thought about Vaughn holding Lauren in his arms, kissing her instead of me. Loving her instead of me. Married to her instead of me.
Two years. It sounds like a long time, even to me. I wonder if I'll be in love with someone else two years from now? Someone I haven't even met yet. I try to imagine this pain fading into the background, growing softer and lighter as time goes by, until I can take a deep breath without feeling the weight of it crushing me. Will I be able to listen to music then? Will I be able to enjoy the things I used to share with him? It seems impossible, but the proof of it is staring me in the face every time I glance at Vaughn's left hand. It happened for him.
Tonight, I'm just going to try to sleep for an hour or two. I'm going to try not to cry. I'm going to try not to dream. If I can do those things tonight, then maybe I'll be able to believe that this is somehow going to get easier. That I can live without him. That I didn't die in that safehouse in Hong Kong. That my miraculously saved life is somehow worth living. I need to believe that. It has to be true, doesn't it?
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