A/N: If I'm seven shades of unsure about this installment, you should see me quiver in my little boots about posting the next one!
A/N: Heather - cheers! Heh I love it!
*
Psychosis: Revelations
*
She often sat by the window on the ledge and stared outside into the bleak skies overhead, out into the city, the grey buildings piling on top of her darkened heart. Tears caused her to feel so tired - so tired, but yet she couldn't sleep. She couldn't sleep, nor could she eat. Dark shadows decorated the undersides of her eyes and a permanent blank expression was installed on her face at all times.
An inexplicable feeling fell in at the pit of her stomach. She felt hungry but she knew she could not eat; she felt somewhat insatiated yet still without the desire to be so. It confused her. Loneliness washed over once more and she could almost feel it physically push her towards the window; ever towards the window.
Tug on the glass pane, step on the ledge, lean a little forward, over the edge. So simple yet so impossibly difficult. She'd never have the courage to do it.
Pressure as a hand was placed on her shoulder told her that the 'love of her life' had just entered the room, in that magical way he did. Appearing out of nowhere and directly behind her, he always seemed to know when she was in turmoil. Soothingly, he used his thumb to gently knead at her shoulder blade, massaging her pain away. Little things, caring things... he could always make her feel better. Perhaps he couldn't quell her fears, hurts, agonies and frustrations permanently, but he was perfect for instant temporary forgetfulness.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" he asked her, his voice low and whispered.
She didn't reply for a long time, her mind completely elsewhere. It frequently was nowadays. Her partner often had to repeat himself to her, and sometimes it was near impossible to get her to understand a word he said. She was so out of it all the time, as if she was drugged to the extremes. She was a zombie, a shadow of the woman she used to be, of her past, of who she was only years before... before, when he'd first fallen in love with her.
"Paige," she replied uncertainly. It'd been so long since she'd seen her sister that impossible as it seems, she was beginning to forget her personality, who she was. She was even beginning to forget her own personality, preferring to live as if in a dull shock, day by day. "Can I have a yoghurt?"
Her childlike tones and the suddenness with which she switched from one serious subject to one of complete irrelevance didn't take him by surprise. She'd been acting this way for a long time, moody, depressed, regressing back into when she was younger, often flooded by memories from her past that simply wouldn't die.
Looking into her hopeful eyes, he hardened his own gaze. Why was this happening to him - to her? He had often found himself regretting his choice of the struggle he'd gone through to be with her. Not that he regretted it immensely, but sometimes he couldn't help but get a taste of the little "if only" factor.
Of course, his mind soon changed. Who could remain angry at this fragile human being? Relenting under her persistent stare, he took a single step backwards and clenched his jaw. "Of course you can," he told her. "What flavour?"
She thought hard about his question, as if it may affect her existence on this planet if she made the wrong choice. A childhood memory of her sister Prue flashed into her mind and she smiled. "Peach," she requested. Now she could think back to what happened and laugh. Prue had gotten into such trouble for pouring peach yoghurt down Phoebe's back and Piper had felt sorry for Prue and brought her a cookie. It was their entire relationship embodied - or so she thought at this particular moment in time.
When she raised her lowered eyes to meet his, perhaps tilt her head, inviting his lips unto her own, he was gone. A scowl replaced the smooth look on her face as anger fell over her. Abandoner. That's what he was. He always left, without a word of goodbye, without any hint of his return - even whether he would return at all, just... Disappearing Man. And he claimed to love her? Ridiculous!
Reaching over, she undid the catch on the window and gave it a small timid push. It swung open with a creak, spreading out and reaching away from the house, as if in escape. She wanted to escape too. This life she led now, this was escape. However she'd always thought that escape would mean her access to a happier, better world. But she wasn't happy. And she wasn't better.
To keep balance, she stood up off the window ledge then clambered back up onto it on her hands and knees, grounding herself firmly. Her darting palms pawed their way closer to the outside and soon clung onto the thin metal strip which marked the bottom of the window. Leaning forwards, she thrust her head outside and found herself buffeted by a huge blast of icey cold wind. Immediately she retracted back into the house, shying away from the discomfort of outside.
How did that cold, painful feeling symbolise freedom? Freedom was supposed to be something beautiful, liberating and wonderful. What she'd experienced was sheer displeasure. For a flash moment she loathed the outdoors, detested fresh air; looking out the window and recoiling with abhorrance.
No. She was being silly. She needed to sleep, her eyes were so hot and still sticky from the tears that they begged her to close them and drift off to sleep, perhaps for an entire week. That would be proper escape, she decided.
Smiling a little with her idea, she left the window wide open as she entered the bathroom and wandered over to the medicine cabinet. Several bottles of pills occupied the shelves, nothing important, just painkillers and cough sweets. Still, it was worth a shot. Anything to let her be asleep and out of this place!
Perhaps she would dream, dream of the old days when she was younger. Perhaps she would dream of the future when she would be happy at last. Perhaps she would dream of Prue. She'd like that. She lifted a packet of paracetamol caplets out of the cabinet and turned on the water which gurgled down the sink. There was an empty cup beside the sink and she filled this with the water.
Popping several caplets out from their sealed, protective pods, she placed one on her tongue before quickly taking a swig of the water, knowing how repulsive the painkiller's taste was once it began to dissolve. Killing pain. She hoped it did exactly as the title promised.
She repeated the process five times before her lover opened the door and cried her name in shock.
Dashing over to her aid, Cole snatched the emptying box of paracetamol from Phoebe's hand and knocked the water out of her grasp, splashing it right down the mirror of the cabinet above the sink.
With tears in his eyes, he looked into her own, trying to search out any ounce of sanity she had left. How was she so affected by what happened to her sisters? She should be her normal self, not just the same as them! What had gone wrong?
His heart stretched and wrenched inside him as Phoebe slowly began to sob, toppling forwards into him and letting him support her. He would always support her.
A/N: Heather - cheers! Heh I love it!
*
Psychosis: Revelations
*
She often sat by the window on the ledge and stared outside into the bleak skies overhead, out into the city, the grey buildings piling on top of her darkened heart. Tears caused her to feel so tired - so tired, but yet she couldn't sleep. She couldn't sleep, nor could she eat. Dark shadows decorated the undersides of her eyes and a permanent blank expression was installed on her face at all times.
An inexplicable feeling fell in at the pit of her stomach. She felt hungry but she knew she could not eat; she felt somewhat insatiated yet still without the desire to be so. It confused her. Loneliness washed over once more and she could almost feel it physically push her towards the window; ever towards the window.
Tug on the glass pane, step on the ledge, lean a little forward, over the edge. So simple yet so impossibly difficult. She'd never have the courage to do it.
Pressure as a hand was placed on her shoulder told her that the 'love of her life' had just entered the room, in that magical way he did. Appearing out of nowhere and directly behind her, he always seemed to know when she was in turmoil. Soothingly, he used his thumb to gently knead at her shoulder blade, massaging her pain away. Little things, caring things... he could always make her feel better. Perhaps he couldn't quell her fears, hurts, agonies and frustrations permanently, but he was perfect for instant temporary forgetfulness.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" he asked her, his voice low and whispered.
She didn't reply for a long time, her mind completely elsewhere. It frequently was nowadays. Her partner often had to repeat himself to her, and sometimes it was near impossible to get her to understand a word he said. She was so out of it all the time, as if she was drugged to the extremes. She was a zombie, a shadow of the woman she used to be, of her past, of who she was only years before... before, when he'd first fallen in love with her.
"Paige," she replied uncertainly. It'd been so long since she'd seen her sister that impossible as it seems, she was beginning to forget her personality, who she was. She was even beginning to forget her own personality, preferring to live as if in a dull shock, day by day. "Can I have a yoghurt?"
Her childlike tones and the suddenness with which she switched from one serious subject to one of complete irrelevance didn't take him by surprise. She'd been acting this way for a long time, moody, depressed, regressing back into when she was younger, often flooded by memories from her past that simply wouldn't die.
Looking into her hopeful eyes, he hardened his own gaze. Why was this happening to him - to her? He had often found himself regretting his choice of the struggle he'd gone through to be with her. Not that he regretted it immensely, but sometimes he couldn't help but get a taste of the little "if only" factor.
Of course, his mind soon changed. Who could remain angry at this fragile human being? Relenting under her persistent stare, he took a single step backwards and clenched his jaw. "Of course you can," he told her. "What flavour?"
She thought hard about his question, as if it may affect her existence on this planet if she made the wrong choice. A childhood memory of her sister Prue flashed into her mind and she smiled. "Peach," she requested. Now she could think back to what happened and laugh. Prue had gotten into such trouble for pouring peach yoghurt down Phoebe's back and Piper had felt sorry for Prue and brought her a cookie. It was their entire relationship embodied - or so she thought at this particular moment in time.
When she raised her lowered eyes to meet his, perhaps tilt her head, inviting his lips unto her own, he was gone. A scowl replaced the smooth look on her face as anger fell over her. Abandoner. That's what he was. He always left, without a word of goodbye, without any hint of his return - even whether he would return at all, just... Disappearing Man. And he claimed to love her? Ridiculous!
Reaching over, she undid the catch on the window and gave it a small timid push. It swung open with a creak, spreading out and reaching away from the house, as if in escape. She wanted to escape too. This life she led now, this was escape. However she'd always thought that escape would mean her access to a happier, better world. But she wasn't happy. And she wasn't better.
To keep balance, she stood up off the window ledge then clambered back up onto it on her hands and knees, grounding herself firmly. Her darting palms pawed their way closer to the outside and soon clung onto the thin metal strip which marked the bottom of the window. Leaning forwards, she thrust her head outside and found herself buffeted by a huge blast of icey cold wind. Immediately she retracted back into the house, shying away from the discomfort of outside.
How did that cold, painful feeling symbolise freedom? Freedom was supposed to be something beautiful, liberating and wonderful. What she'd experienced was sheer displeasure. For a flash moment she loathed the outdoors, detested fresh air; looking out the window and recoiling with abhorrance.
No. She was being silly. She needed to sleep, her eyes were so hot and still sticky from the tears that they begged her to close them and drift off to sleep, perhaps for an entire week. That would be proper escape, she decided.
Smiling a little with her idea, she left the window wide open as she entered the bathroom and wandered over to the medicine cabinet. Several bottles of pills occupied the shelves, nothing important, just painkillers and cough sweets. Still, it was worth a shot. Anything to let her be asleep and out of this place!
Perhaps she would dream, dream of the old days when she was younger. Perhaps she would dream of the future when she would be happy at last. Perhaps she would dream of Prue. She'd like that. She lifted a packet of paracetamol caplets out of the cabinet and turned on the water which gurgled down the sink. There was an empty cup beside the sink and she filled this with the water.
Popping several caplets out from their sealed, protective pods, she placed one on her tongue before quickly taking a swig of the water, knowing how repulsive the painkiller's taste was once it began to dissolve. Killing pain. She hoped it did exactly as the title promised.
She repeated the process five times before her lover opened the door and cried her name in shock.
Dashing over to her aid, Cole snatched the emptying box of paracetamol from Phoebe's hand and knocked the water out of her grasp, splashing it right down the mirror of the cabinet above the sink.
With tears in his eyes, he looked into her own, trying to search out any ounce of sanity she had left. How was she so affected by what happened to her sisters? She should be her normal self, not just the same as them! What had gone wrong?
His heart stretched and wrenched inside him as Phoebe slowly began to sob, toppling forwards into him and letting him support her. He would always support her.