A/N: I didn't even mean for this chapter to be this angsty, I'm so sorry! Tw: grief
Thank you to sabrina, Yuiiub, LostinLove97, Jaxton and AarumaA for their reviews on Chapter Eleven.
"Laura."
You'd been smiling when you'd picked up her call, but the silly grin that you always get when you hear her voice fades away as soon as she speaks. She's never said your name like that before, with such urgency with such despair.
She says your name like it's a lifeline, like it's the only thing holding her together.
Her ragged breathing echoes down the phone.
"Carm, hey Carm, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here."
There's silence on her end, and your heart rate begins to pick up-you know that Carmilla is still grieving; you know she is not okay. But sometimes, somehow, you just don't know how to be there for her.
Because how can you fix something like this? How can you fix something that can never be fixed, that will forever remain broken?
You begin to talk then, hoping to temporarily bandage the wound that has been festering for over a year.
You speak of all the things you love in your life- Doctor Who, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, LaF and Perry, dogs, cats, the walk you took in the park the other day (and it had been a great one, the sun shining through the trees in dappled brilliance) and of course you tell Carmilla how much you love her. You tell her how wonderful and beautiful she is and how she deserves to live, that she deserves life.
And Carmilla breathes, whispering her thanks. You begin to hurry around your apartment now, frantically pulling on your shoes (you can't find your socks, or any shoes and in your desperation you pull on a horrible pair of crocs you got for Christmas one year) as you keep talking to Carmilla about anything and everything.
"Creampuff." The softest of murmurs.
"Yes, Carm?"
"Will you just come over, please, before you combust from all that rambling?"
"Hey I do NOT ramble, I articula-"
"Laura."
/
When you reach her apartment, Carmilla is sitting on her small bed, leaning against the headboard and gazing out the window.
(You'd exchanged keys a couple of weeks ago and you'd let yourself in.)
Carmilla remains unmoving on her bed as you walk over to her.
Bagheera, her mean old orange tom cat is on her lap, looking remarkably like Crookshanks from Harry Potter. The cat affixes you with a terrifying orange stare as you timidly sit down beside Carmilla.
You take her hand, her fingers lose in yours.
"Carm?"
Still she persists in looking out the window. Bagheera begins to growl softly, a low deep purr as Carmilla runs her other hand absently through his thick fur.
You sit like that for an age, perched awkwardly on the end of her bed, as she gazes blankly at the dark, grey buildings outside her apartment. A pigeon begins to wheel lazily, up, around and past her window, and her dark eyes track it blankly.
"It's Will's Birthday today." Her voice is the merest croak of a whisper and she continues to stare fixedly at that pigeon.
(Bagheera, imitates Carmilla, clearly fascinated by the winged creature.)
"He was such a dork you know? We'd always pretend like we hated each other, we'd always be fighting and calling each other stupid nicknames. God I couldn't stand to be in the same room as him for more than five minutes at a time when we were teenagers."
"But when it came to stuff that mattered, stuff that we cared about…we were…always there for each other. So I guess I loved him, in my own screwed up way. And now he's dead."
Bagheera silently leaps off Carmilla's lap and slinks away to a hidden corner of the small apartment. You timidly move closer to Carmilla and place an arm around her shoulders, gently rubbing your hand up and down her arm.
"I'm here."
She leans into you and closes her eyes. It will have to be enough, your mere presence because you cannot tell her that you're sorry (although you are) because that will not make it better and nothing ever will.
Bagheera meows from a corner.
"What would Will do, if he was here right now?"
Carmilla laughs thickly, and looks to the window once again. "He'd be hitting on you like the creep that he was, the idiot. But for his birthday, we'd usually just bicker a lot. Sometimes I'd bake him a cake and put something stupid on it, like 'You survived another year, Fresh Meat.' Although I guess that doesn't apply any more, does it?" She laughs again. The pigeon begins to fly dizzy, demented circles in the air.
(You wonder vaguely where the rest of its flock is.)
You begin to gently comb your fingers through her hair as she looks at the window once again.
Carmilla Karnstein had been a mystery to you at first, a puzzle that you couldn't understand. But being with her was something else entirely. On the surface she seemed like bad news in black leather pants, but over the few months you'd got to know her you'd realised that she was a beautiful, amazing dork. A dork who had been hurt, but your dork, and you would help her through it.
Carmilla's breaths begin to come in ragged gasps, but still she does not cry.
"Carmilla."
She nods slightly into your shoulder.
"Do you remember that time last week when we had an ice-cream fight?"
Carmilla hiccups and chuckles slightly, her breathing slows. "It's hard to forget having vanilla ice-cream dribbling down your favourite shirt creampuff. It took days for my hair to return to its former glory after having sundae surprise in it."
"Hey you were the one that started it."
"Cupcake. You said that Spike and Buffy were a better couple then Buffy and Faith."
"I just think that Spuffy had great chemistr-"
"Oh so is this your way of making me feel better? By talking about fictional not-lesbians?"
"Is it working?'
Carmilla pauses and smiles, a dark little, self-loathing smile.
(You know that a part of her hates herself for showing you her vulnerability. You know a part of her hates herself for being alive when her family was not.)
Finally, Carmilla murmurs: "I do love you, you know that, right Laura?"
You nod and Carmilla smiles weakly at you because you both know that sometimes, love is not enough.
(And that sometimes it hurts.)
A/N: Yeah I'm sorry. If you want to come whine to me about my shitty updating schedule and all the angst, it's .com!