Rating: R for themes of self-harm.
Summary: It ws starting again, and she needed him more than ever.
Author's Notes: Part two of the one-shot - decided it needed a part two
It was beginning to happen more and more often lately. It had come back like a torrent, and there was nothing that she could do that was going to prevent it – not anymore, anyway. Something in her had given up, almost, and she didn’t want to do this anymore. She couldn’t fight the voices in her head that tell her this was the right thing to do. She couldn’t face that fact that this was going to be the end of her one day. One day soon.
Shaking hands held herself tight, standing on that lake’s edge, the rain was hammering down on her and she was scared, she wasn’t feeling the brisk cold that was flowing around her. She was just feeling the pain that was all over her. The anguish. It was something that she had become more and more used to and hated it. She wanted to know whether or not there was anything that could be done – probably not.
“You’re going to catch your death of cold,” that familiar voice spoke. One that she had not heard in so long. She wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not, she let herself cry – once more over that voice.
Those strong arms wrapped themselves around her and it was virtue once more. She leant back against them, breathing in the comforting scent of him. She felt herself heat up and realised just how cold she must have been. Of course, being in a thin t-shirt and pyjama bottoms probably didn’t help her. He took his coat off and wrapped it around her, pushing her into the warmth of the wool coat.
“It’s started again,” he said, more as a statement than anything else, and she nodded. She couldn’t stop it – not this time, not ever. She hated the fact that this was the only thing that made her feel sane and that it never happened anymore. She hated it.
“Come home with me, now,” he whispers and kisses her hair. He doesn’t let her have a choice before he scoops her up and leads her home, his arms were still as strong as she remembered, still had that same grip on her, the one that was so commanding but wasn’t enough to be too hard on her.
Opening the door with her in his arms, he had grown used to doing this, holding her in times of need. The last time she had been here with him, he rejected her, almost pushed her over the edge and had sworn never to do that to her again.
Sitting her on the edge of the bath, he wrapped a fluffy towel around her, he stroked her face, taking in the youthful features that always took him aback. He was always so surprised at how young she was – how young she seemed, but how much her demons had aged her. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, but he knew that he still cared about her as much as he did that first day he saw here there with blood stained sleeves.
“I want you to know you’re not alone anymore, you will never be alone ever again. I wish you could reach out to me more – wish it was as easy as it was. I’m sorry we lost contact, I really am.” He always landed the blame on himself, it was easier that way, she was so fragile, he would take fault in both of their mistakes. He hated seeing her like this, he hated having to watch her fight her own demons as well as take on the worries of the world.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, her body was still in shock from the cold, but she knew she was as lucid as ever – knew this is what she wanted, had longed for all these years. Just a kiss.
His lips hesitantly pressed against hers, he wasn’t sure quite what he was doing anymore. He should have said no, shouldn’t have given into this, but he wanted it to, had craved it from the moment he held her in his arms in the hospital waiting room when she had cut her wrists a little too deep, he ahd whispered how stupid she had been into her hair, whilst cradling her and telling her that it would all be okay.
Their lips met softly, passion was burning throughout their bodies, he could feel her tensing up next to him, her arms wrapped around him tightly, fingers playing with the bottom of his hair. He kissed her slowly and let all the passion, the tension between them filter into the kiss.
It lasted for a minute or so before she pulled away, resting her head on his chest. He knew that this was the end of it all. Knew that this was going to be it.
The last kiss.
Three weeks later, he found himself standing in the back of the church, dressed in black, keeping out of sight, watching as the people closest to her mourned her, her boyfriend crying, mumbling that he would never forget her, that she would always be the one for him. He knew that wouldn’t last. He watched as her parents mourned a child that they have outlived, sisters and brothers that were scared that she had left them, but she had gone to a better place.
He stood there, numb. He had lost his everything. The gaping hole in his chest grew by the hour. He didn’t know just how much love he held for her, but it was clear now that he had lost something special. He wouldn’t say how selfish she was being, not like everyone else had. He paid his respects in silence and hoped that she was now truly at peace.
She was holding out for him, waiting. For that final kiss. Her permission to leave.