Well, i had sudden inspiration for this one shot last night. it's kinda long, but i hope you like it. and i know some people read a one shot and then think, oh that was nice, and move on without commenting, but i'd really appreciate it if you tell me what you think. i mean seriously how long does it take to type, 'that rocked' or 'that sucked' lol. so yeah, comments are much appreciated.
x's & o's
~Belles aka Leanne
**edit** if you did not realize it from my other two posts on here. this is not the full one shot. this site or my computer. i'm not sure which. won't let me post the rest of it for some odd reson. srry. i'll post the rest as soon as i can.
Part 1
I took a deep breath, willing myself to not cry. I hated the thought of crying. Hated how crying made you seem weak. It made you seem as though you can't handle things by yourself. Like your life is just too much for you to handle that it reduces you to tears.
I hated how crying left you feeling drained and sometimes worse than before you started. I hated how it made your eyes puffy and red and gave you pink splotches on your face. I hated how it made your makeup run and made you look like a mess. How it let everyone know just how emotionally messed up you were.
And although I absolutely hated the thought of crying, there was never a time before right now that I had had the intense urge to cry and scream in frustration. To cry in desperation. But I wouldn't cry. I couldn't cry. Not in front of the big burly security guard. Not in front of the guard that I was trying to prove I was perfectly sane so that he'd let me through so I could see him.
“Please,” I pleaded my voice quavering and my eyes filling up with tears I refused to shed. “Please, I need to talk to him. I'm not crazy and I promise I'm not a stalker. But this is really important. Please just let me through.”
The security guard stood there as big and sturdy as a mountain, not moving a muscle, showing no emotion.
“Ok, you don't have to let me in. Just let him come here. Just call him over. Tell him it's me. Tell him it's Julia.” I said desperation filling my voice.
The security guard looked down at me briefly in his dark sunglasses and said, “No.” And with that one word my whole world came crashing down, but I refused to cry. I. Refused. To. Cry.
Instead I held my head up high and walked away. Only to crash to the floor as soon as I rounded the corner only a few feet away from the insensitive security guard. And on that cold floor I pulled my knees to my chest wrapping my arms around my legs and burying my head in my knees, trying to convince myself I did the best I could. I did the best I could. I didn't let her down. I'd never let her down. It wasn't my fault.
And that's when the first tear fell. I quickly brushed it away in a vain attempt to stop the rest that were falling freely down my face now. When that didn't help, I gave in to my urge to cry and buried my face further into my knees, letting my tears soak my jeans, leaving spots of wetness.
And that's where he found me. Curled up in a ball, bawling my eyes out, in an empty building. He slid down the wall, sitting next to me, putting his arm around me, comforting me. I hated that. I hated letting him see me cry. I hated him thinking I was weak. Like I needed his help. I didn't need his help. I didn't need anybody.
And suddenly my crying stopped. Instead of feeling helpless and out of control I got angry. Very angry. I channeled all my hurt, desperate, and helpless feelings and turned them into anger. Anger towards him.
“I hate you.” I spat, standing up suddenly leaving him sitting on the cold floor by himself.
He stood up carefully, knowing that I was angry and ready lash out at him at anything he says. “No, you don't hate me.” He said calmly.
“Yes, I do. I hate you and your perfect little family. I hate how easy everything comes to you. I hate how nice you are. I hate how you think you can help everybody. I hate how you think you can help me. You can't help me. I don't need your help. I. Hate. You.” I yelled, getting angrier and more out of control with every word.
He didn't disagree with me this time, but he also didn't agree. Instead he said, “Follow me.” And then he walked down the hallway.
I followed him not because I wanted to, but because somewhere deep down inside I knew I needed him. Not to help me, but I needed him to stand there and take everything I threw at him. I knew that if he wasn't there I wouldn't have anyone to yell at and who else could I get angry at enough that I'd forget the real reason I came here? And who else could take all my hurtful words and not get angry at me in return?
The answer was no one besides him could do those things. So I followed him into a room. He closed the door and faced me. “Ok, now we can talk.” He said.
I glared at him making sure I kept a hold of my anger. I couldn't let it slip away because some other emotion wanted to take its place. “What are we doing here? Why'd you bring me in here?” I snapped.
“This is a soundproof room. Now you can yell at me as long and as loud as you want and nobody will send the police over here to see what's wrong.” He stared at me, waiting for me to say something.
“Oh.” was all I could think of to say. I was slowly losing my grip on my angriness.
He noticed that I was becoming silent and said, “So you hate me. Then why did you come here? Why did you need to see me?”
And with that simple little question I remembered my purpose for being here. The reason slammed me in the gut like a hard punch. I felt the wind knock out of me and the tears sting my eyes. But I wouldn't cry. I was done with that. Crying was for weak people. And I, as I've proved since I was little, am anything but weak.
I didn't know how to respond so I just clenched my jaw and wrapped my arms around me, feeling myself slowly close off all contact with reality. Who needed reality anyways? Reality is always letting me down.
“Is it Chrissy?” He whispered.
I held myself tighter as if I would fall apart if I let go.
“Is she ok?” He asked.
I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. It was like I had no control over my own body. I had no control over what I did, what I said. I had the sudden urge to collapse in his arms and tell him the reason I came here. I wanted him to hold me and make everything better. I wanted to cry and have him rub my back and speak soothing words to me. Instead I found myself standing there all by myself unable to speak.
“Please. Julia, tell me what's wrong. I can help you. I will help you. Remember? I promised you. I promised you that I'd always be there for you if you ever needed me.” He said gently.
And I did remember. How could I forget? After so many bad things in my life, he felt like the rainbow at the end of the storm. And when he promised me that, I thought my life could only go up from there. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.
“C'mon Jules. You remember when we first met? You know you can tell me anything.”
I remembered when we first met. Two years ago. I was 17, Chrissy was 5, and he was 18. He found me and my little sister curled up together in the corner of the wooden fort in the park near my house. Apparently he and his family were spending some time in our area and he was walking around when he found the park. After exploring it a bit, he came to the fort and was very surprised to find us sleeping there.
