[PtM] Track 8.1

[deep_red_bells]

(ooc: related to this and this.)

I don't want to wait
For our lives to be over
Will it be yes or will it be
Sorry

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She's decided, quite firmly, that she hates this place. It's too cold, too loud, too bright and too big, too full of violence, and at the moment all the great shoes and shows and night life in the world can't save it. She hates it. Hates this awful city.

She wants to disappear, just for a little while, fade away and hide and fix this mess that is her mind. But one can't do that here. Not even when she's standing on the loft rooftop, above the city and the crowds, the noise blaring at her from below makes it impossible to feel that she's alone, and it's so fucking cold she can hardly think straight. There's something...tight, in her chest, coiled and twisted around her heart; it's been there since the possibility was spoken and slipped into her head and proceeded to snap through the tenuous strands that hold her together, one at a time, and hours later hasn't loosened or shown any signs of letting go.

If he does this, if it works, he couldn't be hurt. He couldn't die. She'd never, ever have to worry about losing him that way. He'd never die.

And he'd never age. Time would go by, and he'd never change, but she would. Being what she is saves her from diseases; cancer can't touch her, colds, flues, viruses, her body brushes them off. It heals her injuries in a day, it makes her so, so strong, but it won't stop time from stealing the color from her hair or keep the lines from marking her face. She never minded the thought before. No...really, she'd wanted it. She'd never realized how badly she wanted it, before now. The chance to see how she'd change, how the world would change around her? She'd planned to fight like hell to have it, because she had someone to go through it with. Someone to stand with her. Someone to love. Someone to grow old with. All those things she'd never really believed in, things she would've never thought she'd want...she did. She had.

I'd get old. He'd be standing still.

The coil twists. She breathes through it and pushes it away, resolute, retying the spindly strands to put the pieces of herself back together.

She assumes too much. She assumes she'd even make it that long, that it's even really possible. She's letting herself hurt over something that may never happen. And whatever happens, she won't stand in the way. Refuses to be that selfish, no matter how much part of her might want to. What kind of person would ever tell someone, 'No, don't live forever, don't do something that'll ensure you never ever get hurt or sick or old because I don't want you to'? She'd be a fingersnap of time to him. She, her feelings, them. It shouldn't even be a factor.

It's his choice. And she'll make her's. Whether it would hurt more to hold on, or...let go.

This time she can't breathe through the twist and crumples beneath the surge, tucks her legs close to her chest and pulls in on herself as tightly as possible.

The strands wave through the wind like streamers, the pieces tumble.

She lets them lay.

word count: 540