Oneshot: Private Practice: "The Remains."
Title: The Remains
Word Count: 445
Character: Violet.
Disclaimer: Don't own Private Practice, but kinda wish I did.
Rating: PG.
Summary: A little insight into Violet since the beginning of Season Three. Slight spoilers for early on, but nothing major.
She doesn’t think about it. Except when she does. Except when it’s the only thing she can think about. Half the time, she doesn’t even notice that the baby is crying until it cracks that shell around her thoughts. She’s thankful for the break, but when she looks down at that baby, her son, she can’t seem to find the emotions within her to do anything. She stares for too long.
It’s like the blood. The stain. It’s a focus, a stare, hours upon hours of looking at that damn spot and trying to make it become something else, something that doesn’t hurt as much. Something that isn’t what it is, something other than a giant elephant in the room.
When she smashes the wood, smashes the blood, it’s liberating. She feels alive and free, killing the thing that seems to captivate her more than it should. She wishes it was just as easy to break the memories, destroy them so they don’t hurt her anymore. But she knows that isn’t possible, that she’s stuck with these memories.
The doorbell rings and she still finds herself in the closet. She’ll leave the baby in his crib or right there on the blanket on the floor. That is, if she can’t pawn him off on her mother or Pete or some other willing soul. She doesn’t feel she needs to protect him. He was the one that was fine, for the most part, and she was the one bleeding out on the hardwood.
She’s broken. She knows it and that kills her. Because she didn’t ask for this. She didn’t ask to be raped, she didn’t ask for her baby to be ripped from her body, but it happened regardless. She tries to deal with it, to figure out how to deal with it, but her feelings are gone, missing, and she doesn’t know how to get them back.
It’s unfair, she thinks, but she knows things won’t change because they don’t just change. She’s going to have to learn to deal. And she’s not sure if she can because everything she tries seems to be a step in the wrong direction. Of course, she’d like to believe she’s right, but she knows she’s not. It hurts too much for anything to cure her right now, even if she gets that momentary high of being open and free.
She doesn’t understand what she did to make this happen even though she knows it’s not entirely her fault, but she still feels guilty. And she feels lost. And she feels alone most days. But she’s still alive. And she’s still working. And somehow... that’s enough for now.
Word Count: 445
Character: Violet.
Disclaimer: Don't own Private Practice, but kinda wish I did.
Rating: PG.
Summary: A little insight into Violet since the beginning of Season Three. Slight spoilers for early on, but nothing major.
She doesn’t think about it. Except when she does. Except when it’s the only thing she can think about. Half the time, she doesn’t even notice that the baby is crying until it cracks that shell around her thoughts. She’s thankful for the break, but when she looks down at that baby, her son, she can’t seem to find the emotions within her to do anything. She stares for too long.
It’s like the blood. The stain. It’s a focus, a stare, hours upon hours of looking at that damn spot and trying to make it become something else, something that doesn’t hurt as much. Something that isn’t what it is, something other than a giant elephant in the room.
When she smashes the wood, smashes the blood, it’s liberating. She feels alive and free, killing the thing that seems to captivate her more than it should. She wishes it was just as easy to break the memories, destroy them so they don’t hurt her anymore. But she knows that isn’t possible, that she’s stuck with these memories.
The doorbell rings and she still finds herself in the closet. She’ll leave the baby in his crib or right there on the blanket on the floor. That is, if she can’t pawn him off on her mother or Pete or some other willing soul. She doesn’t feel she needs to protect him. He was the one that was fine, for the most part, and she was the one bleeding out on the hardwood.
She’s broken. She knows it and that kills her. Because she didn’t ask for this. She didn’t ask to be raped, she didn’t ask for her baby to be ripped from her body, but it happened regardless. She tries to deal with it, to figure out how to deal with it, but her feelings are gone, missing, and she doesn’t know how to get them back.
It’s unfair, she thinks, but she knows things won’t change because they don’t just change. She’s going to have to learn to deal. And she’s not sure if she can because everything she tries seems to be a step in the wrong direction. Of course, she’d like to believe she’s right, but she knows she’s not. It hurts too much for anything to cure her right now, even if she gets that momentary high of being open and free.
She doesn’t understand what she did to make this happen even though she knows it’s not entirely her fault, but she still feels guilty. And she feels lost. And she feels alone most days. But she’s still alive. And she’s still working. And somehow... that’s enough for now.