You are the savior, the one who holds out your hands for me.
Another Blackwater ficcie up!
Title: Letting Go.
Rating: PG-15
Warning: Suicide attempts and angsty.
“It is your hands that start a fire on the world.
It is what you can get even if they pretend not to see it.
The star, named pain, seen in your eyes is your city.”-One, Epik High.
In the darkness of her bathroom, Leah Clearwater was dying. Or maybe she was just hoping that she was.
A single light bulb lit up the plain bathroom; where nothing seemed to be different. Nothing seemed out of place or strange- except the fact that Leah Clearwater had immersed herself in her bathtub water for three hours straight, her head kept under the surface; long black hair billowing over her now pale face; her lungs screaming in protest.
Emerging from the water, her horrified rasping filled the air as she scrambled out of the bath tub, sputtering and spitting as she leaned against the toilet bowl, bile rising up in her throat as she held her hair back to vomit.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from screaming. The easiness of death did not apply to her- did not apply to a werewolf. It was ironic that she wanted to die when she was practically an indestructible monster.
Rocking back and forth on the cool bathroom floor, her naked body completely drenched, Leah Clearwater contemplated, her wet fingers tracing the now healed scars on her arms. Judging by the manner of the scars, they looked like they were weeks old. How strange it seemed that she had just slashed her wrist hours ago. She allowed her mind to wander restlessly, sometimes she contemplated another method of death, but she mostly thought about love.
Love. Love, it was with contempt that she often said the word now. When she was a child, when fairytales did not seem to be so far away- when happy endings seemed to be just across the horizon- she had said the word gently, almost like a delicate, fragile word that existed only to those who deserved to have love, to those who have had a passionate relationship; a relationship with no boundaries that was mostly based on reckless abandon.
Leah Clearwater learnt her lesson the hard way. Falling so hard for a man that she thought would always be the man sitting on the white horse; letting him in completely just because their relationship was a concoction of passion and recklessness. Letting herself believe in fairytales. Letting herself believe that Sam Uley was the one.
Sam. She felt her chest tighten painfully; and Leah Clearwater felt hot, scalding tears run down her face as she scrambled up and stumbled over to her room, collapsing on the bed so that she could scream. Shoving her fist in her mouth, she allowed the shrieks to build up in her chest as she rocked herself. Heartache felt like a dagger; almost like a dagger had pierced right through her heart- the worst part was the fact that the dagger was still there, digging deeper into her chest with every aching second she saw them.
And then it came to her. Such an easy, peaceful method of death that she had not considered it at first. Knocking down books and tripping over the strewn clothes on the floor, she got on her knees and pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills from her desk drawer.
There was a glass of brandy on her desk, and as she scooped up the pills by her palms, shoveling them in her mouth roughly, she gulped down her brandy, the sting of alcohol burning down her throat as the pills slid down her mouth and into abyss.
She threw the glass on the ground, watching it shatter into a million of pieces before she settled herself on the bloodied couch. The penknife was still there, along with the blood from her adventure a few minutes ago. She smiled serenely to herself as she laid her head on the pillow.
A cold fog seemed to be descending on her entire body; and she shivered in anticipation. The pain seemed further and further away now, like several stings against her body instead of the twisting, guttural pain she felt every day. How easy it seemed now, to be able to slip into the cold, foreign arms of death without any pain at all.
“Do you have wounds, do you have scars,
Are you wandering through shadows?
(Faith, Destiny, Love.)
You’re still beautiful to me.
You are the one.”
Somewhere along the line where Leah’s vision faded to black, she felt hot, burning arms surround her. Strange, she thought to herself. She had pictured death’s arms to be cool and very foreign- and this pair of arms burned her- scalded her bare skin.
“I’m sorry.”
“I can’t let you die.”
These familiar whispers drifted into the air, and Leah Clearwater could not protest as he scooped her up in his arms and started to run.
Tears streaked down her face as Jacob Black took her further and further away from the speck of light radiating in her delusions; as Jacob Black took her further and further away from the clinking of cups and the loud cheers of “To Sam and Emily!”
Jacob Black was the one who held out her hands to her, her savior. But somehow, all Leah Clearwater felt like doing was letting go.
Title: Letting Go.
Rating: PG-15
Warning: Suicide attempts and angsty.
“It is your hands that start a fire on the world.
It is what you can get even if they pretend not to see it.
The star, named pain, seen in your eyes is your city.”-One, Epik High.
In the darkness of her bathroom, Leah Clearwater was dying. Or maybe she was just hoping that she was.
A single light bulb lit up the plain bathroom; where nothing seemed to be different. Nothing seemed out of place or strange- except the fact that Leah Clearwater had immersed herself in her bathtub water for three hours straight, her head kept under the surface; long black hair billowing over her now pale face; her lungs screaming in protest.
Emerging from the water, her horrified rasping filled the air as she scrambled out of the bath tub, sputtering and spitting as she leaned against the toilet bowl, bile rising up in her throat as she held her hair back to vomit.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from screaming. The easiness of death did not apply to her- did not apply to a werewolf. It was ironic that she wanted to die when she was practically an indestructible monster.
Rocking back and forth on the cool bathroom floor, her naked body completely drenched, Leah Clearwater contemplated, her wet fingers tracing the now healed scars on her arms. Judging by the manner of the scars, they looked like they were weeks old. How strange it seemed that she had just slashed her wrist hours ago. She allowed her mind to wander restlessly, sometimes she contemplated another method of death, but she mostly thought about love.
Love. Love, it was with contempt that she often said the word now. When she was a child, when fairytales did not seem to be so far away- when happy endings seemed to be just across the horizon- she had said the word gently, almost like a delicate, fragile word that existed only to those who deserved to have love, to those who have had a passionate relationship; a relationship with no boundaries that was mostly based on reckless abandon.
Leah Clearwater learnt her lesson the hard way. Falling so hard for a man that she thought would always be the man sitting on the white horse; letting him in completely just because their relationship was a concoction of passion and recklessness. Letting herself believe in fairytales. Letting herself believe that Sam Uley was the one.
Sam. She felt her chest tighten painfully; and Leah Clearwater felt hot, scalding tears run down her face as she scrambled up and stumbled over to her room, collapsing on the bed so that she could scream. Shoving her fist in her mouth, she allowed the shrieks to build up in her chest as she rocked herself. Heartache felt like a dagger; almost like a dagger had pierced right through her heart- the worst part was the fact that the dagger was still there, digging deeper into her chest with every aching second she saw them.
And then it came to her. Such an easy, peaceful method of death that she had not considered it at first. Knocking down books and tripping over the strewn clothes on the floor, she got on her knees and pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills from her desk drawer.
There was a glass of brandy on her desk, and as she scooped up the pills by her palms, shoveling them in her mouth roughly, she gulped down her brandy, the sting of alcohol burning down her throat as the pills slid down her mouth and into abyss.
She threw the glass on the ground, watching it shatter into a million of pieces before she settled herself on the bloodied couch. The penknife was still there, along with the blood from her adventure a few minutes ago. She smiled serenely to herself as she laid her head on the pillow.
A cold fog seemed to be descending on her entire body; and she shivered in anticipation. The pain seemed further and further away now, like several stings against her body instead of the twisting, guttural pain she felt every day. How easy it seemed now, to be able to slip into the cold, foreign arms of death without any pain at all.
“Do you have wounds, do you have scars,
Are you wandering through shadows?
(Faith, Destiny, Love.)
You’re still beautiful to me.
You are the one.”
Somewhere along the line where Leah’s vision faded to black, she felt hot, burning arms surround her. Strange, she thought to herself. She had pictured death’s arms to be cool and very foreign- and this pair of arms burned her- scalded her bare skin.
“I’m sorry.”
“I can’t let you die.”
These familiar whispers drifted into the air, and Leah Clearwater could not protest as he scooped her up in his arms and started to run.
Tears streaked down her face as Jacob Black took her further and further away from the speck of light radiating in her delusions; as Jacob Black took her further and further away from the clinking of cups and the loud cheers of “To Sam and Emily!”
Jacob Black was the one who held out her hands to her, her savior. But somehow, all Leah Clearwater felt like doing was letting go.