Fic: All I See

[bagsandshoes]

Fic: All I See

Author: bagsandshoes
Pairing: Robert Pattinson/ Kristen Stewart

Rating, W. Count: PG-13, 1256 words

Summary: The freedom that she had freely given to her character was starting to take a toll on her, and she was exhausted feeling emotions that were not hers to claim.

Disclaimer: Don’t know them, don’t own them.

Note: Special thanks to jumatias Inspired in part by Kristen comment of how it was not an easy task letting her character go. Also, embedded is a song that I played whilst writing this.
Note #2: The song is called "All I See" by Lydia.

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In the end, she realizes that the skin that she had been living under was too pale, too intense and too out of place for the life that she had gone back to.

It took her literally months to feel Michael’s hand on her skin and she resisted the temptation to burrow deeper into memories of cold flesh and bronze hair. The freedom that she had freely given to her character was starting to take its toll on her, and she was exhausted from feeling emotions that were not hers to claim.

So she slowly pushed back the covers of the warm bed she had tucked herself under all those months ago, and with each passing week, she slowly began to feel the cold reality air and learned to ignore the yearning of stumbling back to a reality that was clouded in fantasy and dreams that were based upon fiction.

*

But just as her feet hit the floor and some resemblance of herself was found, the business pulled her back, and she gingerly put her walls up, before the warmth and feel of his arms tugged her back into a world where it was okay to love the forbidden.

She dug her heels deeper into the red carpet as his familiar arms held her and a thousand flash bulbs reminded her that it was just a job. She controlled her breathing when he smiled down at her, comfortable and different, and the dual personalities that resided in her tugged her heart in two different directions, the summation leaving her heart momentarily dead.

And she found as she collided with him over and over again through the pre-premiere hype, that her heart stopped pumping blood to her emotions and both her character and her personality died, while the actress in her lived.

*

She had the afternoon free, and instead of calling Michael or Nikki, she floated on the hotel pool, staring at the blue November sky and only when her toes and fingers started to prune did she finally breathe.

She let her arms stop treading water, and she figuratively and literary sank down to the bottom of her mind.

The breath that she had taken and held was let go; the tiny bubbles deflating her lungs and her barriers. And the confusion that swarmed and tangled her felt more claustrophobic than the thousands of liters of water pressing down on her.

She felt her heart stumble as it began to beat more erratically, trying to find enough oxygen to the blood that for so long sustained one mind, one soul, and as the burn started to tear her lungs apart, Kristen was suddenly angry for not being able to truly let go.

So she clung to the burn and let her heart beat faster, wanting the heightened velocity of her blood to purge her damned character out of her head.

She heard her name, over and over again, and it frustrated her that even as she battled for self-control. It was his voice that chanted her name.

The burn in her lungs tightened, but the girl with the brown hair and the naïve heart wouldn’t let go, clinging to the last thread of her sanity. Her character tugged and when she stopped hearing her name, her rhythm in this war, she let the darkness creep in.

*

The sun was too bright, the breeze too cold, and she felt the pain radiating from somewhere deep within her.

“Jesus Kristen, Kristen, Kristen, Kristen,” his voice chanted. And for a moment she thought maybe she had won.

When she tried to speak, water spluttered out of her mouth and the taste of chlorine made her gag.

“Oh fuck, thank God.”

She sat up, but then he picked her up, his clothes wet and his lips kept on brushing over her forehead, muttering “Thank God”, all the way to his suite.

She felt the blanket being pulled all around her, the hotel bed soft and comfortable and she regaled in the feeling of being cocooned.

But just as the thought passed, she opened her eyes and tried to get away.

“Whoa, hold on there,” two warm hands pushed her shoulders down. “I don’t think you should be moving much.”

She looked at him, the white t-shirt clinging to his body, transparent and wet and she felt the familiarity inside building faster than her protective wall.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

He stared down at her, his eyes searching and afraid.

“What happened out there?”

She crossed her arms, burrowing further down the comforter.

“Jesus, Kris,” he sat down on the bed by her legs, his face in his hands as he tiredly rubbed his eyes.

But when he turned to her, his eyes were slightly red and he looked exhausted and she momentarily wondered if it was easy for him to let go.

“I was looking for you, and your agent told me you had gone for a dip. And I watched you go under water.” He hid behind his hands again, speaking to the floor and she almost didn’t want to hear it. “But you didn’t come up. I was watching and I just thought you’d come up in a minute. And then you didn’t and I shouted your name over and over again but you just curled on the bottom, and fuck,” he let out a nervous laugh, “ I didn’t know what to do.”

She stared at him, wanting to leave yet wanting to touch his hunched shoulders.

He turned and like a whispered confession said, “For a moment, all I could think was that I couldn’t save you.”

Her hand reached out to touch his, but she caught herself, dropping it instead to her lap and as the cold penetrated her trembling skin, the silence deafened the room.

“What the fuck happened, Kris?” he asked, so quietly that she’s not sure she was supposed to answer.

“I don’t know.” But the lie sounded unconvincing even to her.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and she didn’t really want him to give up.

She twisted her fingers, looking out the balcony towards Hollywood and its jaded glamour. “Was it easy to let go?’

He turned his profile to her, but she refused to look at him, twisting a loose thread under her fingers instead.

“Let what go?”

“This thing… this connection.” She took a deep breath, and the pain that the action brought momentarily stopped her. But she was tired of not living with feelings, and unlike her character, she wants to be human.

“We were so wrapped up in this world, this fantasy and I thought I could get away. But she’s still there, pushing me away and I still see things through her eyes, have thoughts that are in her voice, and feel things that aren’t mine to feel.”

She felt the bed shifted.

“How do you let go?” she asked finally.

She felt his hand stilling her fingers. He sighed and the air stirred around her damp hair, chilling her exposed neck.

“I don’t know,” and she couldn’t trace the lie in his respond.

He gently ran a finger across her cheekbone, the touch simple and personal.

“But sometimes,” he paused, “sometimes, I think I hold on because I can feel the things that I’ve never felt before.”

She let him tilt her face towards him, and she could see the bravery mingled with uncertainty in his eyes. “It’s not easy to let go.”

*