Pain
Title: Pain
Fandom: bare, a pop opera
Written: January, 2010
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1100
Summary: Ivy was unsteady on her legs and she walked numbly down the sidewalk, crossing from one side to the other drunkenly. She was trembling and she felt as if she had just been ripped open.
Notes: Trigger warning for abortion.
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It hurt.
She was unsteady on her legs and she walked numbly down the sidewalk, crossing from one side to the other drunkenly. She had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping her mind occupied so it wouldn't stray. Each step thudded painfully against the pavement, echoing inside of her, all the way up to her pounding headache.
She pressed her cool fingers against her forehead, trying desperately to slow her breathing. Her clammy fingers made her feel sick, so she brought her shaking hand back to her side, where it swung limply in time with her gait.
There was a bench on the other side of the street, a wide-trunked oak seeming to loom behind it. Unable to remember or process that she had to cross at the crosswalk and wait for the "walk" sign to light up, she began walking across the street. The cracked pavement hurt her feet and the cars honking at her to get out of the way made her head throb. Ignoring the fact that her clammy hands made her feel sick, she put a hand to her forehead again, wishing the pain would go away.
She did not merely sit down on the bench when she reached it; she collapsed. One arm was hooked on the back of the bench while her other hand still rested on her forehead. Her posture slumped as she sighed heavily. Her breathing had still not returned to normal and her heart was racing. She felt dizzy. Was this supposed to happen?
Forgetting that she was in her school uniform, which meant she was wearing a skirt that was cut off right above her knees, she laid down on the bench, bending her knees to rest her feet on the bench as well. Her skirt fell open, showing passersby her black underwear, if they cared to look. Her legs were trembling and she felt as if she had just been ripped open.
The hand that was not on her forehead fell to her stomach. She caressed the front of her blouse gently, gradually pushing her shirt up so as to see her bare skin. She could detect the beginnings of a belly on her usually toned form, and she ran her fingers across her skin, shivering under their touch.
"Ivy?"
She started, jolting upright and moaning as her head started throbbing again. Her vision blurred, and she had to hold her head with both hands and blink a couple times before she was able to recognize who had spoken her name. She must look like quite a sight with her skirt mussed and her shirt pushed up dangerously close to her breasts.
"Oh," she said quietly as the form of the gangly boy came into focus. "Hello Peter."
Peter sat down beside her uninvited, putting a supporting arm around her waist and placing a comforting hand on her arm. Though the gesture was kind, his touch burned her skin. She heard an unpleasant humming noise that she was not sure was actually real. Moaning again, she let herself lean into Peter's half embrace, only slightly grateful for his ability to keep her upright. If Peter sensed anything was wrong, he said nothing.
The two sat for a moment, both pondering a common subject, though their thoughts could not have been more different. Their eyes met after a while, sharing terrified glances that revealed how much they feared the other. Ivy knew it would have been funny in any other situation, being afraid of Peter Simmons. The boy had always been known as the class sweetheart, always offering a helping hand and more than once babysitting his friends who had gotten drunk, high, or both. And yet here she was, trembling as the boy sat with an arm around her.
The silence and unanswered questions buzzed around them until finally Peter asked, "Can you stand?"
"Yes, I think so," Ivy answered, though her vision kept fading in and out. She struggled to keep consciousness as Peter raised her to her feet, keeping one arm tight around her waist as his other was squeezed in her vice-like grip. She released his arm, noticing that her fingers had left red marks on his white skin. Half expecting him to let her go, she was taken aback when Peter linked arms with her, leading her down the sidewalk.
It was so innocent, this show of affection. In every sense, it was Peter being himself: kind to the point of self-harm. She knew it must be killing him to so much as look at her, knowing what had passed between her and Jason, and yet here he was, helping her down the street. To a passerby, they might have been a couple.
Peter's footsteps were soft, virtually silent on the rough pavement. Ivy was suddenly very conscious of how loud her own steps were; she could hear her shoes clacking and each step seemed to shake her to her core. She unconsciously leaned towards Peter who, sensing this, tightened his grip on her arm.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, and she could hear the concern in his voice. Forcing a smile on her own face, she said, "Yes, of course," pressing her lips together tightly after she spoke.
"What were you doing out here, anyway?" Peter asked another question. Common sense told her that he would ask her this question, but it still sounded threatening. She thought for a moment, truly forgetting for one blissful second just what she had been up to.
"Nothing," Ivy kept her voice offhand. "Just walking, thinking about… things."
"About him," Peter finished for her, and she felt his entire body tense up. Her head fell to look at the pavement so as to avoid looking at him. Ivy struggled to keep her breathing steady as Peter's grip on her tightened. She knew it was an unconscious action, but it still made her catch her breath and bite down on her bottom lip so as not to make a sound. Her throat tightened and silent tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Ivy," Peter's voice was soft and caring; he had obviously noticed her tears, halting where they stood and pulling her into an awkward and completely unwelcome embrace. She folded herself into his arms, wishing she could stay there forever, never have to face what she had done. It didn't matter that Peter was the one holding her; she just wanted to escape.
"I got rid of it," she mumbled into Peter's chest, knowing that he wouldn't understand. He said nothing, did not ask her to clarify, his trusting nature betraying him again. He let her clutch his shirt, soak it with tears, sob into his chest, holding her upright as her legs shook underneath her.
It was strange, how empty she suddenly felt. She had never been aware of her uterus before, and now she felt as if a cold wind was blowing about inside it, causing her excruciating pain. Her entire pelvic area was burning from this cold wind, reminding her of what she had done, reminding her of her sins.
Reminding her of the baby she would never have, and more painfully, of how the boy holding her would have done anything to be in her place.
Fandom: bare, a pop opera
Written: January, 2010
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1100
Summary: Ivy was unsteady on her legs and she walked numbly down the sidewalk, crossing from one side to the other drunkenly. She was trembling and she felt as if she had just been ripped open.
Notes: Trigger warning for abortion.
------
It hurt.
She was unsteady on her legs and she walked numbly down the sidewalk, crossing from one side to the other drunkenly. She had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping her mind occupied so it wouldn't stray. Each step thudded painfully against the pavement, echoing inside of her, all the way up to her pounding headache.
She pressed her cool fingers against her forehead, trying desperately to slow her breathing. Her clammy fingers made her feel sick, so she brought her shaking hand back to her side, where it swung limply in time with her gait.
There was a bench on the other side of the street, a wide-trunked oak seeming to loom behind it. Unable to remember or process that she had to cross at the crosswalk and wait for the "walk" sign to light up, she began walking across the street. The cracked pavement hurt her feet and the cars honking at her to get out of the way made her head throb. Ignoring the fact that her clammy hands made her feel sick, she put a hand to her forehead again, wishing the pain would go away.
She did not merely sit down on the bench when she reached it; she collapsed. One arm was hooked on the back of the bench while her other hand still rested on her forehead. Her posture slumped as she sighed heavily. Her breathing had still not returned to normal and her heart was racing. She felt dizzy. Was this supposed to happen?
Forgetting that she was in her school uniform, which meant she was wearing a skirt that was cut off right above her knees, she laid down on the bench, bending her knees to rest her feet on the bench as well. Her skirt fell open, showing passersby her black underwear, if they cared to look. Her legs were trembling and she felt as if she had just been ripped open.
The hand that was not on her forehead fell to her stomach. She caressed the front of her blouse gently, gradually pushing her shirt up so as to see her bare skin. She could detect the beginnings of a belly on her usually toned form, and she ran her fingers across her skin, shivering under their touch.
"Ivy?"
She started, jolting upright and moaning as her head started throbbing again. Her vision blurred, and she had to hold her head with both hands and blink a couple times before she was able to recognize who had spoken her name. She must look like quite a sight with her skirt mussed and her shirt pushed up dangerously close to her breasts.
"Oh," she said quietly as the form of the gangly boy came into focus. "Hello Peter."
Peter sat down beside her uninvited, putting a supporting arm around her waist and placing a comforting hand on her arm. Though the gesture was kind, his touch burned her skin. She heard an unpleasant humming noise that she was not sure was actually real. Moaning again, she let herself lean into Peter's half embrace, only slightly grateful for his ability to keep her upright. If Peter sensed anything was wrong, he said nothing.
The two sat for a moment, both pondering a common subject, though their thoughts could not have been more different. Their eyes met after a while, sharing terrified glances that revealed how much they feared the other. Ivy knew it would have been funny in any other situation, being afraid of Peter Simmons. The boy had always been known as the class sweetheart, always offering a helping hand and more than once babysitting his friends who had gotten drunk, high, or both. And yet here she was, trembling as the boy sat with an arm around her.
The silence and unanswered questions buzzed around them until finally Peter asked, "Can you stand?"
"Yes, I think so," Ivy answered, though her vision kept fading in and out. She struggled to keep consciousness as Peter raised her to her feet, keeping one arm tight around her waist as his other was squeezed in her vice-like grip. She released his arm, noticing that her fingers had left red marks on his white skin. Half expecting him to let her go, she was taken aback when Peter linked arms with her, leading her down the sidewalk.
It was so innocent, this show of affection. In every sense, it was Peter being himself: kind to the point of self-harm. She knew it must be killing him to so much as look at her, knowing what had passed between her and Jason, and yet here he was, helping her down the street. To a passerby, they might have been a couple.
Peter's footsteps were soft, virtually silent on the rough pavement. Ivy was suddenly very conscious of how loud her own steps were; she could hear her shoes clacking and each step seemed to shake her to her core. She unconsciously leaned towards Peter who, sensing this, tightened his grip on her arm.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, and she could hear the concern in his voice. Forcing a smile on her own face, she said, "Yes, of course," pressing her lips together tightly after she spoke.
"What were you doing out here, anyway?" Peter asked another question. Common sense told her that he would ask her this question, but it still sounded threatening. She thought for a moment, truly forgetting for one blissful second just what she had been up to.
"Nothing," Ivy kept her voice offhand. "Just walking, thinking about… things."
"About him," Peter finished for her, and she felt his entire body tense up. Her head fell to look at the pavement so as to avoid looking at him. Ivy struggled to keep her breathing steady as Peter's grip on her tightened. She knew it was an unconscious action, but it still made her catch her breath and bite down on her bottom lip so as not to make a sound. Her throat tightened and silent tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Ivy," Peter's voice was soft and caring; he had obviously noticed her tears, halting where they stood and pulling her into an awkward and completely unwelcome embrace. She folded herself into his arms, wishing she could stay there forever, never have to face what she had done. It didn't matter that Peter was the one holding her; she just wanted to escape.
"I got rid of it," she mumbled into Peter's chest, knowing that he wouldn't understand. He said nothing, did not ask her to clarify, his trusting nature betraying him again. He let her clutch his shirt, soak it with tears, sob into his chest, holding her upright as her legs shook underneath her.
It was strange, how empty she suddenly felt. She had never been aware of her uterus before, and now she felt as if a cold wind was blowing about inside it, causing her excruciating pain. Her entire pelvic area was burning from this cold wind, reminding her of what she had done, reminding her of her sins.
Reminding her of the baby she would never have, and more painfully, of how the boy holding her would have done anything to be in her place.