Anne
Title: Anne
Author: Demira_Watson
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairings: None
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Rape, Suicidal thoughts, Hate Crimes and just sheer angst and depression.
Disclaimer: I don’t own SGA.
Summary: Anne would die on the city of dreams…
When Anne first arrived on Atlantis; there was confusion, outrage and a touch of fear. After all she had appeared in a sudden explosion of light and sound in the main conference room, bruised and battered from her journey through a rip in the veil between realities. Anne had no idea how she got there, dropped in to her favourite TV show, and neither did the legendary Dr Rodney Mckay and his crack team of super-geniuses.
In a flurry and a blur of her own anxiety and confusion, she was tested for everything and anything. Laid beneath shining scanners of alternating blue and green lights designed to reveal her very core to the nervous doctors. Her blood taken for extensive testing. A prisoner held under suspicious eyes.
But it was an accident, a fluke…But one they could reverse.
So Anne was allowed to wander the city of dreams. Anne was allowed to mingle amongst the heroes.
Their clean bright laughs and radiant smiles woke something deep in Anne’s tired dark soul. Something she had long thought dead. A hope spread through her chest like a tiny fluttering butterfly with dusty wings and a determined steady beat.
Anne looked on the people of Atlantis and breathed in life and innocence and the clean air.
But Anne wasn’t clean or innocent. She had a range of problems her former shrink had nodded and smiled sadly at as she scribbled notes on her yellow stained pad. She’d been violated by the one man in her life she should have been able to trust with her life. She’d dropped out of high school with no grades to make her useful in the working machine of the country. She loved woman instead of men and was less of a human being because of it in the eyes of her attackers. She’d battled depression and suicidal tendencies most of her adult life.
No. Anne was not clean or innocent. And no matter how much soap she rubbed into her raw bleeding skin, the darkness in the back of her mind reminded her she would never be clean.
Anne would never know love. Her dreams lay in broken shards around her feet. And she was so alone…So very alone. It ached like a dull pain in her bones, her muscles. Seizing her heart like a vice as she watched the rest of the world float by in happiness, blind to her darkness that festered inside like a cancer. A fungus, stinking and decaying, something she would never be rid of.
Here she was, on the city made of dreams and hopes and wishes. The explorers of her fantasies joking and breathing around her. Amazing men and woman fighting great battles and making leaps in knowledge that she had no hope of understanding.
And they were sending her home.
Home to an empty apartment and an empty heart. Home to a man who raped her with one hand across her mouth to keep her quiet…Anne used to wish, in her younger years, that his hand would slip just over her nose and end it. At eight years old she listened to the wet stinking pants against her face, felt the tear of weak small muscles and the sticky cool flow of blood between her thighs as his sweat seeped into her very being. She would never be free of the disgust, the helplessness like an icy grip around her mind, the constant fear. Never.
Anne would not willingly return to hell.
When Anne had first arrived she had stolen a small white plastic bottle filled with sleeping pills. She tucked it away into the back of her dresser drawer like a precious family heirloom, away from curious and prying eyes. Her little secret.
No. Anne would rather take her last breath in the beautiful shining spires of Atlantis then in the dingy cold apartment she rented from a callous government that had already signed her off. Anne would shuffle off this mortal coil in the dream…