here, not there
Author: 
Spoilers through 2x22. R for language.
Word count: 795
Graciously betaed by sandyo.
Comments and criticisms greatly appreciated.
here, not there
Veronica finds the first letter a week after the scarred young boy impales himself on pavement. It's sitting simply on the passenger seat of her car, a sealed plain white envelope within still-locked doors. She buckles her seat belt, closes her eyes, and drives away, the wind whipping across her face.
She doesn't open it right away. It rides there, shotgun, for two days before her fingers finally find their way beneath the seal, while sitting on the shoulder of a road at midnight. She reads by the light of the street lamp, tears slipping down her cheeks, fingers twisting the envelope into little broken pieces.
She reminds me of being happy. She makes me happy again. I miss you.
It's written in an unmistakable scrawl, one she used to decipher in fourteen year old love letters, now forgotten in the back of her closet. She folds the paper back up carefully, clutches it in between her hands, holds it to her face and breathes it in. Eventually she blinks the tears away, smooths out the wrinkles and places the letter carefully in the glove compartment. She pulls back onto the road, trying to forget.
-----
It's been a month, and Veronica still dreams of falling. She wakes up in Logan's arms, crying, clawing, and his heart breaks every time. Her tears are on his pillow again, her body is trembling, and he holds her close. She's never the one that falls; a young sad boy rushing to meet concrete, the father that never died exploding in the stars, the man that broke little boys becoming dust upon graves. She dreams of Lilly; creamy skin and miniature toes, reaching out with newborn arms; blonde and bleeding, lifeless and cold. Every night they fall and Logan holds his breath, holds his Veronica, and wonders if she'll ever sleep through the night again. Part of him hopes there will always be a reason for her to stay.
-----
Veronica steps into the cool air of her apartment, dropping her bag on the floor and pulling her fingers through her hair. It is silent and she is tired. The task of forgetting is taking its toll, and she wants to rest.
As she walks into her room, eyes half closed, she almost doesn't see the crisp white paper on her pillow. It isn't until she is about to lay her head down that she picks it up with stiff fingers, flicks it open, slicing cleanly through her wrist. She brings the wounded flesh to her mouth as she reads the same familiar black print.
I think about you every day. I know what we did was right. I wish I could ask you to wait for me. Veronica, know that I want nothing more than for you to be happy.
The page flutters to the ground as her eyes close, blood soaking into the sheets.
-----
Logan holds her as she cries. She clutches onto his shirt, face buried in his neck, and he doesn't bother whispering lies into her hair. It didn't take him long to realize that they aren't Epic. They never were, never will be, they're just fucked up and in love. So while she cries, all he can say is I love you, I love you and he knows she believes him. She doesn't try to reciprocate his words through her stuttering hiccups and sobs, she nods and holds him tighter and never wants to let go.
Maybe they aren't Epic, maybe they're nothing special, but it's all they have. It's all he clings to.
-----
It's been two months and Veronica is trying to get on with her life. She still can't drive past the hotel without seeing splattered flesh, so she stops taking the interstate. His face, her rape won't stay out of her dreams, so she lies awake at night, fingers twisted around Logan's as he sleeps and she watches him. She gets out of bed every morning, works every day, cries every night. She is trying to move on.
Today there is an envelope in her mailbox; no address, no postmark. She slides it into her pocket, walks up the stairs, and falls into Logan's arms. He catches her, he always catches her, and he is warm against her body. He carries her easily to the bed, tucks her in, crawls in beside her. She breathes against his skin. As his chest rises and falls, she pulls the letter out from underneath the blankets and whispers the words aloud.
I love you. He loves you. Let him. You will always be my Veronica. Goodbye.
Logan's arms are around her and she drifts off, dreamless for the first time since she saw the boy fall from the stars.
Spoilers through 2x22. R for language.
Word count: 795
Graciously betaed by sandyo.
Comments and criticisms greatly appreciated.
here, not there
Veronica finds the first letter a week after the scarred young boy impales himself on pavement. It's sitting simply on the passenger seat of her car, a sealed plain white envelope within still-locked doors. She buckles her seat belt, closes her eyes, and drives away, the wind whipping across her face.
She doesn't open it right away. It rides there, shotgun, for two days before her fingers finally find their way beneath the seal, while sitting on the shoulder of a road at midnight. She reads by the light of the street lamp, tears slipping down her cheeks, fingers twisting the envelope into little broken pieces.
She reminds me of being happy. She makes me happy again. I miss you.
It's written in an unmistakable scrawl, one she used to decipher in fourteen year old love letters, now forgotten in the back of her closet. She folds the paper back up carefully, clutches it in between her hands, holds it to her face and breathes it in. Eventually she blinks the tears away, smooths out the wrinkles and places the letter carefully in the glove compartment. She pulls back onto the road, trying to forget.
-----
It's been a month, and Veronica still dreams of falling. She wakes up in Logan's arms, crying, clawing, and his heart breaks every time. Her tears are on his pillow again, her body is trembling, and he holds her close. She's never the one that falls; a young sad boy rushing to meet concrete, the father that never died exploding in the stars, the man that broke little boys becoming dust upon graves. She dreams of Lilly; creamy skin and miniature toes, reaching out with newborn arms; blonde and bleeding, lifeless and cold. Every night they fall and Logan holds his breath, holds his Veronica, and wonders if she'll ever sleep through the night again. Part of him hopes there will always be a reason for her to stay.
-----
Veronica steps into the cool air of her apartment, dropping her bag on the floor and pulling her fingers through her hair. It is silent and she is tired. The task of forgetting is taking its toll, and she wants to rest.
As she walks into her room, eyes half closed, she almost doesn't see the crisp white paper on her pillow. It isn't until she is about to lay her head down that she picks it up with stiff fingers, flicks it open, slicing cleanly through her wrist. She brings the wounded flesh to her mouth as she reads the same familiar black print.
I think about you every day. I know what we did was right. I wish I could ask you to wait for me. Veronica, know that I want nothing more than for you to be happy.
The page flutters to the ground as her eyes close, blood soaking into the sheets.
-----
Logan holds her as she cries. She clutches onto his shirt, face buried in his neck, and he doesn't bother whispering lies into her hair. It didn't take him long to realize that they aren't Epic. They never were, never will be, they're just fucked up and in love. So while she cries, all he can say is I love you, I love you and he knows she believes him. She doesn't try to reciprocate his words through her stuttering hiccups and sobs, she nods and holds him tighter and never wants to let go.
Maybe they aren't Epic, maybe they're nothing special, but it's all they have. It's all he clings to.
-----
It's been two months and Veronica is trying to get on with her life. She still can't drive past the hotel without seeing splattered flesh, so she stops taking the interstate. His face, her rape won't stay out of her dreams, so she lies awake at night, fingers twisted around Logan's as he sleeps and she watches him. She gets out of bed every morning, works every day, cries every night. She is trying to move on.
Today there is an envelope in her mailbox; no address, no postmark. She slides it into her pocket, walks up the stairs, and falls into Logan's arms. He catches her, he always catches her, and he is warm against her body. He carries her easily to the bed, tucks her in, crawls in beside her. She breathes against his skin. As his chest rises and falls, she pulls the letter out from underneath the blankets and whispers the words aloud.
I love you. He loves you. Let him. You will always be my Veronica. Goodbye.
Logan's arms are around her and she drifts off, dreamless for the first time since she saw the boy fall from the stars.