OC Fic: Numb
Numb
Title: Numb
Fandom: The O.C.
Characters: Kirsten, Sandy
Spoilers: Up through 2.23 The O.Sea
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The O.C.. Not for profit.
Description: A little drabble about Kirsten’s thoughts after hearing about her father’s death at the end of 2.23 The O.Sea.
Author's Notes: This is for the Season 4 Advent Challenge. The words are: blue, curve, whip, melancholy, maelstrom
“It’s about your father... He’s dead.”
You are unable to believe what you are hearing. Your father is dead. No, it can’t be true. He is so strong. Caleb Nichol, the builder of Newport Beach. No. No. The melancholy threatens to overwhelm you.
“I am so sorry.”
You can’t process Sandy’s words. You can’t be with him right now. You can’t handle it. Him. You shrug off his touch, grab your emergency bottle, and head for your bedroom. You don’t even wait to see if Sandy is following you. When you get where you are going, you are so grateful that he hasn’t. You can’t deal with him right now, his loving, his caring, his smothering.
Without hesitation, you close and lock the door behind you, then collapse on the side of the bed, turning the bottle over and over in your hands. For a few minutes, your brain is just frozen, unable to process anything except the allure of the curve of the vodka bottle, with its mesmerizing blue script.
You don’t know how long you sit there, wanting so badly to take a swig of the numbing liquid, but not doing it. It is a knock on the door that brings you out of your trance. You whip your head around at the sound of Sandy’s voice, grateful that you thought to lock the door.
“Kirsten? Are you okay? Honey, let me in.”
“Go away, Sandy!”
You can hear him jiggle the knob, trying to get in. He calls your name, repeatedly, but you don’t answer.
You quickly open the bottle and pour the vodka down your throat, hoping to quell the maelstrom of thoughts that erupted in your mind once you were dragged out of your trance by Sandy’s arrival at your door. It is a small bottle and you have it empty in no time at all. And it has done nothing to quiet your brain, or numb your emotions.
Standing up, you stop and listen for a moment and don’t hear Sandy. He must have given up and gone away some time while you were medicating yourself. You look down at the empty bottle. Not enough medicine. You wrack your brain. There must be some more.
Then you remember, you hid some in amongst your old clothes on the top shelf of your closet. You smile and head over there to get it. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass out soon, black out and not remember anything about this.
Numbness. Ah, sweet bliss.
Title: Numb
Fandom: The O.C.
Characters: Kirsten, Sandy
Spoilers: Up through 2.23 The O.Sea
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The O.C.. Not for profit.
Description: A little drabble about Kirsten’s thoughts after hearing about her father’s death at the end of 2.23 The O.Sea.
Author's Notes: This is for the Season 4 Advent Challenge. The words are: blue, curve, whip, melancholy, maelstrom
“It’s about your father... He’s dead.”
You are unable to believe what you are hearing. Your father is dead. No, it can’t be true. He is so strong. Caleb Nichol, the builder of Newport Beach. No. No. The melancholy threatens to overwhelm you.
“I am so sorry.”
You can’t process Sandy’s words. You can’t be with him right now. You can’t handle it. Him. You shrug off his touch, grab your emergency bottle, and head for your bedroom. You don’t even wait to see if Sandy is following you. When you get where you are going, you are so grateful that he hasn’t. You can’t deal with him right now, his loving, his caring, his smothering.
Without hesitation, you close and lock the door behind you, then collapse on the side of the bed, turning the bottle over and over in your hands. For a few minutes, your brain is just frozen, unable to process anything except the allure of the curve of the vodka bottle, with its mesmerizing blue script.
You don’t know how long you sit there, wanting so badly to take a swig of the numbing liquid, but not doing it. It is a knock on the door that brings you out of your trance. You whip your head around at the sound of Sandy’s voice, grateful that you thought to lock the door.
“Kirsten? Are you okay? Honey, let me in.”
“Go away, Sandy!”
You can hear him jiggle the knob, trying to get in. He calls your name, repeatedly, but you don’t answer.
You quickly open the bottle and pour the vodka down your throat, hoping to quell the maelstrom of thoughts that erupted in your mind once you were dragged out of your trance by Sandy’s arrival at your door. It is a small bottle and you have it empty in no time at all. And it has done nothing to quiet your brain, or numb your emotions.
Standing up, you stop and listen for a moment and don’t hear Sandy. He must have given up and gone away some time while you were medicating yourself. You look down at the empty bottle. Not enough medicine. You wrack your brain. There must be some more.
Then you remember, you hid some in amongst your old clothes on the top shelf of your closet. You smile and head over there to get it. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass out soon, black out and not remember anything about this.
Numbness. Ah, sweet bliss.