you burn first; chapter one
Title: You Burn First
Wordcount: 998
Pairing: Too many to count.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
Warning: This is unbeta'd. There might be some mistakes!
He reminds you of warm summer rain, not because it is soothing and calm, but because it is so sad. When you look at it falling down the inky sky like shards of clear diamonds, you can’t help but think of him.
You think of the people that have let him down, and you realize you both aren’t that different after all.
Sitting there, when you look at the rain from your bedroom window, with the melancholy of it all, you can’t help but wonder. You wonder where he is now, what happened to him, really.
You wonder if he’s thinking of you, just as much as you think of him.
He left one night and never came back.
He left one sad, summer night and all you want is for him to come back.
He left, and his name was James Cook, but it’s been so long, you’re not so sure about it anymore.
***
EFFY
One evening, there’s a sharp knock on your door and the next thing you know, he’s collapsed in your arms. You breath gets caught in your throat at the sight of him, and all you can do is hold him awkwardly, for he is quite heavier than you are.
“Cook!” you whisper, ever so carefully.
It’s been so long since you’ve seen him. Three years, to be precise. Things have changed. People have changed. You don’t live in Bristol anymore. Instead, you live in a small apartment in New Jersey, ten minutes away from the City. You spend thirty hours a week sorting through old records for a middle-aged woman Cassie introduced you to when you first moved into the city. The money is easy to earn, although as far as you’re concerned, you would rather sleep curled up in a ball all day.
New York is nothing like Bristol. You don’t know why you’re here, but it seems like the best escaping haven. 20 millions of souls walking aimlessly around a brightly lit city. You come and go, leaving nothing behind but mere footsteps. You turn heads while you walk around town, but nobody knows your name.
If they ask, your name is Elizabeth.
Nobody knows you as Effy around here. As you look at Cook cradled in your arms, you remember the last time somebody asked your name.
“So what is your name, then?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth, nice to meet you, I’m James.”
You close your eyes, and you allow yourself to relive that moment in your mind. For a brief moment, you only focus on the moment, the sweetness of it all.
But then there’s that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and you remember all that came along with it.
Your insanity. Your psychiatrist. Your ex-boyfriend’s murder.
You try to avoid all of this, because otherwise your world twists and turns and it’s like a fucking rollercoaster inside.
Those memories are like cruel little night creatures, with red, devilish eyes that creep inside your bedroom at night, whispering in your back and giving you evil, malevolent laughs.
They make you dig your nails in the skin of your pearly white arms until you see the hint of scarlet blooming on them.
They make you cry, and scream and so fucking miserable.
They make you want to let those crystalline tears run down your cheeks forever, but then you look down and there’s James Cook unconscious in your arms and there’s something glowing inside of you.
“Cassie!” you call, and you realize that your grip on his jacket is tighter than it previously was.
The only answer you get is the echoing silence of the four-room apartment you both share. You take in a deep breath. Close your eyes. Open them again.
This is happening.
This is real.
When you woke up this morning, you never expected this to happen.
***
CASSIE
The cool October breeze makes your hair dangle and float around your neck. The air is crisp and fresh and it’s all so fucking lovely, you almost break that permanent half-smile of yours to give the world a full, honest and beautiful smile.
You don’t though, because nobody is looking. Nobody cares.
People never notice you.
And yet you know that there is someone out there who thinks you’re lovely, and precious and worth it. You know that he’s out there, looking for you. You don’t know, actually, but you like to make yourself believe that he is.
Instead of smiling, you inhale deeply, and you take in the wonderful smell of fallen leaves and autumn. It smells sweet.
It smells like home.
Home, you think bitterly, and you close your eyes to try to remember how fucking wonderful it used to be back there.
Of course, that’s a lie.
No matter where you are, misery seems to cling to you like a deadly disease.
As you sit on a deserted bench in a shady corner of Central Park, you think of Sid.
You think of Sid, and his rimmed glasses. You think of his glasses that always had dirty fingerprints all over them.
You think of Sid, with his ridiculous hat that made you smile so sweetly.
You think of Sid, and how he never bothered to look for you.
You think of Sid, and your world fucking collapses again.
This is how you spend your Friday nights: you walk out of the apartment and then you explore the City.
Tonight, you are sitting on a bench, and you remember a time where you used to sit on a bench next to the one you love. You remember that one night when he sat down next to you and confessed his love to you.
His words were so soft and so sincere; they scared the shit out of you. He pleaded you not to go, he cried, you cried and in the end, you left any way.
You should’ve never returned. This is what you tell yourself.
This is what you know is true.