The Awakening (8/?)
Title: La fine di un sogno (or The Awakening)
Author: Spooky85
Pairing: Callie/Erica (if you can have a little faith...)
Rating: Pg
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: I really hope you guys won't skip the AN like I usually do.. because I'm gonna try and explain how this story works for me, so you can have faith the gloomy is over and the happy will start soon.
I think of this as some sort of curve. It started happy and bubbly only to down spiral into depression and downright suicideness (I know it's not a word...just think of it as poetic licence, will ya?). Now we've reached the bottom and for a moment there there's gonna be stillness. So we can gather our bruised little hearts and bring them back to life in a mirrored but opposite way.
And who can be better at patching up our hearts then CardioGodHahn herself.. *wink wink nudge nudge*
If you didn't get a word of what I've just said..it's ok. Just follow me under the cut and you'll understand...
Prologue__Denial________ -_____Epilogue___(???)
Chapter1__Shock________ -_____Chapter15__(???)
Chapter2__depression____ -_____Chapter14__(???)
Chapter3__rebound______ -_____Chapter13__(???)
Chapter4__revulsion______ -_____Chapter12__(???)
Chapter5__secrets_______ -_____Chapter11__(???)
Chapter6__memories_____ -_____Chapter10__(???)
Chapter7__disillusionment_ - _____Chapter9__(???)
_______________Chapter8_The Bridge___________
Nice chart, I know. I'll try and make it better for the next chapters...Phew..it was one hell of an AN,wasn't it. Well..On with the story.
*Chapter8*
I hate money. I hate my family's money, I hate that they think they can buy anything with it, and I hate that most of the time they actually do.
I hate that some people will only like you because of it. Or worse yet, sometimes they'll stop liking you because of it too.
While I was a kid, while I was innocent and didn't know about people and life, I wouldn't worry too much over it. So when other kids marveled at my house, the swimming pool, the amount of gifts under my christmas tree or in my room, it didn't bother me.
They were kids, just like me, and still too young to know what jealousy or envy was like.
They'd make it a point to be invited to my place as often as they could, to play with me, I thought. And I was happy. Happy I had so many friends.
Growing up, I started to realize that it wasn't me they were anxious to visit, but my belongings. It wasn't me they wanted to play with, but my toys. I was the price they had to pay to get to them.
As soon as I turned ten I knew my childhood was over.
It was my birthday. Dressed in the best white dress my mother's money could buy I was running around the yard with my little friends. Happy and carefree. Kneeling down besides the white roses my father's gardner had planted on the day of my birth. To keep from being found out too early in the game of tag, I sat quiet, ready to sprint and run towards home, following the others with my eyes, overlooking the whole play field in front of me. sentinel, my father user to call me then, always aware of what was going on around me.
A too sudden movement, however, had the sleeve on my dress caught by the thorns on the long stems. There was no way I could free myself and not make too much of a noise. I was so preoccupied not to tear my mother's beautiful dress that I lost my focus on the game, and so I was found out.
I remember the little boy running towards home screaming that he'd found me. The humiliation rose to my cheeks and I sprinted after him, uncaring of the mess I'd just managed to make of both my dress and arm.
The cuts were deep and painful, but I didn't care. I had managed to outrun him and win the game. Then one of my friends started screaming and pointing at me.
Soon my mother was running towards me, scolding me for getting hurt, for tearing up the dress, screaming at my father whose roses had done all that, at the gardner for not putting up a fence around them.
The most beautiful precious roses. My father had had them created just for me. Unique. And I ruined them.
My blood on the petals tainting the pristine white, burning the soft folds.
And I remember, being the little soldier that I was back then, I remember that I found my mother's cares annoying, excessive. Just some scratches, I thought.
I wanted to go back to my friends. To tell them I was ok.
They had looked so scared.
But when they took me to the main bathroom, rivulets of crimson marring the pink tiles, I remember I looked out the window. Down to the park.
They were playing.
Without me.
Their little feet running over the blood stained grass, as if nothing had ever happened there. As if I hadn't been there at all.
They had forgotten about me already.
My birthday. The day I grew up.
When one of the maids came back to the room to clean up my cuts and put bandages on them, I cried. Silently. And I'm sure she thought it was because of the pain.
And she was right.
Only that pain stem from my heart.
The following years I learned never to invite anybody home. I learned to have the driver leave me a block away from school. I learned to observe people and imitate them.
Sometimes I would say I had to help my father cut the grass on the front yard, even though we had four gardeners to take care of that.
I would throw away the lunch our cook would prepare for me in the mornings, only to end up eating disgusting stuff at the school refectory.
I would have breakfast with my parents dressed perfectly and then run to my room and change my clothes to get rid of the labels and the satin.
I was still a sentinel. Only this time I wasn't playing a game. This time I was guarding myself from people.
One friend through all of this I had managed to make.
Black hair, brown eyes, we looked like sisters. And we would kid around and tell people who didn't know us that we were. So one day I braved an invitation.
Only for her, never to be spoken of again.
She swore.
I learned after that that it's not true that poor people are kinder and more gentile, that their promises are deeper and more meaningful.
She hurt me. Even worse than those other kids. She hurt me because we were sisters. Because our blood had mingled. Because I had a scar at the bottom of my right hand to prove that it had.
I never spoke to her after that day.
I didn't know what to do then. Being honest hadn't worked and keeping secrets hadn't either.
I had nothing to focus on anymore, so I put all my energy in hating my parents. It had been their fault anyway. If they hadn't been so rich, if they hadn't felt the need to show off their money every chance they got, if they had never had me, it would all have been easier.
I stayed out till morning, I started dating the worst kind of scum. I was arrested once. I was going to go to juvie when my father paid my way out of that police station.
I only hated him more.
Then I found medicine. And I fell madly in love with it. And my life changed.
I started appreciating the level of instruction my money could buy me. I got into the best schools, graduated first in my class. Got into the best surgical program there was.
For the first time I started feeling like I'd achieved something, actually used money to get something good.
And I moved as far away from home as I possibly could.
My parents would send me checks each month but I always sent them back. Money had already done it's piece, now I had a wage. I could afford things on my own.
Sure, I didn't make a lot of it, but it still was enough to survive. I slept in the basement of the hospital, a fact I'm sure would have killed my mother had she been privy to it. But I could buy stuff for myself and I felt great about it.
Then George came along and made me change my life for him. I felt like I had to take care of him, so I asked my father for money for the first time since I was nineteen, and reserved a room for us to live in at the most expensive most luxurious hotel there is. I wanted to give him it all. I wanted him to have everything.
And he took it. Anything and everything. Without regard, without a single thought about me, but love had blinded me to his faults and I was happy in my illusion. And then he left. My money made him leave and he went to her. The trailer park girl.
And I hated my money once again.
It only changed when she came around. She wouldn't let me pretend, wouldn't let me hide. She was, is, from old money too so she understood. And we shared. Everything. And we were equals.
And when I bought her a designer cashmere sweater for her birthday she teared up because of the gift, because it was me giving it to her, not because of the price tag.
So as we stroll along the Santa Barbara boulevards, doing therapeutic shopping, as Addison called it, I don't feel guilty.
Not over the fact the I have already spent in three hour more than what most people would earn in a year salary. Not over the fact that I would probably never wear all the clothes and shoes I've bought. No.
Inside my heart I thank her for that.
"It's official. My feet are killing me. Ah, I hate these shoes" mumbles Addison as we sit down on a bench, her toes wiggling in celebration of the liberty they have been granted.
"Couldn't you have realized that before you spent next month salary on them not even half an hour ago?" Her head falls back on the bench. I smile as I marvel at how she can look sophisticated even bare footed slouched on a bench.
"Well, it was one glorious half hour with them. I'll always have the memories" her grin spreads across her face as she takes in the sun.
I have to admit that this city is beautiful. Alive.
"So, what do you say we get something to eat, your treat"
"Hey, I'm your guest! You should be buying me lunch, not the other way around!"
"I provide the city, and the house and the amazing company. You provide the money"
And it doesn't hurt, not anymore. Because I know she loves for more than my money. She's been my first friend.
"The jury is still out on the amazingness of the company, but I guess I can buy you lunch as we wait for the verdict. Come on"
The cafe is nice. Not overly crowded but still buzzing with people and movement and sounds.
I can see why people come here to find themselves.
The food is not that great but I don't mind as we chat away the better part of our afternoon. I like it here. I could live here.
Only I won't.
"..and then he told me that I was too old for it. Can you believe it? Me? Too old? So I took that board into the see and hoped on it like a pro, you know, to make him eat his words"
"And how many bones did you manage to break in the process?"
"None. I was very good at it, I'll have you know. Well, until the surf came and I almost drowned, but that's beside the point. The point is that I did it"
"Yeah you did it alright. You made a fool out of yourself"
"No. I made him rush to save me and play hero. I was very convincing as a damsel in distress. Now we're dating"
"Wow, your love life is so so very interesting Addison, thanks for telling me" the slap on the arm that she gives me only makes me laugh harder
"Nobody likes a smartass Callie. Anyway we better get going. We are going out tonight"
"Ugh, do we have to? I really was planning on going to bed early" the whine in my voice makes me cringe.
"No point in arguing, my dear. I've already made up my mind. We are going home and you're getting dressed and we are getting out."
Sometimes I hate her.
The drive back to her place is spent with me trying without much success to make her change her mind, and her trying to convince me to wear the sexy black dress I've bought today.
She still hasn't told me where we are going, and it makes choosing an outfit all the more difficult. I try them all diligently on, one by one, and just as methodically I discard them all. I don't feel comfortable inside any of them. I don't feel comfortable inside my own skin anymore.
Jeans and a button down shirt, and the hell with Addison and her not telling me where she's taking me. Besides I'm not up for formal and I definitely didn't come all the way here to get laid. I don't need to impress anybody.
As I put on my shirt my eyes catch on the white streak of a scar on my left arm. Nobody who doesn't know where to look would know there's anything wrong with my arm, but I feel my skin pull as I slide it inside the sleeve. It still hurts. After all this time.
I guess some scars never heal.
I shake my head, there are so many things I should be thinking about now, so many choices to make, so many things to get over, but I don't want to, I just want to forget. I'm glad I'm going out tonight. I won't have to worry about anything.
Addison looks at me as I emerge from my room. Took me an hour to get dressed in what I could have put on in ten minutes, but I guess she knows what's on my mind these days, so she lets it slide, no comments on her part as we get out of her house and into the taxi that's waiting for us at the front door. She's my friend.
We make our way through the crowd in the club, and I'm glad Addie choose a place where I wouldn't feel put on the spot. The room is not very big, but it's so packed that walking to the bar is a difficult task. She took me dancing.
The beat is loud and it reverberates through me, sending shock waves right to my brain. The need to dance is strong but drinks have to come first. And so a shot, then a second and a third make their way inside me, making me happy, giving me strength.
Addison takes my hand, and even though she hates dancing, and even though it's the only time she doesn't look gracious at all, she leads me to the dance floor and starts swaying to the music.
I love dancing. And as I begin to rock my hips to the sound of the beats, I feel free.
I'm in control, of my body, of my world.
I am music and rhythm.
My eyes are closed and my head falls relaxed against my shoulders, baring my neck to the sky.
It's primal. It's good.
Hands on my hips, big, demanding. They turn me around and for a moment I let him guide me through the rhythm, against him.
Then gold.
And I'm attracted to it, like a moth to a flame. I gravitate towards it, uncaring of the man I'm leaving behind because gold is all I can see.
And now my hands are on her hips and she turns, surprised, and I smile, alcohol giving me courage
"Just a dance"
I plead
And her smile is all I need. And we move together to a beat only we can hear, and I'm mesmerized by the swaying strands of her hair.
And I know, in that instant, that choking down her name all day, paying attention to never refer to her, not in my mind, not in my words, trying and pretending to forget, I know that it's useless. That I'm weak. Too weak. Too powerless against her, and I surrender.
Inside my heart I surrender.
The music changes and so does she, turning around towards another dance, another person caught in the orbit of her hips, and I make my way to Addison once again.
I down the shot she offers me.
I'm ready.
"Tell me where she is"
Author: Spooky85
Pairing: Callie/Erica (if you can have a little faith...)
Rating: Pg
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: I really hope you guys won't skip the AN like I usually do.. because I'm gonna try and explain how this story works for me, so you can have faith the gloomy is over and the happy will start soon.
I think of this as some sort of curve. It started happy and bubbly only to down spiral into depression and downright suicideness (I know it's not a word...just think of it as poetic licence, will ya?). Now we've reached the bottom and for a moment there there's gonna be stillness. So we can gather our bruised little hearts and bring them back to life in a mirrored but opposite way.
And who can be better at patching up our hearts then CardioGodHahn herself.. *wink wink nudge nudge*
If you didn't get a word of what I've just said..it's ok. Just follow me under the cut and you'll understand...
Prologue__Denial________ -_____Epilogue___(???)
Chapter1__Shock________ -_____Chapter15__(???)
Chapter2__depression____ -_____Chapter14__(???)
Chapter3__rebound______ -_____Chapter13__(???)
Chapter4__revulsion______ -_____Chapter12__(???)
Chapter5__secrets_______ -_____Chapter11__(???)
Chapter6__memories_____ -_____Chapter10__(???)
Chapter7__disillusionment_ - _____Chapter9__(???)
_______________Chapter8_The Bridge___________
Nice chart, I know. I'll try and make it better for the next chapters...Phew..it was one hell of an AN,wasn't it. Well..On with the story.
*Chapter8*
I hate money. I hate my family's money, I hate that they think they can buy anything with it, and I hate that most of the time they actually do.
I hate that some people will only like you because of it. Or worse yet, sometimes they'll stop liking you because of it too.
While I was a kid, while I was innocent and didn't know about people and life, I wouldn't worry too much over it. So when other kids marveled at my house, the swimming pool, the amount of gifts under my christmas tree or in my room, it didn't bother me.
They were kids, just like me, and still too young to know what jealousy or envy was like.
They'd make it a point to be invited to my place as often as they could, to play with me, I thought. And I was happy. Happy I had so many friends.
Growing up, I started to realize that it wasn't me they were anxious to visit, but my belongings. It wasn't me they wanted to play with, but my toys. I was the price they had to pay to get to them.
As soon as I turned ten I knew my childhood was over.
It was my birthday. Dressed in the best white dress my mother's money could buy I was running around the yard with my little friends. Happy and carefree. Kneeling down besides the white roses my father's gardner had planted on the day of my birth. To keep from being found out too early in the game of tag, I sat quiet, ready to sprint and run towards home, following the others with my eyes, overlooking the whole play field in front of me. sentinel, my father user to call me then, always aware of what was going on around me.
A too sudden movement, however, had the sleeve on my dress caught by the thorns on the long stems. There was no way I could free myself and not make too much of a noise. I was so preoccupied not to tear my mother's beautiful dress that I lost my focus on the game, and so I was found out.
I remember the little boy running towards home screaming that he'd found me. The humiliation rose to my cheeks and I sprinted after him, uncaring of the mess I'd just managed to make of both my dress and arm.
The cuts were deep and painful, but I didn't care. I had managed to outrun him and win the game. Then one of my friends started screaming and pointing at me.
Soon my mother was running towards me, scolding me for getting hurt, for tearing up the dress, screaming at my father whose roses had done all that, at the gardner for not putting up a fence around them.
The most beautiful precious roses. My father had had them created just for me. Unique. And I ruined them.
My blood on the petals tainting the pristine white, burning the soft folds.
And I remember, being the little soldier that I was back then, I remember that I found my mother's cares annoying, excessive. Just some scratches, I thought.
I wanted to go back to my friends. To tell them I was ok.
They had looked so scared.
But when they took me to the main bathroom, rivulets of crimson marring the pink tiles, I remember I looked out the window. Down to the park.
They were playing.
Without me.
Their little feet running over the blood stained grass, as if nothing had ever happened there. As if I hadn't been there at all.
They had forgotten about me already.
My birthday. The day I grew up.
When one of the maids came back to the room to clean up my cuts and put bandages on them, I cried. Silently. And I'm sure she thought it was because of the pain.
And she was right.
Only that pain stem from my heart.
The following years I learned never to invite anybody home. I learned to have the driver leave me a block away from school. I learned to observe people and imitate them.
Sometimes I would say I had to help my father cut the grass on the front yard, even though we had four gardeners to take care of that.
I would throw away the lunch our cook would prepare for me in the mornings, only to end up eating disgusting stuff at the school refectory.
I would have breakfast with my parents dressed perfectly and then run to my room and change my clothes to get rid of the labels and the satin.
I was still a sentinel. Only this time I wasn't playing a game. This time I was guarding myself from people.
One friend through all of this I had managed to make.
Black hair, brown eyes, we looked like sisters. And we would kid around and tell people who didn't know us that we were. So one day I braved an invitation.
Only for her, never to be spoken of again.
She swore.
I learned after that that it's not true that poor people are kinder and more gentile, that their promises are deeper and more meaningful.
She hurt me. Even worse than those other kids. She hurt me because we were sisters. Because our blood had mingled. Because I had a scar at the bottom of my right hand to prove that it had.
I never spoke to her after that day.
I didn't know what to do then. Being honest hadn't worked and keeping secrets hadn't either.
I had nothing to focus on anymore, so I put all my energy in hating my parents. It had been their fault anyway. If they hadn't been so rich, if they hadn't felt the need to show off their money every chance they got, if they had never had me, it would all have been easier.
I stayed out till morning, I started dating the worst kind of scum. I was arrested once. I was going to go to juvie when my father paid my way out of that police station.
I only hated him more.
Then I found medicine. And I fell madly in love with it. And my life changed.
I started appreciating the level of instruction my money could buy me. I got into the best schools, graduated first in my class. Got into the best surgical program there was.
For the first time I started feeling like I'd achieved something, actually used money to get something good.
And I moved as far away from home as I possibly could.
My parents would send me checks each month but I always sent them back. Money had already done it's piece, now I had a wage. I could afford things on my own.
Sure, I didn't make a lot of it, but it still was enough to survive. I slept in the basement of the hospital, a fact I'm sure would have killed my mother had she been privy to it. But I could buy stuff for myself and I felt great about it.
Then George came along and made me change my life for him. I felt like I had to take care of him, so I asked my father for money for the first time since I was nineteen, and reserved a room for us to live in at the most expensive most luxurious hotel there is. I wanted to give him it all. I wanted him to have everything.
And he took it. Anything and everything. Without regard, without a single thought about me, but love had blinded me to his faults and I was happy in my illusion. And then he left. My money made him leave and he went to her. The trailer park girl.
And I hated my money once again.
It only changed when she came around. She wouldn't let me pretend, wouldn't let me hide. She was, is, from old money too so she understood. And we shared. Everything. And we were equals.
And when I bought her a designer cashmere sweater for her birthday she teared up because of the gift, because it was me giving it to her, not because of the price tag.
So as we stroll along the Santa Barbara boulevards, doing therapeutic shopping, as Addison called it, I don't feel guilty.
Not over the fact the I have already spent in three hour more than what most people would earn in a year salary. Not over the fact that I would probably never wear all the clothes and shoes I've bought. No.
Inside my heart I thank her for that.
"It's official. My feet are killing me. Ah, I hate these shoes" mumbles Addison as we sit down on a bench, her toes wiggling in celebration of the liberty they have been granted.
"Couldn't you have realized that before you spent next month salary on them not even half an hour ago?" Her head falls back on the bench. I smile as I marvel at how she can look sophisticated even bare footed slouched on a bench.
"Well, it was one glorious half hour with them. I'll always have the memories" her grin spreads across her face as she takes in the sun.
I have to admit that this city is beautiful. Alive.
"So, what do you say we get something to eat, your treat"
"Hey, I'm your guest! You should be buying me lunch, not the other way around!"
"I provide the city, and the house and the amazing company. You provide the money"
And it doesn't hurt, not anymore. Because I know she loves for more than my money. She's been my first friend.
"The jury is still out on the amazingness of the company, but I guess I can buy you lunch as we wait for the verdict. Come on"
The cafe is nice. Not overly crowded but still buzzing with people and movement and sounds.
I can see why people come here to find themselves.
The food is not that great but I don't mind as we chat away the better part of our afternoon. I like it here. I could live here.
Only I won't.
"..and then he told me that I was too old for it. Can you believe it? Me? Too old? So I took that board into the see and hoped on it like a pro, you know, to make him eat his words"
"And how many bones did you manage to break in the process?"
"None. I was very good at it, I'll have you know. Well, until the surf came and I almost drowned, but that's beside the point. The point is that I did it"
"Yeah you did it alright. You made a fool out of yourself"
"No. I made him rush to save me and play hero. I was very convincing as a damsel in distress. Now we're dating"
"Wow, your love life is so so very interesting Addison, thanks for telling me" the slap on the arm that she gives me only makes me laugh harder
"Nobody likes a smartass Callie. Anyway we better get going. We are going out tonight"
"Ugh, do we have to? I really was planning on going to bed early" the whine in my voice makes me cringe.
"No point in arguing, my dear. I've already made up my mind. We are going home and you're getting dressed and we are getting out."
Sometimes I hate her.
The drive back to her place is spent with me trying without much success to make her change her mind, and her trying to convince me to wear the sexy black dress I've bought today.
She still hasn't told me where we are going, and it makes choosing an outfit all the more difficult. I try them all diligently on, one by one, and just as methodically I discard them all. I don't feel comfortable inside any of them. I don't feel comfortable inside my own skin anymore.
Jeans and a button down shirt, and the hell with Addison and her not telling me where she's taking me. Besides I'm not up for formal and I definitely didn't come all the way here to get laid. I don't need to impress anybody.
As I put on my shirt my eyes catch on the white streak of a scar on my left arm. Nobody who doesn't know where to look would know there's anything wrong with my arm, but I feel my skin pull as I slide it inside the sleeve. It still hurts. After all this time.
I guess some scars never heal.
I shake my head, there are so many things I should be thinking about now, so many choices to make, so many things to get over, but I don't want to, I just want to forget. I'm glad I'm going out tonight. I won't have to worry about anything.
Addison looks at me as I emerge from my room. Took me an hour to get dressed in what I could have put on in ten minutes, but I guess she knows what's on my mind these days, so she lets it slide, no comments on her part as we get out of her house and into the taxi that's waiting for us at the front door. She's my friend.
We make our way through the crowd in the club, and I'm glad Addie choose a place where I wouldn't feel put on the spot. The room is not very big, but it's so packed that walking to the bar is a difficult task. She took me dancing.
The beat is loud and it reverberates through me, sending shock waves right to my brain. The need to dance is strong but drinks have to come first. And so a shot, then a second and a third make their way inside me, making me happy, giving me strength.
Addison takes my hand, and even though she hates dancing, and even though it's the only time she doesn't look gracious at all, she leads me to the dance floor and starts swaying to the music.
I love dancing. And as I begin to rock my hips to the sound of the beats, I feel free.
I'm in control, of my body, of my world.
I am music and rhythm.
My eyes are closed and my head falls relaxed against my shoulders, baring my neck to the sky.
It's primal. It's good.
Hands on my hips, big, demanding. They turn me around and for a moment I let him guide me through the rhythm, against him.
Then gold.
And I'm attracted to it, like a moth to a flame. I gravitate towards it, uncaring of the man I'm leaving behind because gold is all I can see.
And now my hands are on her hips and she turns, surprised, and I smile, alcohol giving me courage
"Just a dance"
I plead
And her smile is all I need. And we move together to a beat only we can hear, and I'm mesmerized by the swaying strands of her hair.
And I know, in that instant, that choking down her name all day, paying attention to never refer to her, not in my mind, not in my words, trying and pretending to forget, I know that it's useless. That I'm weak. Too weak. Too powerless against her, and I surrender.
Inside my heart I surrender.
The music changes and so does she, turning around towards another dance, another person caught in the orbit of her hips, and I make my way to Addison once again.
I down the shot she offers me.
I'm ready.
"Tell me where she is"