M
mystery_chick
Guest
well this is NOT mine! i'm just posting it for my wonder niece (if you dont' know who she is then too bad 
) the 250th topic in the Romance Section goes to her! any ways this is her new fic. I honestly have no clue what she's planning on so just read. It's really really really really really good any ways...
Saying it Over
Every morning she drags herself out of bed. The movements are almost mechanical, just like breathing. Like something was making her move. Her heart throbbed, as though it was too big for the cavity it resided in, and with every pulse, every beat, it was trying to free itself of the pain it endured.
Every morning she’d stare at herself in the mirror before going to work. And every time she’d say to herself, I am Sydney Bristow. I’m happy with my life. I love my job. Nothing could be better. Of course they were lies. She wasn’t happy with her life. She hated her job. Nothing could be worse. And she definitely was not Sydney Bristow. She was Sydney Vaughn, a widow who lost her husband only 2 months into their marriage. She was slowly being killed by her job, and her life was utter hell. But you know what they say. If you tell yourself something enough times, you’ll start to believe it. So she tried. Of course it didn’t work.
She’d drive herself to work, looking straight ahead, never around at her surroundings. The world may as well be burning and I wouldn’t care, she thinks. Nothing will be the same without Vaughn. She never found out exactly who killed him, but she was convinced it was Sloane. Heaven knows he wanted to cause everyone within his grasp pain, to squeeze the life out of them. To get revenge on those who’d betrayed him. Who else would send her pictures of his mutilated body? Or the tapes of the torture methods that had been used on Vaughn
Friends would comfort her, tell her they understood, they knew how it felt. But they didn’t. How could they? She’d think angrily. They never knew what it was like, they don’t know anything. They don’t know how it feels. They don’t understand how special he was to me, what he meant... all that he meant.. what it’s like when everything and the only thing you loved is ripped from your grasp and shattered. Never to be had again... But she was past that stage. She accepted that they thought their words were true, that they thought they really understood. There was no family to sympathize. If anything her dad was more estranged towards her then ever, she had no other relatives. And it’s not exactly like she can go talk to her mother about it.
At work, she was like her father. Detached and uncaring... Cold and ruthless. Missions kept coming, piling onto her until she barely knew who she really was anymore. Not that it mattered. Going on a mission was her only escape in life anymore. It wouldn’t let her think about... about him. Having an alias allowed her to slip into someone else’s life and break away from her own. But missions didn’t last forever.
She’d work late into the night, sometimes not even going home until Kendall or someone would force her to go. On her way home she would force herself not to think. Otherwise things would be like a chain reaction, always getting back to.. him... She’d walk through the door and be greeted by an empty house. Francie, the good friend she had tried to be, finally had gotten fed up with Sydney and moved in with Will. They rarely came around anymore. It didn’t matter though. She didn’t need anyone anymore. Not even Donovan who’d been taken by Weiss.
She seldom ate dinner, if anything at all. She’d lost her appetite for food. For love. For life. Without Vaughn living was pointless. No one to comfort her, no one to comfort back, no one to love. No one who cared. It used to be that she’d come home with Vaughn, have a dinner, maybe watch some TV or talk, and eventually go to bed, blissfully happy. Now she’d normally grab a book, curl up on a chair by a soft glowing lamp and stare at the words, occasionally flipping the pages just for good measure. She wouldn’t read. Reading would require her to think.
After an hour or so of staring at her book, she’d take a shower. This is where she’d cry. Where she could convince herself that the water running down her face were not her tears, but the water from the faucet. Where no one could see her so vulnerable and lost. So weak.
As for going to bed, this was what she dreaded. The minute she’d close her eyes, pain would well in her chest, the pressure seemed to threaten to blow her to pieces. It was in her sleep where she couldn’t avoid the memories. So for the rest of the night she might gaze at her ceiling or climb out her window to lay on the ground in her backyard and just watch the night sky. She never knew why she escaped through the window though. It’d be easier to go through the door.
She spent all her time waiting. For what she didn’t know. For a break. For a chance at a better life. She wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. A while later, she’d get back into her bed, praying for a moment’s escape from life; from the endless hurting she was bound to experience. To not have to go through day after day of complete misery.
Days would lump together and she could barely tell a difference. She’d just keep waking up, going to her mirror and saying those words over and over again, and trying to live her life by them. Damn those professionals, she thought once, this doesn’t work. Nevertheless, she continued with life. Waking up and hiding her pain, seeming to move on with her life. Until one day, she never woke up.
Her exhausted body had finally had enough neglect and torture of it’s own kind. Her broken spirit had at last fled to mend itself. When her Jack came to her house in search of her and saw her lifeless form, he wasn’t at all surprised. “Finally Sydney. You’re finally free,” he whispered. It pained him, knowing he’d have to have to bury his daughter, more so then it would any other parent. She was all he had. He had built his life around her, protecting her.
He chided himself for distancing himself from her after Vaughn was killed, but he had honestly thought it all for the best. He did want his little girl growing up to be old and bitter, and his influence certainly would have brought that. He hoped she knew that he loved her. Closing his eyes, he reminisced how she used to be. How strong and stubborn she had been. How despite everything bad that had happened to her, regardless of how black her life was, she always came back fighting for what she believed in and all the better for not being sucked into the world of despair. It was hard to believe that someone so strong had been reduced to nothing.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked over to the bed. Her face was battered and bruised from the many fights she’d been in, against her enemies and herself. He sits down slowly, his eyes still on her. “I’m so sorry Sydney,” he starts to murmur. “If only I’d caught on sooner I could have saved him. All my life I’ve failed you,” he told her, bowing his head in shame. He stroked her hair with his hand, pushing back the chestnut locks that had fallen across her angelic face. Leaning down, he whispered almost inaudibly, “I love you sweetheart,” and gently kissed her forehead. Staring a few minutes longer, he pulls out his phone.
Getting up he walks over to the door. “Kendall. It’s Jack. I’ve got news on Sydney. No, I’m sorry, she actually won’t be coming in today. Or ever again. She’s died.” A pause occurs over the line. Jack walks outside to finish the conversation.
reviews ppl!
--Mandy
) the 250th topic in the Romance Section goes to her! any ways this is her new fic. I honestly have no clue what she's planning on so just read. It's really really really really really good any ways...Saying it Over
Every morning she drags herself out of bed. The movements are almost mechanical, just like breathing. Like something was making her move. Her heart throbbed, as though it was too big for the cavity it resided in, and with every pulse, every beat, it was trying to free itself of the pain it endured.
Every morning she’d stare at herself in the mirror before going to work. And every time she’d say to herself, I am Sydney Bristow. I’m happy with my life. I love my job. Nothing could be better. Of course they were lies. She wasn’t happy with her life. She hated her job. Nothing could be worse. And she definitely was not Sydney Bristow. She was Sydney Vaughn, a widow who lost her husband only 2 months into their marriage. She was slowly being killed by her job, and her life was utter hell. But you know what they say. If you tell yourself something enough times, you’ll start to believe it. So she tried. Of course it didn’t work.
She’d drive herself to work, looking straight ahead, never around at her surroundings. The world may as well be burning and I wouldn’t care, she thinks. Nothing will be the same without Vaughn. She never found out exactly who killed him, but she was convinced it was Sloane. Heaven knows he wanted to cause everyone within his grasp pain, to squeeze the life out of them. To get revenge on those who’d betrayed him. Who else would send her pictures of his mutilated body? Or the tapes of the torture methods that had been used on Vaughn
Friends would comfort her, tell her they understood, they knew how it felt. But they didn’t. How could they? She’d think angrily. They never knew what it was like, they don’t know anything. They don’t know how it feels. They don’t understand how special he was to me, what he meant... all that he meant.. what it’s like when everything and the only thing you loved is ripped from your grasp and shattered. Never to be had again... But she was past that stage. She accepted that they thought their words were true, that they thought they really understood. There was no family to sympathize. If anything her dad was more estranged towards her then ever, she had no other relatives. And it’s not exactly like she can go talk to her mother about it.
At work, she was like her father. Detached and uncaring... Cold and ruthless. Missions kept coming, piling onto her until she barely knew who she really was anymore. Not that it mattered. Going on a mission was her only escape in life anymore. It wouldn’t let her think about... about him. Having an alias allowed her to slip into someone else’s life and break away from her own. But missions didn’t last forever.
She’d work late into the night, sometimes not even going home until Kendall or someone would force her to go. On her way home she would force herself not to think. Otherwise things would be like a chain reaction, always getting back to.. him... She’d walk through the door and be greeted by an empty house. Francie, the good friend she had tried to be, finally had gotten fed up with Sydney and moved in with Will. They rarely came around anymore. It didn’t matter though. She didn’t need anyone anymore. Not even Donovan who’d been taken by Weiss.
She seldom ate dinner, if anything at all. She’d lost her appetite for food. For love. For life. Without Vaughn living was pointless. No one to comfort her, no one to comfort back, no one to love. No one who cared. It used to be that she’d come home with Vaughn, have a dinner, maybe watch some TV or talk, and eventually go to bed, blissfully happy. Now she’d normally grab a book, curl up on a chair by a soft glowing lamp and stare at the words, occasionally flipping the pages just for good measure. She wouldn’t read. Reading would require her to think.
After an hour or so of staring at her book, she’d take a shower. This is where she’d cry. Where she could convince herself that the water running down her face were not her tears, but the water from the faucet. Where no one could see her so vulnerable and lost. So weak.
As for going to bed, this was what she dreaded. The minute she’d close her eyes, pain would well in her chest, the pressure seemed to threaten to blow her to pieces. It was in her sleep where she couldn’t avoid the memories. So for the rest of the night she might gaze at her ceiling or climb out her window to lay on the ground in her backyard and just watch the night sky. She never knew why she escaped through the window though. It’d be easier to go through the door.
She spent all her time waiting. For what she didn’t know. For a break. For a chance at a better life. She wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. A while later, she’d get back into her bed, praying for a moment’s escape from life; from the endless hurting she was bound to experience. To not have to go through day after day of complete misery.
Days would lump together and she could barely tell a difference. She’d just keep waking up, going to her mirror and saying those words over and over again, and trying to live her life by them. Damn those professionals, she thought once, this doesn’t work. Nevertheless, she continued with life. Waking up and hiding her pain, seeming to move on with her life. Until one day, she never woke up.
Her exhausted body had finally had enough neglect and torture of it’s own kind. Her broken spirit had at last fled to mend itself. When her Jack came to her house in search of her and saw her lifeless form, he wasn’t at all surprised. “Finally Sydney. You’re finally free,” he whispered. It pained him, knowing he’d have to have to bury his daughter, more so then it would any other parent. She was all he had. He had built his life around her, protecting her.
He chided himself for distancing himself from her after Vaughn was killed, but he had honestly thought it all for the best. He did want his little girl growing up to be old and bitter, and his influence certainly would have brought that. He hoped she knew that he loved her. Closing his eyes, he reminisced how she used to be. How strong and stubborn she had been. How despite everything bad that had happened to her, regardless of how black her life was, she always came back fighting for what she believed in and all the better for not being sucked into the world of despair. It was hard to believe that someone so strong had been reduced to nothing.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked over to the bed. Her face was battered and bruised from the many fights she’d been in, against her enemies and herself. He sits down slowly, his eyes still on her. “I’m so sorry Sydney,” he starts to murmur. “If only I’d caught on sooner I could have saved him. All my life I’ve failed you,” he told her, bowing his head in shame. He stroked her hair with his hand, pushing back the chestnut locks that had fallen across her angelic face. Leaning down, he whispered almost inaudibly, “I love you sweetheart,” and gently kissed her forehead. Staring a few minutes longer, he pulls out his phone.
Getting up he walks over to the door. “Kendall. It’s Jack. I’ve got news on Sydney. No, I’m sorry, she actually won’t be coming in today. Or ever again. She’s died.” A pause occurs over the line. Jack walks outside to finish the conversation.
reviews ppl!
--Mandy
This is amazing. So much emotion.