The Time of Change

Without A Trace

I wake up to the morning light burning right into my eyes. The digital alarm clock on my bedside table is a mere red blur, and it takes me a groggy minute to realize that I'm not going blind. My hand scrabbles limply around the surface beside the clock before my fingers brush cold metal. I huff as I shove myself into a sitting position, pushing the spectacles up my nose, and now the clock focuses. 11:31 AM it reads. My blood runs ice cold in an instant, but I remind myself it is a Saturday and I'm not late for anything. I lay back on my pillow with a sigh, about to go back to sleep, when a face comes into my mind.

    A young face with bright green eyes and floppy light brown hair. A bowtie and suspenders. A tweed jacket. Standing in front of a blue box.

    The Doctor is outside my house.

    My heart leaps so violently I worry it may explode out of me, and I jump out of bed. I run over to my closet, picking out a comfortable pair of black leggings and a baby blue long-sleeved shirt that is so baggy it hangs off one shoulder. I quickly dress, and sprint out of my room, stubbing my toe on the threshold. White-hot pain shoots through my foot and irritation bubbles to life in my veins. There is nothing - absolutely nothing - that makes you feel more helpless and stupid than hitting your pinkie toe on a corner. I limp slightly into the kitchen and stare into my backyard.

    The TARDIS is not there.

    I feel my heart plummet in a way I have never experienced before, but I keep looking through the window panes on the back door. Perhaps he simply moved it. There's a tiny flame of hope burning in my chest, like a match struggling to stay lit as someone blows a strong breath to squelch it. With a trembling hand I open the back door and step onto the concrete landing, pivoting my body to take in every angle.

    Not a sign of blue.

    Disappointment and hurt flood over me in the form of a tidal wave, and I feel my head go under the water. I don't attempt to swim back to the surface just yet. I just turn around, walk over to the table, and sit. A moment passes; the door behind me lets out a disgruntled squeak, like an infant frightened of a sudden noise, as it swings shut in a gust of wind. I take off my glasses and bury my face in my hands, willing myself not to cry. It doesn't work. I can practically hear my heart splintering. It's a unique sound, sort of similar to the way broken glass sounds when it's crunched beneath thick boots.

He promised me he wouldn't leave this time. He said it, didn't he? Did I imagine it? Did I imagine him? In a fit of existentiality I grow panicked with the fear that I've finally lost my marbles. I jump to my feet, surprising myself considering how weak I feel right now, and make my way into my room once more. I crouch by the pair of jeans I shed last night and fish my cellphone out of the back pocket. Immediately after unlocking it I find myself tapping on the app with a phone on it, and I stare blankly at my missed calls tab. There's only one dated from yesterday, and it's from Hunter. He left me a voicemail as well. Against my better judgement and purely so I can distinguish between what's real and what isn't, I tap on it.

"Hey, it's me," I hear his voice say uncertainly, a hint of thick sadness coating the bottom of his tone. "You know that, though. I don't know why I said that. Anyway, I just... Please call me back, okay? I want - I need to talk to you. I need to explain, and I want to hear what you wanna say, and I want to apologize to John at some point. I know you don't want to see or hear from me right now, and I-I get that. I don't really want to see myself either at the moment." He gives a single weak chuckle. Something in my chest twinges with discomfort. "Call me when you get this. I lo... Ahem. Bye, Annie."

My cell slips from my hand and thunks heavily to the carpeted floor at my feet. Numbly I shuffle back into the kitchen, lowering myself into the same chair and attempting to regulate my breathing. So yesterday had not been a dream, or a figment of my imagination. Hunter and I really, actually fought because he got jealous of John, who was really, actually here, and who is really, actually the Doctor. And the Doctor really, actually left me behind.

Ouch. That one hurt.

The tears start up once more, and this time I don't bother trying to stop them. I press a hand to my mouth to at least stifle the ugly sobbing from escaping and echoing down the street. My pain and crestfallenness becomes more and more like a flood brought on by the breaking of a dam, and I have to gasp for air after a minute or two. I'm sitting here, alone in this house, crying my eyes out over the boy who fell from the sky and rescued me, made me feel special and loved and wanted, told me his secrets and listened to mine, and then left me behind.

    Did he forget me? Did he disregard me? Did he choose to leave and not disclose why or to where? I feel like I'm reliving the confusion that I felt as a child when this happened before, but it is so much more powerful. Back then, I knew only that I had lost my best and greatest friend. Now, I know who he is, and I've just barely scratched the surface of who I am, and I'm still learning what he means to me exactly, and it hurts so much more. So much more.

    This seems to be quite the predictable trend with me, I suppose as I wipe a few tears from the underside of my chin. First my mother leaves me alone to protect myself and my brothers. Second, I go unloved and unwanted by my parents. Then I am ignored, ridiculed and seen as a burden by foster parents. And finally, I fall short of the desires of my own grandparents, who chose two-thirds of my family over the whole package. It seems that I should be used to evoking this reaction in those I care about. It would be logical not to be surprised at this stage, and it would only make sense to accept my fate as someone who is destined to drive others far away with every move she makes.

    The Doctor can have his destiny as a great man who does great things and saves great nations. He can have it all.