Death of a Thousand Stars; Doctor Who.

☆ three ☆

The Choice

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

She could've died. They all could've perished, gone. Yet she was still standing, still breathing, wrapped up in the comforting hold of Jackie Tyler. Juliet was at a standstill; where was she to go from here? Run away like Rose with a man with impulsivity worse than British weather, throwing caution to the wind? Or was she to abandon the hope of seeing space, tied to the ground she walks on forevermore?

She needed to take a minute to herself. So she left to her lonesome flat next door. Opening her door, she sluggishly roamed to the kitchen, kicking off her heeled boots. Clearly overwhelmed, Juliet put the kettle on before leaning her head on the counter. Curling her arms around her head as if a shield from the world, she let herself weep. Heaving in as much oxygen as she could between soul-wrenching sobs, Juliet stopped trying to hold herself together.

She didn't know how long she cried against the kitchen counter, but the screeching of the kettle ripped her from the silent space of her mind. Jolting abruptly at the sound, she straightened herself, hastily wiping her tears with her cardigan sleeves. Brewing herself a mug of tea, she moved to sit on the counter, staring out the window in thought.

London wasn't the worst city she had lived in. She had been a few cities in her life so far, but none of them felt like home. The hustle and bustle on the streets felt alienating to her, the atmosphere never felt welcoming. Perhaps she just wasn't living a lifestyle suited to her, paying for university fees by working part time in a bar. The misogynistic men, the cold shoulder of the rich. Always surviving until the next pay check, a hamster on a wheel. It drained her, and all she wanted was peace.

Was she to give up on all she built for a man who claimed he would let her see the stars? Maybe. The entire situation seemed too much for her, though, so she had to mull over it all.

A knock at her window jolted her out of her mind, looking up to see the face of the man who promised her the world. He pointed to her locked door, to which she opened.

"I popped out for a couple hours, sent the dispersal out. No more worrying about bargain hunters showing up to buy the Earth," he started, looking down to see her melancholic demeanour. "Well, finish up yer tea and we'll go see some stars."

She sipped her tea, realising it had gone cold. "I don't know," Juliet started, sliding her mug onto the side before resting her hands in her low-rise jean pockets. "I think this," she motioned to him and the outside, "might be more than I bargained for."

He frowned, leaning against the countertop with her. "But you seemed ecstatic to see the unknown the other day. What happened?"

She moved her head away from him, her black hair creating a barrier between them. "I'm not sure. It's just, death. Death just seems to follow you," she explained, knowing that it might hurt him. "And Rose, she didn't seem phased, at the bodies, the idea of losing people... I just can't, I don't want to be that way." She finally moved to look back at him, her voice starting to quiver, "And this seems so normal for you. Another Tuesday, saving the world from peril. And I'm no help, I'd crumble under the weight of it all, the guilt. Yet it doesn't seem to even affect you."

He cleared his throat, avoiding her. "It does eat me alive. There's so much out there though, Juliet, so many fantastic opportunities. And if I don't risk it all to make things right, what use am I, huh?" His arms folded, and his gunmetal eyes held too much emotion for her to understand. "And Rose, I can't talk for her, but I promise you, you won't turn out like you think. I mean," he huffed out a laugh, "The moment we met, you were 'bout to clock me, guessing I was breaking into Jackie's. If that's not bloody compassion and guts, I don't know what is."