Say My Name [ Teacher-Student Romance -- Robert Downey Jr ]

Ch.76 - Ticking Time

This guy though ^^ that Tigger onsie and his sweet message to that young boy battling Cystic Fibrosis.

*** PLEASE READ AUTHORS NOTE AT END. Also, next three chaps including this one are quite long as I thought you guys deserved a bit more (do you guys like the longer chaps or is it too much?). Enjoy!
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Time seems to become an irrelevant measurement. Seemingly both over-stretched and worn thin, to quick flashing sprints, passing her by without her knowings. Jumping over days that could have changed the outcome and pretentiously slow hours that mean nothing. These colliding moments stitched together claiming herself a time-lord of sorts. Trying to separate the irrelevant ticking of time and the remorseful bundle of moments where hope withers in loss. Trying so desperately, clinging to every memory, and solve the puzzle that was her hearts demise.

Watching the clocks hands precariously rotate round and round, till she's off lost to her own unconscious slumber and defining it as self-confinement. Like a smoky white flag, singed and coal grey, waving back and fourth on a battlefield meant to gain her back her freedom. A reform from depression. But instead she's left feeling like she's laying in a dusty, dark coffin made up of her own stale body. Cemented in her state of disparage.

Closing her crusty lids where tears have dried, does she see the flourished green lands of those who are left to their own solitude. Fascinated by the flowers of their past and cringing from the brewing storms rolling in from afar. Stuck between the cracks of a hurricane that'll rip apart her past and future.

Though opening her lashes does she stare blindly up at a pale ceiling foreign to her comfort levels and recognition. Idly glancing from the corner where the walls chaotic colours invades the pale ceilings, reaching past it's set out regimen.

Maybe she's never meant to cross the line from depthless depression into a life of colour and joy. Though she inches to the line, gets close enough to counter it's border, she is always tossed back into the back line of life's chest match. Stuck being the queen of a failed team, slaying others in the wake of her presence. As if she's meant to see that those who she chooses to take a space upon her board, are unaware of the rules of Charlottes set out game. Loved ones that never asked to be a pawn in her match, gets taken by the opponent. Clasped in the grasp of displeasure and discourse. Teaching Charlotte that the people she keeps close to her either get burnt or get taken away.

Yet, sadistically, she still holds hope. Still she loves and gets attached to those who were only ever temporary. Who only get scarred and tattered in her defenceless wake.

She's barely got a heart at all after the reciprocated trauma its endured. The same trauma she burdens onto others. Asking why she's meant to survive with this ugly heart, bleeding a stubborn yet sluggish rhythm of hope against the evils of the world. Fighting a churning battle against the who's, how's, what's, and why's of her constantly impending and repeated doom she places onto others.

Who will be next to feel their icy end in spite of her still beating heart. How long she's going to keep down this beaten path of solitude soldiers, meant to live a life of torture through the pain of others. What it might be like to live a life of peace and jovial flutterings. But that's not in her hand of cards she's been dealt. No, not when she keeps daring to love and repetitively learning that she will only ever lose it. Though suppose that's up to passing moments and ticking time that wavers with distortion as she blearily jumps from memory to memory.

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Waking up in the midst of a sensational panic. Driven by a prodding image vivid in her mind of death and deception. Darting gaze leaping from the billowing curtains framing the hidden window, to the lamp lit beside her. Casting strange shadows in the earth toned room. Determination fuelling her gut to leap into action, but in reality, too weak to move beyond a low unfulfilled groan. Settled on the end of the bed, curled around rumpled covers that do not comfort her aching form. Wishing to transcend into a far away dimension where trauma wasn't her first characteristic.