giddy seizures - falsettos oneshots

ecstasy + chardelia

Charlotte's heart was in her throat, she felt a sea of nervousness and butterflies in her stomach that she's never felt before; she didn't know whether she fell in love with the feeling or loathed it entirely.

She was bittersweetly intrigued with feeling something - albeit, a little overwhelming and a little too much, but maybe she fell in love with 'a little too much' a long time ago, when she met a very special blonde.

Her heart flutters at the thought of her; Charlotte felt kind of ridiculous, like a dumb teenager, but she supposes she could get used to the dumb, teenage feeling love gave her.

Maybe that's what filled her with an irrational, unpredictable bravery to finally confess - to lay her feelings bare in text, no tricks, no games that were necessary to merely flirt, for 'Delia to see.

The confession was long, carefully planned, thought-out, conflicting, almost written in a confused manner, but the amount of pure love strewn into every sentence was enough for Charlotte to hold her breath anxiously as she, albeit hesitantly, hit 'Send'.

What came next made the heart that was in Charlotte's throat swell - in a way that made her choke, choke on her naïve bravery, stupidity, emotions -

Cordelia still wasn't done typing, even though Charlotte couldn't even fully make out the first few sentences she sent because of how deliriously bleak she now was. However, she could pick out a few words that told her more than enough - "So sorry", "I never meant to", and anything else similarly heartbreaking. The sea in Charlotte's stomach drowned her, and she was letting herself sink.

Part of the doctor wishes she wouldn't have responded so kindly - she wishes Cordelia would've ditched her sweetness and acted out in absolute disgust, anger, hatred - Charlotte wanted to hate her, badly - she wanted to be able to block her number, never see her again, and not think twice, but she couldn't; every time she saw her - her beautiful, kind smile, light, angelic hair, gorgeous eyes that held the sea of emotions in Charlotte's stomach in the most beautiful way, for the world to see - she would have to live with the disgusting, bittersweet twist in her heart because she knows that she'll never feel the same about her.

Really, how could she?

Charlotte was a doctor, a professional. Love wasn't made for the robots with a high paycheck - "real", stupid love was invented for the rebels, the dreamers, the underachievers - love is nothing but a chemical; love exists in powders, love exists in pills. It was nothing worth humiliating yourself for. She felt so stupid, like she had watched a child, her erratic, untrained emotions, act out.

Now was time to reprimand herself.

Quickly, with many typos that Charlotte didn't care to correct, she typed out the most formal, emotionally lacking apology she could manage, as if she was apologizing to her boss rather than apologizing to a woman she loved more than words could ever express.

She began to feel vomit rise in her throat.

Rushing to the bathroom, she threw her phone on the nearest furniture she could, no longer caring if she broke it by slamming it too hard. There, hunched over the toilet, she threw up - she vomited every emotion out of her, every hope she had of love. She puked until her throat burned in a way that made her wince and hot, wet tears formed subconsciously, until she felt as if she was throwing up her very guts.

She began speaking deliriously to herself:

"This.. This is what love is."

The burn of vomit, the hot sting of tears, the sickening twist in her gut, the conscious feeling of her heart ripping - the flowers, the roses, that once sprouted in her ribcage had overgrown, turning thorny, and was tearing her heart into nothingness. That's love. Nothing more.

After nothing was left but bile, she stood up, cleaned up her mess, and looked at herself in the mirror; completely emotionless, as she deserved to be. Dr. Charlotte straightened her back, fixed her hair and clothes, and marched out as if nothing ever happened.

Ecstasy cannot be known to the robots of society.

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Author's Note

so, i finally tried to write something other than whizzvin.. was it okay? sorry if it was sad/short, i promise i'll write a happy, fluffy one for my favorite Lesbians From Next Door if y'all don't hate how i wrote them in this one. oof.