Cimorelli Oneshots

Pain (A Christina Story)

-not every story has a happy ending-

Christina was sick.

Not the runny nose, fever kind of sick.

No, she was the kind of sick that claws at your insides, whispering insecurities into your ear at night.

She was so tired of everything. The constant ringing in her ears, the wails, the screaming, the pain. She was just... done. Nothing brought her joy anymore- not singing, not walking, not talking. She was just going through the motions, day in and day out. Make the bed, clean the dishes, smile and laugh. They were just a torrent of useless actions. Actions without a single shred of meaning.

Christina sighed, a long, slow breath that brought on a rainstorm of despair. The darkness, slowly seeping into her thoughts, seemed inevitable.

Therapy might help, but for how long? The happiness would be temporary, she knew. There was no way to climb out of the hole she had dug herself into. It was too deep, too dark, too vast. And she was too full of pain to keep going.

Everything hurt.

Everything.

Everything.

Why did she always feel this way?

Every day she had to wake up and face more painful trials, suffering through the heart-stabbing agony that came with them. They never failed to beat her down, never hurt any less.

And she was always filled to the brim with a looming sort of rage, a shadow of smoky darkness that cut into her thoughts, spreading through every crevice of her mind.

Christina shook her head.

There was no use. She was a broken CD player, stuck on rewind, repeating over and over again.

There was no use.

Christina replayed the words in her mind.

There's no use. You're no use.

"I know," Christina mumbled, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She slumped back in her chair, ignoring the hot salty tears that had rolled onto her tongue. "I know."

A melancholy, hopeless sort of feeling settled through the room, blocking out any glimmer of sunlight, any ray of hope.

"What's the point?" she whispered, her voice choked with tears. "I'm not okay."

Christina leapt up out of her seat, a fiery sensation flowing through her body. She let out a single growl of anger. Then she made a swift kick to the side of the bed, shoving her foot forward with all her might.

"I'm useless," she screamed. "I'm not enough. No one cares. I'll never be strong. I am weak. I don't deserve life. There's no use. I'm DONE!"

The last word seemed to bring Christina back to her senses.

"Oh," she said softly as she surveyed the scene. "Oh."

Scraps of paper littered the ground, almost like strange, rectangular- shaped snowflakes. Without even realizing it, Christina had torn out the pages of her journal in a fit of rage, ripping them to tiny shreds.

"Oh," she said for the third time.

Then she returned to her seat, still staring at the white paper carpeting.

Why am I like this? she wondered. I feel so sick of life, and then I do that, and then I just... stop.

Christina let out a small sob. What what wrong with her? She knew that she was broken. She always knew that. But this was different.

Maybe she wasn't only broken.

Maybe she was shattered.

A dense cloud of depression hovered over her, feeding the raging storm inside.

I really need help. God, I need help.

Christina slowly stood up.

She walked over to the door, softly placing her hand on the knob.

Maybe it was finally time to put her life into someone else's hands.

Someone who would care for her more than she ever did for herself.

Maybe it was time.

Maybe.

But not yet.

Christina let her hand fall away.

She couldn't ask for help. Her life was nothing but a never ending ocean of tears and pain, a whirlwind of heart breaking agony.

Who could make it stop? After years of trying, Christina couldn't. So why bother someone else with the impossible, the unreachable?

But really, Christina wondered. Do I even want to keep going?

What was life anyway? Was it a couple of laughs, a few moments of joy, tossed into an endless pool of misery? Because that's how she felt.

Oh, how life hurt. It knocked her down, again and again and again.

Would it ever stop?

Christina didn't think so.

She was so sick of guessing, of hoping for something better. She wanted life, yes, but her pain propelled her closer to death.

So what could she do?

She could stand up, try again. Or she could give in.

One was easier. So much easier.

But why was it so hard to choose? Why couldn't she just do it? End her life, extinguish the flame.

And then all her troubles, all her worries, would be washed away in a tiny moment.

A single decision. Just one. That would decide everything.

The looming rage, the clouds of depression, the choking anxiety could finally disappear. And she could finally be free.

It shouldn't be hard. But it was.

It was so hard.

So hard.

Christina sighed. Maybe it was time.

Maybe.

Christina sighed again, then stood up.

She was still sick, still tired, still hurt. The pain was never going cease.

So why should she —how could she —continue?

Christina let out a small breath, then walked over to the bedroom door, placing her hand on the smooth knob.

Was she ready?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But there was only one way to find out.

And that was to try.

_______________

Well, not every story has a happy ending.

But this one does.

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A happy ending! I'm shocked. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, voting, and commenting! I really appreciate it : )