I wanted take my own painful experience and explore What it must have been like for Xena during
Those painful few days of preparation for Gabrielle's weddings.
Disclaimers: Xena:WP and all characters associated with the show are own by RenPic, not me.
Alternative Fan fiction. No sex, not even a kiss. Just the angst of one woman Loving another
and the realization, she's about to lose her. If you find this Type of material offensive or if
it is illegal for you to read in your state of Residence you may wish to read something else.
Heartfelt thanks to the BardicCircle and the challenge that called this piece
Forward.
Moon7u © copyright 2001
God how does a person keep going, when some days it hurts just to breathe?
I pick up the shredded pieces of my heart on the bad days and patch them together like quilt work. And I breathe. With each shuddering breath, I feel my chest constrict against my heart and my lungs burn with liquid ice.
I had never known want like that before. Want so strong and intense, it seizes the soul. I never believed such a thing could exist yet there I was gripped in its relentless clutch. There's a strange pain in being anonymous; Loving someone anonymously: Telling oneself, "friendship is enough. It's just enough to be close to her."
Yet every time I witnessed them touch, kiss, smile lovingly at each other, the pain squeezed mercilessly at my heart. I could scarcely breathe from it. I would grow uncustomarily quiet one moment or abnormally boisterous the next, to escape the raw burning sensation of anonymous pain in the pit of my stomach. Every sound of laughter from their voices washing over me like rivulets of fire. Crushing, crushing my chest and I would say, "I have to go." Desperate to escape their happiness, lightheaded from my agony, and trying to draw in air with desperate breaths. Sensing something was amiss, as a good friend would, she would turn her burning gaze on me, suffocating me beneath an affectionate look.
My heart would slam forward crashing into my chest as though someone had suddenly put on the brakes. I would fight to keep my breathing even and the whimper from ripping from my throat; Fighting to keep my pain hidden because she had no right to it.
"What's wrong, Love?" she would whisper and each time my breath was stolen away.
"Old ghosts. Persistent demons." I would smile sadly, and then look away. How could I ever say, 'You. You are what's wrong. You, not kissing me. You, not touching me. You, not looking upon me as if I were your whole world. That's what's wrong. That's what's shredding me. You are burying me with every friendly touch. You are destroying me with every affectionate embrace. You still my breath, my heart; and I am helpless against you. And I would drown in my surrender to you willingly, happily if I could be ever so sure that my surrender is what you wanted. You've placed question marks with sharp edges on my heart. Bittersweet is ever an emotion now adhered to your presence. I love you. That's what's wrong. And you . . . you my love are just an illusion. And I wait for the smoke to clear and the mirrors to shatter and that one jagged edge to pierce my heart. You . . . You are what's wrong. You and I . . . Oh God I can't breathe!'