Title: Sometimes It Hurts Too Much
Theme(s): #1. Broken (~Killing for the sake of Killing)
Pairing/Characters: Wyatt & Bianca
Disclaimer: Belongs to Spelling Entertainment and all other associated people. I do however claim half of Bianca since they never fully developed her.
Word Count: 699
Written For: 30_angsts
6am. Where have I been? What did I do? How did I make it here? How am I even still alive?
Bianca stared at the red numbers blinking on the clock on the bedside table. She stood beside the bed, saw Wyatt’s sleeping form huddled under the covers. It wasn’t the way he naturally slept. It was half-curled, his knee jutting out to one side, his hand covering her pillow as if he wanted her to move it so he knew when she’d arrive home. Of course he was worried. He never arrived home before she did in the early hours of the morning. But lately…
Bianca lifted a hand to her forehead. Pain throbbed behind her temples. It had been that way for weeks now. The pressure of what she’d had to do was starting to become too much. She felt the weight bearing down on her now, that old habit of being forced to kill people. Not for justice, not for money, but because she was made to. She stood up to threats, they wouldn’t deter her from her own morals, but when the situation starts to affect those around you – that is when you become cornered. That is when you do what you do to survive.
“Wyatt,” she choked out softly as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She didn’t expect him to stir. But she’d held this inside so long, she had to tell him, but she didn’t know how. She couldn’t ask for help. That wasn’t something she did. It was a sign of weakness.
She bit her lip. She couldn’t make anything else come out of her mouth. She could feel tears rising to the surface beneath her eyes, but she knew she wouldn’t cry them. She couldn’t. Not because she didn’t want to break down, she knew it was her strength that held them at bay, but it was her confusion. She didn’t know whether to cry, whether to yell and scream and shout, whether to be angry or sad. She didn’t know how to help herself. She didn’t know how to save herself. She just knew she hated herself for the things she did. She knew that she was working for the devil – killing for the sake of killing.
She clutched the edge of the bed sheet in her hand, squeezing tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her holding on. Her eyes traveled to the window, seeing the first light of day begin to filter through. She rose from the bed, walking across the room to the chest of drawers and placing her hands against the edge. Even the simplest things, like opening a drawer, felt like the greatest effort to her. She was worn and weary and could no more get her mind to act than the rest of her body. Squeezing her eyes closed, she paused for a brief moment as she tried to forget everything. She was home now; she didn’t need to worry about that. Not until later. Not until it was time to go again.
Pulling out a thin nightgown, she lifted it into the air and screwed the straps in her hands as she tried not to break down. How she wanted to throw the thing at the wardrobe. How she wanted to just collapse onto the floor and cry. But she didn’t react. She inhaled a deep breath and continued to change. Glancing across to Wyatt she saw his face and curled tresses that hung loosely around his chin were all highlighted in gold with the rays of the sun casting warmth onto his features, sneaking around the edges of the blind. She slipped into the bed, casting a mere shadow across him as she intercepted the light. She had to move him, she had no choice, and a gentle nudge against his body was all that was required.
She thought that he was sleeping, but that wasn’t the case. He waited for her to close her eyes, for her breath to shallow, before he opened his own. Neither would know what was about to befall them. Neither would realize their situation would be about to change drastically.