Disclaimer: The characters of Xena and Gabrielle belong exclusively to MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures. No copyright infringement was intended through the writing of this piece.
Subtext Warning: Yeah, I guess so. This story implies a loving relationship between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18, this type of thing is illegal in the state/country where you live or if you are offended by it read no further.
Author’s Notes: This is the sequel to Just . . . Feel, you may wish to read that first.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to the people on the ex-Guards who took the time to read this and give me feedback before posting.
Feedback: archaeobard@hotmail.com
Feel . . . What?
By
Archaeobard
Sometimes, when you care about something, you have to let it go. That’s what I have done to Gabrielle. She always thought that I’d be there for her, or she’d be there for me. But sometimes, it doesn’t work out the way we think it will. I told her so many things, I let her in. And that scared me. So then I walked away. She didn’t want me to, but I had no choice. She didn’t know I was going. It was me, or it was her. I could not afford to lose myself in her any more than I had. I still needed something of me to call myself. I know I relied too heavily on her. I took her for granted. I took her for the other half of my soul. A part of my being. My very existence. No-one needs a burden like that, especially her. So what did I do? I walked, with little explanation for my actions. I told myself I’d be back, but somehow, I don’t think I can.
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I thought she’d be back. I thought she loved me. Even if she didn’t say so. But it’s been three days now, and she hasn’t returned. I know I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t let myself care. I don’t know anymore. Maybe I put her on some pedestal because she was so strong, so everything that I was not. Maybe it was that weakness I saw in myself that drew me to her. Maybe it was that I wanted to draw something from her. Maybe that way I wouldn’t be so alone.
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Sometimes I am lonely and want to be alone. That’s what I tried to give her when I left. But somehow, I don’t think that was what she was looking for. Sometimes you can’t take what you have and hope that it’s enough., because it never is. There is always something missing. I think that something was us.
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I’ve never felt so much a part of someone before. I never felt that I gave her any reason to destroy me. Hurt me, yes, but never destroy me. But that’s my fault. I gave her all I had to give and then I gave a little more. And she took it. She drained me and left me weak. So that now I sit here, feeling without feeling. Is that possible, to be so numb that you don’t know what you think, yet at the same time you can’t stop thinking?
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I acted like she was my friend. It took a while, but I let her see me. But, I was a friend when I wanted so desperately to be more. I never let her see that side of me, that part I kept hidden. That part of me that wanted to hold her like a lover, to make all the pain, what ever it was, just go away. She would have rebelled at that. But then, who am I to presume to know what she was thinking?
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I had hoped that some part of her could have seen the love in my heart. It frightened me then, and it still frightens me now. I think it is worse since she has gone away. I can’t seem to stop myself from hoping that she cared enough to love me. But then, I am being unrealistic. What could she possible want from me that she can’t get elsewhere? She left, she left me alone with my terror, and I can’t escape this haunting feeling that steals over me time after time.
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Gods! What am I doing here? What have I done to myself? What have I done to her? Why did I have to run? What was the point? There probably wasn’t one. No, there was. The point was I could see what I was becoming to her and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it because I thought I wasn’t worthy of what she felt. So now I have cut myself off, forced myself to hide from her. I keep shaking my head and fighting myself when I should really be fighting her, telling her how I feel and opening myself for the killing stroke that is bound to come. But then, what if it doesn’t? I said I needed to think. I don’t know what I think any more. I don’t want to think any more.
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She has left me empty. I’ve lost my hold on some form of grief that I was keeping inside me. It wants out. Don’t ask me what it is, I don’t know yet. I can’t understand it, but it is seething. It burns and it swells. What do I do, without her, without myself?
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End.