Scott mourns Jean's death in the only way he can... without tears. Oneshot, post X2, Jott, Scott POV, very angsty.
I yell. I scream. It's the only thing that keeps me sane. Bottled-up emotions are the worst thing for someone who's mourning the loss of a loved one. Since I can't cry, there's no other way for me to let it out.
The scientific explanation for it all evades me, but, simply put, the tears dry before they can spill over. The incredible amount of energy that my eyes generate suck up the moisture in an instant. The result is that I never cry.
But I sure wish I could. Especially now. In a matter of moments, I lost just about everything that ever mattered to me. How am I going to go on, knowing that the woman I love is...
I can't even bring myself to think it.
Logan told me that she'd made a choice, and that choice was me. I know what he meant, and it's no consolation. Whether she'd chosen me or him in the end, it doesn't matter now. Though, I suppose, if it had been the other way around, I'd be at his throat right this minute, accusing him of taking her from me just before she...
Gah! I can't make myself say it. I just can't! It's not like I don't want to believe it. I do believe it. But I can't finalize it by saying it. I just can't. She was everything worth living for in this twisted, messed up life of mine. She brought order to my chaos. She loved me when it seemed like no one else would. She understood me better than anyone else.
And now, I just don't care. About anything. Our... My... The room's a mess. I haven't eaten in days. I can't remember when the last time I slept might have been. Probably the night before she...
She wouldn't want it to be this way. She would want me to pick myself up, put on a brave face, and march forward with my head held high. But I can't. I'm just not strong enough. I can't go through life pretending that nothing happened. Because something has happened.
Every person has their breaking point. I've reached mine. I can't go on anymore. So I won't. I'll sit here and waste away to nothing. I'll sit here and dream of the way it used to be. I'll sit here and hope that my body breaks soon, to join my broken heart and broken mind. I'll sit here and wish that I could just die. Because I can't, I won't take my own life. That I'll never do, if only for her sake. But to kill myself, and to allow myself to die, are two terribly different things.
She didn't... It wasn't suicide. She saved us. She allowed herself to... So that we could live. It's only fitting that I follow her. Because if I stay here much longer, I'll lose it. And then, someone else might die. I'd be a murderer. She wouldn't want that. Thus, so that they might live, I sit here, letting myself fade away to nothingness.
I'm broken. There are too many pieces to pick up. So I let them lay there. I yell, I scream. It's the only thing that keeps me remotely sane. Because I can't cry, I can't let it out any other way. The energy must have an outlet, otherwise it remains inside, burning brightly, keeping me fueled, keeping me going. I have to let it burn out. For my sake. For theirs. For hers.
I'm lost, and this time she's not here to find me. I'm broken, and this time she's not here to put me back together again. I'm dying, and this time she's not here to save me. A shattered life whose shards have pierced her through the heart. I did it. It was my fault.
I killed her, and this is how.
I fell in love with her, and so I killed her. I held her in my arms, and so I killed her. She linked our minds, she lived inside my head, she knew me and understood me better than I did myself, and so I killed her. I let her go, with no doubt in my mind that she would always come back to me, and so I killed her. I put the slightest speck of trust in another man, a man who sought to steal her from me, and so I killed her. I wasn't strong enough, and so I killed her. I couldn't stop her, and so I killed her.
I let her love me, and thus I killed her.
And now, I can't even cry over her.