Bruce Banner (i_seegreen) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2014-01-20 10:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | bruce banner, zz:status complete |
Losing faith (Narrative)
The half-written, tear-stained note broke what was left of the mending pieces of his heart.
It was shattered like a fist through a mirror, and the shards were much too small, scattered and broken to fathom repair. That was the kind of object to be tossed away in the rubbish bin, never thought of except how to replace it. That was sort of what this felt like. A heart too broken, too beyond repair to replace and mostly it was because there would never be another that was exactly the right size. Nothing would be able to repair the hole there, no person, place or thing could ever make the hole go away. The void was an endless expanse of loss and grief, and the scientist wasn't sure how to cope.
He had dealt with grief before. At a young age, and perhaps he had been stronger then. Losing his mother was almost like this and she, too, was irreplaceable. There would never be anyone in his life that could fill that empty space, and it was the same with this. The loss was different because whereas his mother was long since dead, thirty years in her grave by now, Effie was still alive and well.
Bruce trembled at the thought of her being with anyone else, being satisfied, smiling and laughing. He hated the thought of another man giving her these things. Maybe he had driven her away, but if that was the case she wouldn't have tried to take her own life on the roof of Stark Tower. Bruce had agreed to stay married on paper but now....now, he was starting to feel regret. Was it easier to sever ties completely? Let her move on? She didn't seem to want that, but this letter...the writing was half-smeared from the tears, hers and his own, and he didn't know what to do.
He felt like he was standing in front of a wall, unable to go around, climb over it or dig beneath it. A standstill, a checkmate.
He needed to get out of the Tower for a while, relocate. But where? A motel? It seemed more appropriate than this.
With a wipe of his eyes across the sleeve of his lab coat Bruce tossed the note halfway across his desk, a feeble attempt at trying to be rid of its half-hearted words, and he closed his eyes to think. He hates himself, and everything else in that moment. And perhaps even her.