By Nixosia

One Shot

"I'm afraid to push."

And she is afraid. So afraid. Maybe, deep down, she's just scared to know the reason. Scared that maybe something's been done wrong. Someone's been hurt. She's hurt someone. It's all her fault, everything is her fault. But that's just deep down. Not on the forefront. On the outside, as close to the outside as this these things ever get that is, she's not afraid to know. On the outside, she's not afraid, because maybe she can help. Maybe she can make things better. Sure, maybe she'll get hurt, but it'll be worth it.

"I'm afraid to push."

She's lost so, so many by pushing. Because sometimes, in an effort to help, she doesn't realize how far is too far. She doesn't immediately realize that wounds won't heal if you insistently poke at them. Eventually they begin to fester. Eventually the pain gets to be too much, and people want to be rid of what's causing it.

"I'm afraid to push."

Regardless she's worried. Because she loves these people too much not to be. She wants to know what's going on. She wants to heal the hurts. At the very least she wants to try. If she ignores it she's a bad friend. A bad girlfriend. A bad sister. A bad daughter. But if she searches for an answer she's annoying.

"I'm afraid to push."

She's afraid of annoying those that she loves. Afraid of being seen as a bother. All she wants is to be in their favor, and keep them happy. She's afraid to be one of the people seen in a bad light, because only one thing happens to those people. They get eliminated. She doesn't want to be eliminated. No. Not from their lives. She loves them, really truly loves them. With all her heart. She wants to prove it. She wants to help.

But she's afraid to push.

There's only so many times you can ask if someone's okay. Only so many times you can ask if they're sure. Positive. Without a doubt. There's only so many times they'll lie before they stop answering. Only so long before they're tired of it. She's not so sure of the limit. But she knows it's wrong to stop asking when there's something so obviously wrong.

She doesn't want to stop asking. It's a war within her. Part of her wants to figure out what's wrong. Solve the problem. But another part, just a large, just as passionate, wants to preserve her relationships. Wants to keep them just the way they are. Never mind the fact that the relationships shift every time something goes wrong. Every time she worries. Every time that she stops herself from asking. She grows more careful about them. She watches what she says. What she does. She changes.

But she's afraid to push.

She doesn't question the things they say. Like, when someone that loves her tells her that she's beautiful she just smiles and thanks them. Because she can't say no. Because she can't accuse them of lying. Because she knows that they'd never lie to her. Not about anything. Even if it is something that took a lifetime to hear, she knows it's the truth. Even if she's lived a life being told the very opposite she knows that they mean it from the bottom of their hearts. She knows she'll get used to it. But sometimes she worries that if she doesn't talk she'll be conceited. Inconsiderate. Self centered.

So she'll return the compliments. The words of praise. The grins. The hugs. Even if she wants to do something more. Even if she's not sure. Even if she's afraid. Even if she wants to do something special. Because she can't so anything more, or anything special. She doesn't know how to. Because her fears and insecurities are on the bottom of the most important list. She doesn't know what's acceptable.

Sometimes she wonders if it'll be okay. If random is okay. If "I love you" is okay. She wonders. And she worries. And she keeps herself from doing what she needs to do just thinking about it. But she never asks. She never lets anyone worry - she tries not to. She doesn't want them to worry. She wants them to be happy. So happy. The happiest they could possibly be. And she'd walk across a desert of broken glass, barefoot, if that's what it took. And she'd ask, and ask, and ask if she wasn't so afraid to push.

Because she'd rather die then lose a single one of them. She knows what happens when one takes a friend for granted, and she'll never make that mistake again. Not even if she was paid to. She doesn't know how to survive without them, and the tiniest hint that she's done something wrong sends her in spasms. It turns on the tear ducts, and takes away the tissues. It panics her. It makes her do everything she can to make it okay, even if there's nothing to fix.

There are always reassurances to be given, because she fails at some of life's expectancies. She's a social cripple who doesn't know how to be a people person. She doesn't know how to just sit there, and absorb the love as much as she pretends she can. Sometimes she considers just walking away to be by herself. Like she's used to. To gather her thoughts. To realize that it isn't all a dream. To realize that alone isn't what she wants no matter how much she's used to it. But she doesn't walk away because if she does she'll miss something and then she'll have to ask.

And she's afraid to push.

Because she'd rather die then lose any of them. Because the love is so damned addictive that there's no way she could live without it. Not even with an imitation. She knows what the real stuff tastes like, and she won't be giving it up. Not if she can help it. That's not to say that she'd force them to stay. No. If they happen to chose to leave. If she were to do something to drive them away she'd accept it. She'd wish them the best, sincerely, from the very bottom of her soul. From her heart. Bone deep. And then she'd go off somewhere to cry because she'll know it's her fault. Because she pushed too far. Because she didn't push enough.

"I'm afraid to push."

And she is afraid. So afraid. And that's the problem.

Note: Just something I've been writing, and finally feel I finished. It is exactly 1:50 A.M. where I am, so please excuse any errors. It's a bit of an odd little thing. For once not in the first. C&C, R&R, comment, the like.