Odyssey of Minds, pt 4: Donna POV

by: Ellen
Pairing(s): Josh/Donna
Category(s): Humour/Fluff/ Angst
Rating: YTEEN
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, et al
Summary: Josh and Donna's thoughts after each season 6-episode.
Spoiler: King Corn
Written: 2/9/05

I used to have this rhythm to guide me in life. It was a constant ... a given. I had blind faith in it, so I stuck to it and I was happy. I felt that I could deal with whatever came my way. I stood tall and strong and I made sure people listened to me. I focused, organised and delegated where needed. The flow of the beat brought me to new heights and never stopped challenging me to do better. Goals were set, only to be met within a reasonable amount of time. The rhythm didn't scare me, it fed me, guided me and brought me where I wanted to be.

This night, however, in a pitch-black impersonal hotel room, I'm alone. The continuous beat of comfort is long gone and the certainties that once seemed so clear have all vaporised into thin air. This is the hour when anxiety knocks on my door and I break down.

This is the time when I tend to wake up to horrible images of fire and the stench of burning human flesh. The dreams burn away my sanity. I hurt ... I hurt so much that I sometimes feel like screaming it all out. But, in the end, I'm too conscious of the world around me to follow up on that. So, all I'm left with is whispers, uttered in a dark room.

When did this happen? When did I become this hollow copy of myself? Every day I get up, go over to the campaign headquarters and do what I'm supposed to do, with a high success rate, but without any emotion. I'm like a wooden puppet ... I go out there and get the job done. Nothing more, nothing less.

Will doesn't complain. He believes me to be a professional and independent woman with an attitude of 'you ask and I deliver'. He doesn't know that what he sees are only the walls of a façade I built. And while I'm performing in this sad masquerade, he never sees me. He never even tries.

Lying awake, I realise that I've come to fear the night and the sleep that I used to love so much. Whenever I close my eyes, it's there ... the smoke ... the smell ... the heat. The fragile walls I meticulously built during the day, cave in like a card-house and what's left is a naked puddle of misery. I'm stripped bare and my eyes are burning with tears of anger and frustration. I'm so damn tired of feeling guilty for something I had no control over. Why did I get in 'that' car and not the other one? Why did the others die? Why did I live? Why ... why ... why ... a thousand questions mulling around in my head and answers never come.

It's at times like these, when my whole world falls apart, that I want to pick up the phone and call him. Ironically, I wouldn't even have to do that tonight. I could just open my door, cross the hall and knock on his door. He would open the door with sleep filled eyes and I would hit him, yell at him and scream like a banshee. And he'd let me, because he understands, because he's been in this godforsaken place too and he managed to return. After I had ranted and raved, he'd catch me in his arms and he would whisper soothing words in my ear. He'd tell me that he's there for me, every step of the way. And, just like that, the rhythm would return, slowly but certain ... like a heartbeat.

I wonder sometimes ... if I had stayed with him, would I have found myself in the same state of mind? Would he have noticed that something was wrong? You won't hear me admit it ever again, but him threatening to find out about my emotional struggle, was one of the reasons I left. Oh, there's no doubt that it was time to move on. I was stuck in that job, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I also realised that he would figure it all out eventually. We worked so closely together that he couldn't have missed it. I know it's a fact that he can be a bit slow to catch up sometimes, but if anyone has ever had the ability to see through me, it's Josh.

I don't know why I keep thinking about him though. 'Cause when it comes down to it, I never pick up the phone and neither will I cross the hall to knock on his door tonight. That's not the way this story goes. You see, you have to understand ... I lived when they didn't. That's my burden to bear and my guilt to carry. So I'll get out of bed every morning and struggle through each day, because I owe it to them. I'll be smart and witty and will occasionally even feel genuine happiness, because my life didn't end in a blown-up car. But, no one will ever know how much I hurt in silence during the long nights. For it's only then, in the darkness with no one to guide me, that I'm truly alone. It's then that I pray to everything holy and unholy out there, but redemption never comes.

It's almost time to get up now and I'm tired, but I won't sleep. Every time I doze off, my biggest fear has a chance to creep up on me and I refuse to give it that opportunity. I've got a lot of work to do today, so I'll focus on that and forget about the night and the gloomy thoughts it brings, if only for a couple of hours. And tonight, the cycle will recommence.

I'm beginning to realise that my own little world, hidden deep within my mind, keeps getting darker and darker. And you know what?

I lack the strength to get through this without the steadying force in my life.

I miss that force.

I miss him.

But, unless he can somehow gather enough courage to cross that hall and knock on my door, everything will stay the same. I'll keep sitting here, caught between these self fabricated walls, with absolutely nowhere to go.

Donna's POV: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Josh's POV: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

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