A/N: Extreme tissue warning.

Disclaimer: They are not mine, but I promise to play (relatively) nice and put them back where I found them when I'm done.

Nothing ever changes and nothing ever will. That's what she's told by the only variable in her life.

Most of the time she doesn't believe it. Most of the time she ignores the variable when it comes to her door and peers in with eyes full of pain and misery badly hidden behind triumph and cruelty. Most of the time she is sure that there is brightness and joy out beyond the four padded walls that make up her life. She is sure that it's out there. She is sure that she could get to it if she said one particular word. She can't remember what word. She is sure that she just needs one thing to make her life infinitely better. She can't remember what the thing is. She is sure that there is someone out there who would tear this place apart to find her if only they knew to look. She can't remember who.

Most days she is sure of these things.

Other days she doesn't ignore the variable. Other days she believes it. Other days the nurse accompanies the variable and peers in, too. Other days two set of eyes look through the door.

One set flat/dead.

The other triumphant/cruel-but-really-hurt/miserable.

Other days she cannot help but believe.

It is those days that she tries to count how long she has been here. It is those days she tells herself there must have been something before. It is those days that she cannot remember anything other than white padded walls. A tiny window. The same routine. The same people. Stretching back forever. It is those days that she tries to concentrate on something else. It is those days that her memories get white. Fuzzy. Indistinct. Out of focus. It is those days that she fears there will be nothing after because there was nothing before.

It is those days that she is sure the variable must be right. It is those days she is sure it will forever be the only change to her world.

When she can she clings to her hope. She clings to her other sureties. The word. The thing. The person. When she can she defies the variable. Just by meeting its eyes. Refusing to look away first. When she can she pretends to be brave.

She isn't. She knows there isn't a brave bone in her body. Whenever the variable comes knocking it's all she can do to keep from quaking. To keep from cowering. She cannot possibly be brave because she is so afraid. How can she be brave when she knows constant fear?

Sometimes she can almost remember Before when she tries. Sometimes she tries for herself. Not the variable. Not the nurse. Sometimes she remembers that this isn't where she is supposed to be. Sometimes she remembers that there is something. Something about bravery. Something that might stop the fear. Sometimes she remembers that there is something to remember that she cannot remember. There must be something there if only she could remember but she cannot cannot cannot cannotcannotcannotcannotcantcantcantcantca—

The variable comes with the nurse in tow. Two sets of eyes stare through the door. One set flat/dead. The other triumphant/cruel-but-really-hurt/miserable. A sick/sweet voice whispers the most convincing words she has ever heard. All the other sureties. All the other feelings. All the other memories. All fall away. She is left with white padded walls. A tiny window. Emptiness.

Nothing ever changes. Nothing ever will.

A/N2: I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm really not.