It's a Graves thing (soundofwings) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-07-08 20:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | death |
Who: Iris
What: She finally gives up. Narrative.
Where: Library -> Apartment -> Bellagio
When: The day after the Secrets Plot
Warnings/Rating: Um. Suicide? All the sad warnings in the world. Seriously.
She had returned the key via courier.
She had spoken to people on the journal.
She had apologized to the wolf.
She had messaged her family.
She had sent a note to Eddie.
So it was time.
She had only been hiding herself in a study room of the library as she'd taken care of all her goodbyes. But with evening falling, the library was closing, and it was time for her to go. There was nothing left for her now, and no one left that wanted her. No one. No family. No home. No one left to say goodbye to. Time to go.
The apartment was still in her name, still being paid for, and her key fit easily into the lock. The shock of red on the walls stunned her when she opened the door, but it only took a moment for her to gather herself and step inside. She wouldn't be there for very long.
She put on one of her favorite old dresses, one that she felt most comfortable in. She stood and looked at the scarf from Elise for a very long time. She hadn't heard a thing from the other woman in so long, and it was too late now. She thought about pulling it down from its prize place in her window, but in the end, she left it there. She didn't want something so lovely to be a part of this.
For all that Iris had a minimum of possessions, there were some things that she simply hadn't gotten rid of. The mostly-full bottles from the last time she'd filled all her many prescriptions were still in the very bottom of one of her clothing bins, and she pulled them out as she sat on the floor in what was once her bedroom. She put them all into one bottle and peeled off the label. She fetched a bottle of water from the refrigerator. And she left.
At one point in her life, she thought that everyone had a plan. The doctors in Georgia hadn't liked that thought very much, and for a very long time it was medicated away. But in Las Vegas, the thought had returned.
Along with her plan.
Since moving to Las Vegas, she hadn't taken the time to see the fountains in front of the Bellagio. She knew of them, had seen them on film and in pictures, but had never ventured out to the Strip to see them in person. Now or never. She walked from the apartment, abandoning her wallet in a trashcan part-way there. Her journal received similar treatment in a different trashcan. On and on, until the only thing she was carrying was the unlabeled bottle and some water. And as she walked, here and there, the level of the pills went down. So did the water.
She was a little groggy by the time she made it to a bench, but she eased herself down and started to watch the fountain show. The music of the show was beautiful, brought tears to already-blurry eyes, and she could just watch the movement of the water from where she sat. She finished both bottles, pills and water, and then simply...
closed her eyes.