Leah Stone (reapinghavok) wrote in immune_ic, @ 2011-12-10 16:11:00 |
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December had a vicious way of treating Leah. It dragged by, slow as slow can be, cold and uncaring of the internal pain it brought to a woman on the cusp of a mental breakdown. The intervening months of February through October weren't quite as bad, truthfully. Each passing year made those particular months easier to cope with. Yet, any progress toward healing and recovering were all undone by the arrival of December. Optimistic survivors at every safehouse she went to spoke of Christmas and what sort of gifts they were contemplating giving their friends and loved ones. As a Buddhist, Leah had never cared much for Christmas beyond the gift exchange — which was solely an excuse for her to splurge and dote upon her family with special things she could afford. Now, though? The Grinch had nothing on her. Christmas was an empty idea that she only wanted to escape. Lilah and Brandon did their best to try and keep Leah from drowning in her misery, but their efforts were rarely helpful, much as she loved them for it. It wasn't easy to sneak off on her own without them noticing. In fact, it tended to involve one or more decoys that, more often than not, were successful. Without any idea of her destination, Leah took to the streets of New York, keeping to the roofs as much as possible. All she needed was a little distance. For a few hours. If nothing else, she deserved time alone to mourn. Americana Inn was once a safe haven, or so some of the survivors at City Hall said. She'd never managed to get a straight story out of anyone over what actually went down there. The place looked fortified enough. Large objects blocked off the entryways on the first floor. The fire escape was rusted, but looked far more stable than the one she and Jude had climbed. Leah deftly climbed the ladder, heedless of the Runners on her heels. She'd killed enough of them on her way to this place. It was time for a break. Besides, they'd likely still be there whenever she decided to leave. If she decided to leave. She reached the top floor and peered into one of the broken windows, doing a quick check for any zombies that may be nearby. No sounds but those down on the street below. That was good. Ducking her head, Leah stepped through the window, sucking in a breath when she set her hand down on a shard of broken glass. Still, nothing jumped out at her. Sunlight filtering through the window gave her plenty of light to see by. The hotel room itself was, in a polite word, filthy. The door was closed. The floor was stained with muddy footprints. No dark stains that indicated blood, though. After investigating the corridor, satisfied that no zombies were around, Leah reentered the room and closed the door behind her, shoving the dresser in front of it to form a barricade. Apart from that, the bed, and the desk, the room was bare. Everything that could be taken, had. The bed itself was stripped of blankets and mattress, the only thing remaining was the hard box springs. The room would serve its purpose. Leah paced around the area for several minutes, observing but not really caring what she saw, occasionally dabbing her bloody hand on her jeans. At length, the tears came, loudly and liberally. They racked her body, painful and insistent. She toppled the desk over, venting her frustration on the only bit of furniture that could easily be moved. If only the room had breakable things. That would've been far more satisfying. Crying should've been enough. She didn't let it happen often, and it wasn't even altogether due to not wanting anyone else witnessing it. Leah spent the entire year tamping down her grief, compensating with anger. In the beginning, it had been easy to let go and cry. December 2014 had been a month of non-stop waterworks. It seemed impossible that there could be any tears left to shed, and yet here they were, burning a path down her cheeks. Leah screamed, then. If she couldn't break things, another outlet was needed. It was a decidedly good thing she'd gotten away from Madison Square. |