day 189; action
[ To say today was a good day -- well, Elena's not sure she could the day itself was good or bad. Maybe somewhere in between. She, herself, wasn't exactly good or bad either, although the former wasn't for any lack of smiling or getting through the day on her part.
She did. She got up, got dressed, did what she had to do without angst or pity. Talked and laughed with people, friends. (Squatted by Damon's door to slip her Defense Force schedule underneath, lingered, held her breath as she tried to knob and found it unlocked. It burned through her then with seizing reassurance, that desire to push inside, scalded her enough to snatch her hand back. Breathe. Continue on her way. The door was too looming, and what was beyond it might pull her in too hard.
Plus, he told her want her wanted. However indignant or hurt she felt, feels; however unfair it was, it happened.)
So she ate, wrote, helped fellow prisoners in need. She was herself; Damon was Damon.
The incremental weight on her chest couldn't be ignored, nor indulged. Bereft wasn't a word she wished to use to identify this sadness; she wouldn't is all. (But it is.) So she's not (purposefully so) anything at the moment -- not relieved to be alone after dinner and not entirely content. There's only one thing that can touch the weight on her chest, and she has no expectations of seeing him today. She can carry the weight without his presence; she always has, even if this time it belongs to his absence.
So she's not expecting seeing a figure outside in the fading light, sense any movement. It arrests her -- but for a second. It's in that second she suspects who it could be -- knows who it is anyway. She heads to her balcony door without another pause, pushes the ajar door all though way open, and takes a starting step outside. ]