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Some days Karen didn’t know which would have been the lesser evil: staying in Atlantis or going home to New York. There was no telling what each city would throw at her next, and both were far from predictable except for the fact that the next obstacle would be right around the corner. The courses were very different from one another but each had its twists and turns. It didn’t matter whether that twist was living inside of a dream of your worst fears or being stuck inside of a death trap, or if the turn was looking over her shoulder looking out for the next sociopathic megalomaniac that wanted to kill her or those she loved. There would always be the next crisis only to be followed by the one after that.
It wasn’t that she hated being in Atlantis, but was tired both physically and mentally. Ever since she’d returned home from the arena, - ever since she’d died - there had been many sleepless nights or nights of tossing and turning. For her, it wasn’t only flashbacks of survival and seeing the death of her friends, though, those memories did play a large part. Being so stressed brought back a lot of old memories. The ones that are pushed down deep and you can’t stop thinking about when all you want to do is think of something, anything else.
The mandatory therapy sessions weren’t helping. Karen was expected to talk, but so far what she’d mostly done was be defiant and express how useless she believed the sessions would be. Shit happened in the past and shit would continue to happen. Talking about it wouldn’t help anyone, especially her. It wouldn’t bring people back that couldn’t be brought back, and it wouldn’t erase what happened to her and to the others. She didn’t have easy access what she really wanted to help deal with the aftermath, so she indulged a little more elsewhere. Not excessively so, and maybe not even noticeable to most people, but lately Karen had been helping herself one or two more drinks past the point she normally would have stopped.
As she wasn’t an agent or even a reserve, Karen wasn’t involved in regular training. A while back she’d started training with one or two people to make sure she could take care of herself. Most of those people had left or were sent back home, so she’d stopped. Until today. Today, she headed over to the base; not necessarily to train with someone but to instead find a release for some of her frustrations.
Most of the people in the gym and training areas she didn’t know when she first showed up. She briefly wondered if Matt would be by sometime, and he probably would eventually, but she dropped her bag next to the wall near the back of the room and strapped on the fighting gloves. Standing in front of the bag, she readied herself and stretched out her arms and neck and got to work on her own version of therapy.