Who: Alicia and Hestia What: Al receives a message from Chaz. Where: Safe house. When: 11/14 Rating: Low (probably language?) Status: In Progress
Alicia sat in the corner of her room, her back to the wall and staring blankly at the space in front of her. She couldn't move. She kept waiting for Warrington return, at least this way she'd see him coming. She felt like a zombie, probably looked it too. Her journal lay on her lap, the one thing that kept her from completely shutting everything out. For brief moments she could think about something else. She could worry for Fred, she could worry for Charlie, she could feel anger at Katie. The moments didn't last and soon she was left with dull feeling of hollow pain. A sick part of her waited to see his handwriting. He had wanted to break her and he succeeded, she didn't even have the energy to be indignant. She tried to be mad, she tried to think of horrible ways to torture him but every time she thought of him she just felt scared. Her mind shut down and all she could do was cling to herself. Her boggart would be his face. His touch. His fucking smell. She couldn't sleep. She kept reliving it and reliving it every time she closed her eyes.
She was supposed to be strong, resilient but she just felt empty. It was like he had stolen every bit of her. She couldn't look at anyone. She hadn't told anyone what happened, not the full story and thankfully they never pressed. She didn't even think the word. She didn't want their pity. She didn't want them to know of her failure. Stupid girls got attacked like that. Weak girls. She was supposed to be killed in battle, not left hollow in the wake. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw her mum's eyes. Dead eyes. She never understood how someone could be so unhappy as to take their own life. For the first time she understood how living could be too hard. She hated herself for that. She hated how weak she was in the end.
Alicia wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there. She wasn't even sure what day it was. It felt like it had been years but the still present bruises on her body told it couldn't have been more than a few days. She brought her hand to her neck, the skin still tender where his hand print marked her flesh. "Fuck," she spat, bringing her head forward only to throw it back against the wall. So she could still feel something. Better this than being numb. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Alicia looked down at the journal, ready to see what argument Bell was trying to come up with now. That's when she saw it. Alicia tossed the journal, scrambling away from it. She stared at the book in horror, as if it was going to attack her at any minute. She was scared of a fucking book. She worked herself up to open it, to respond. She couldn't let him win. She couldn't let him get to her. With each response she felt more ill, more like he was once again grasping her throat and she couldn't breathe. She tried to seem like she couldn't care but her whole body was shaking. Fuck, she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. She needed out of this room. She needed...something.
Alicia scrambled out of her room looking as if she was being chased. She banged on Hestia's door, praying for her to open up. She couldn't live like this.