i had so much sorrow inside, you could never reach [open]

[Cecily van der May]

And I knew you could never love me--

"Ow, ow, ow," Cecily muttered to herself. New boots: they had looked cute at the store and seemed to offer plenty of room for hiding weapons, but even with socks, the zippers dug into her Achilles heels, turning walking into a painful ordeal. Luckily, the fugitive whom she was assigned to rearrest that night was about ninety pounds overweight and not much of a runner. Still, the way her feet and legs felt after spending the entire day in her dreadful new footwear made her feel a little less judgmental of all the girls she'd seen at clubs, drunk and barefoot at the end of the night, carrying their tight, rock-hard, pointy heels in their hands while tiptoeing across the parking lot, obviously sore and blistered yet still afraid to get their soles a little dirty. A little less judgmental.   

Weary and in pain, Cecily unlocked all three of the deadbolts she had installed out of paranoia on her apartment door as quickly as possible and joyously pushed the door open, boundlessly grateful that she could finally free her feet from the evil contraptions perniciously gnawing at them. As soon as the zippers were down, she practically tripped out of the boots in her eagerness before tossing them in the direction of her fireplace. The soft carpet kissed her feet in greeting, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Never again," she vowed as she hung up her keys and purse. After just one glance out her window to reassure herself that no psychotic criminal had followed her home, Cecily limped on her less sore leg to her bathroom for some much-deserved TLC. One hot bath and a few bandages later, Cecily was in a much better mood and just about ready for bed. 

In comparison to how she spent her day, walking across her carpeted living room felt like walking on a cloud as Cecily made her way to her kitchen for a glass of water. Feeling relaxed as she gulped the chilled refreshment, Cecily reflected on her day. All in all, it had been a good one: a successful chase, a restful night, another day without--

What the hell was that?

Suddenly jolted out of her hot-water-induced lethargy, Cecily focused her ears and was sure she could hear the faintest sound: quiet shuffling of her living room blinds, floating against the outside breeze, gently crashing into one another. Cecily was also one-hundred percent sure that she had left her window closed. Flattening her body against a wall and making herself invisible to anyone who might have been in the living room, Cecily's mind immediately went to the placement of the guns in her home: one kept in her nightstand drawer, another in her closet, one in a chest in the living room, none in the kitchen, the folly of which she realized and cursed herself. Certain not to make a noise, she lowered herself to the tiled floor and crept to the drawer where she kept the kitchen knives and carefully retrieved one. 

The living room was clear, she noted, stealthily peering into it from the doorway. Adrenaline flooded her body, putting her on edge, brave as always yet as afraid as ever. She quickly retrieved the firearm in the living room from its chest, replacing it with the knife. The window was indeed open. She thought of closing it but knew that if her predator was still present, it was better that he believe she was still blissfully unaware. Living room closet, clear. Bathroom, clear. Bedroom, clear. Bedroom closet, clear. There wasn't another soul in her little one-bedroom apartment, besides her cat, who meowed at her curiously from its bed, watching her tiptoe about in the empty apartment with a gun. "Oh shut up," Cecily replied, slightly short of breath from the fear and adrenaline. Relief filled her as she told herself that they were safe. It didn't seem like her, but perhaps she had left the window that morning after all; it wasn't impossible. She returned to the chest in the living room to retrieve the knife and return the gun to its proper place, but when she opened the chest, her heart stopped at the sight of a note, scrawled in the messy hand-writing of a man on a torn sheet of lined paper, placed on top of the knife: 

Found you.

"Nope, nope, nope." Cecily drove to the only other home she knew, the police headquarters. She forced tears back as she ignored the speed limit on her way, her cat in the backseat of her old sedan. It was times like this that she regretted being such an outsider, having no real friends, no one who wouldn't blink twice if she showed up unannounced at two in the morning with her cat and said that she was crashing on the couch. The police headquarters were likely closed as well, and anyone who was familiar with her had likely gone home, but she prayed to god that that night, someone had stayed late, working on a case or anything. It wasn't really a place to sleep that she needed. It was just to not be so alone.  

She grabbed her cat and the note and jogged to the entrance. Lights were out, but she banged on the glass door anyway, hoping to get the attention of someone hiding in an office or even a kind passerby who might stop and ask if she was all right. No answer. No kind stranger. Cecily let out a low grumble, realizing she really had nowhere to go. Frustration and fear rose up inside her again, but it was the realization of complete solitude that killed her. It had been a long time since she had admitted to needing anyone, though. Why start? She pushed the frustration and fear and loneliness and everything that interrupted rationality away as she rested her head on the glass door and brainstormed a list of all the places she could possibly go. It wasn't a long list. 

--I had so much sorrow inside, you could never reach.

[Michelle Belmont]

Sleep deprivation was a common problem, or, so she had thought. Of course, she was naive to assume that everyone had trouble sleeping, but her child-like thoughts were just a product of a little girl who was forced to grow up too fast. The only thing she seemed to have in tact was her innocent thoughts and she preferred to keep it that way. She would not let him take everything from her; she just wouldn't, and that's why she had killed him. He had been sleeping so innocently that night and seemed peaceful. She did not know how someone who tortured another person could sleep comfortably. She had finally snapped when he threatened to use a different kind of force against her. She knew exactly what he had been talking about, and she was not going to let that happen, either. So, in her distressed state, she had stabbed him repeatedly and ran as far as she could in the middle of the night, hoping that no one would notice the blood spatters on her clothes. She tried to clean everything up desperately the next day. She looked at the mauled body and the scene froze, as if it were a still from a movie or show.

She sat bolt upright in her bed, her green eyes snapping open and a small squeak of fear escaping from her throat. Her heart was racing as she looked around in terror, only to realize that the images were merely a dream. She let out a huff of breath and shakily rose from the bed, checking both the windows to make sure that no one had tried to climb in this time. Of course, she could not be accounting for the ghost-like creatures like the one who had tried to scare the ever loving s--- out of her in the alleyways a few weeks ago, but that was not really the first thing on her mind at the moment. She swiped the pocketknife off of her nightstand, wandered out of her bedroom and into the living room, where she was sometimes able to curl up and sleep dreamlessly. She was about to lay down when she noticed something odd. A lamp in the corner was on, but she distinctly remembered turning it off before going to bed. Panic rose in her chest and she bolted to the front door, which was unlocked. She started panting before she bolted out the front door, frantically locking it and running down the halls. She tried not to awaken other people in her terrified fleeing and made her way down the the desk to report the break-in. Of course, she found that no one was at the desk and she huffed. She changed paths and darted out the complex doors and ran.

The cement hurt her delicate skin, but the adrenaline rushing through her did not let her feel much of the pain. She wandered away from the area she had been in last time. Before she knew it, she was in front of a building. She saw someone else there too, banging her fist against the glass. The pink-haired young woman sighed, slowly approaching the stranger's side and weakly banging on the glass too. The adrenaline had worn off and her feet were sore from the harsh pavement. She turned to the stranger and glanced at her with weary, green eyes. "I-I guess a lot of people around here need help after dark..." The statement seemed to be directed at the other woman, but, at the same time, it could have been mistaken for musing to herself aloud.