First SH fanfiction......a couple of thoughts from Cynthia shortly before she meets Henry. I've always really liked her and I think there's more to her than portrayed, so hey, here it goes. Oneshot.
Adjusting one of her bracelets, Cynthia finally stopped to examine her surroundings. It was the subway she took often, usually just to go wander around town or meet a friend somewhere. She knew it by heart; where each restroom was, where each station was, and even which walls had graffiti on them and which stations had newspaper stands. Many ex-lovers she'd met here; men with different faces and names, but always whispering the same sweet words to her and leaving around the same time in the morning so their wives wouldn't wonder where they were. She wouldn't mind finding a lover there today, considering life had been dull for her lately.
The only problem was, at the moment, she was the only one in the subway. The only sound she heard was the clicking of her footsteps on the cement, and her own quiet breathing. Realizing this, she suddenly felt strange – lightheaded, almost. It could've been the hangover she was still fighting off; lately she'd been hitting the bottle more often. Something didn't feel right, she decided.
Maybe it's a dream. Amusing herself with this thought, she continued on her way to nowhere in particular. A dream, lovely. A dream with no one to entertain her and no one to talk to, just the monotonous clicking of her shoes to listen to. She'd rather be back in the horrid high school she had dropped out of.
As she walked, her head began to pound. Maybe she shouldn't have had that vodka last night, or the night before. Leaning against the wall, she stopped to take a couple of deep breaths before collapsing onto her knees and spewing out at least one bottle's worth of peach-colored vomit. Coughing and spitting out remnants of the vomit, she rubbed her eyes, which had begun to form tears. She wished she had someone here with her; she always felt better when someone was there to tell her it was okay, that she was beautiful....to hold her and make her feel loved.
Finally calming down, she wiped her mouth and eyes and glanced upwards at the ceiling. The lights flickered, sending chills down her spine. She hated being alone; she got spooked out way too easily. This is a horrible dream I'm having, she thought miserably. With dismay, she realized vomit had gotten onto her purse – a purse an ex-boyfriend had gotten her. Or at least, she liked considering him an ex-boyfriend. She'd known him for not even two weeks. He was a handsome thirty-two year old lawyer, with blue eyes and dark hair, married with two little girls. She'd met him on the subway, and he'd convinced her to come with him on a spontaneous trip to Cancun. He'd often talk about how stressed he was and how he needed to get away, and how a beautiful girl like her would make him so happy. Lavishing her with gifts, they spent a wonderful eleven days in an expensive hotel, until his wife called and Cynthia made the mistake of answering his phone. He left less than an hour later, after paying the hotel bill, without saying goodbye to her. She'd been left to hitchhike her way back home.
It seemed all men had been that way with her. A momentary caress, a temporary love promise, and then all she had left to show for it were memories and every now and then a cute little souvenir from the one-time affair. On a level, it hurt to think of it, but Cynthia decided that this was better than being alone. She hated being alone.
Pushing herself up off of her knees, she ducked into the bathroom to fix herself up before heading back out on her journey to nowhere. There was still no one else in the subway, and she felt more alone than she thought she could bear. What she wouldn't give for someone, anyone, to walk by, to say hi to. She had been alone for a long time now, she realized. That's why she was drinking lately.
Being drunk was better than sitting alone in her apartment, wasting away doing nothing. She envied her friends who had little children to look after and a hardworking husband, and she envied it when the men she made love to would tearfully proclaim their love to their wives, as Cynthia quickly dressed and slipped out of the hotel room. She'd rather be drunk than face the reality that she was a useless high-school dropout tool.
All of a sudden, she noticed someone at the end of the hallway she was in. It looked like a man around her age, and from what she could see, he was pretty cute. She smiled, feeling her heart soar, forgetting the thoughts that were running through her head.
Maybe this dream isn't so bad after all, she thought, adjusting her shirt to accentuate her cleavage as much as possible. He'll make me feel better.