Author's Note: This AU will be set during Season 5.
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It wasn't easy, returning to a town that despised her.
Alison knew she deserved it; more than anyone, she deserved such a fate, a punishment that was long overdue. She had no choice but to endure it, as it would likely remain for the forseeable future—reflected in every glare, in every judgement, in the disgust that seemed to smolder within each pair of eyes that glanced her way. It was more than warranted, she had to admit, nurtured by years of her own misdeeds-and now, past actions had risen to haunt her, like specters from a grave.
She had been a fool to think the others would welcome her return with open arms, to think that the joy of discovering that she had cheated death would cloud any recollection of her actions; they had kept her at a distance, the town's suspicion mirrored in their wary eyes. There was a barrier between them now, almost imperceptible, but she could tell they were guarded in her presence; they were hiding something from her, shielding it from her view. It hurt more than she expected, to see them in such pain, nerves wound taut by mistrust—they had been friends, once upon a time.
However, the truth was a bitter pill; she had none to blame but herself.
It was her own fault that they spurned her company, viewed her as a sadist rather than a friend-and, while she wanted to rectify her many mistakes, perhaps she had given them scars that would never heal. She had been a monster in her adolescent years, a budding sociopath, relishing in every form of cruelty that could be inflicted on another-and while the passage of time had blunted her actions, it would never erase them. They had been a painful impact on the lives of many, far too many to count-and no matter how many years went by, that endless catalogue of sins would remain, unforgivable.
She had learned a valuable lesson over the years, one that she had never seemed to consider in her adolescence; every action had a permanent consequence, one that could leave scars long after the initial blow was imparted. Pain rippled across someone's life like a pond, stretching through areas far beyond the original wound, but she had yet to grasp that concept—at least, not until Mona's game turned the tables on her.
How many people had she hurt? How many had she left scarred, had she left broken?
The question had haunted her for quite some time, swirling through her thoughts in a condemning whisper—she did not know the answer, and that knowlege cut deeper than any knife.
She had caused so much pain, far too much for it to ever be undone; the only thing left was to make amends, to fight a losing battle to heal those she had wounded. In the weeks following her arrival, she had done just that, seeking out every victim she could remember in an attempt to apologize-but most had shut her out, slamming the door in her face. There were many more than her memories recorded, she knew, as well as ones she didn't want to face-but she had decided to swallow her pride, making a visit to the person that had been one of her biggest victims.
Mona.
Something in her stomach twisted at the name, raging with fury at the thought of apologizing to the girl that had destroyed her life, that had made her live in exile for years-but she tempered the familar impulse, knowing that she had not exactly been an innocent victim. She had always felt a certain contempt for the girl, an animosity rooted for so long she began to forget its origin-and she had once used it to rationalize her relentless abuse of the girl, a mistake she had come to bitterly regret.
It would be easy, to lay the blame at Mona's feet; she had become a monster in her own right, terrorizing the innocent and guilty alike. Even at Alison's worst, she had never caused physical harm, whereas Mona's cruel games had resulted in several injuries-but she couldn't overlook her own part in nurturing Mona's sadism, in the torment that would eventually snap her fragile psyche. Mona had learned from the best, unfortunately, and had taken Alison's methods of inflicting pain to a new level—if they had never met, perhaps Mona would have walked a brighter path, using her intellect for the good of the world.
Perhaps she would have been a doctor, a scientist, a businesswoman—but the past could not be undone.
It was that knowledge, that proverb of truth, that propelled Alison onward; after making her way through a labyrinth of dark, winding streets, she finally arrived at Mona's house. It was a garish dwelling, the patio shrouded beneath midnight shadows-and most of the windows were barren, devoid of even the tiniest shred of light.
Just like Mona's soul.
As the snide thought crept through her, it was tempting to embrace it, as the old Alison would have done-but she scolded herself, rearing in protest against that instinctive hostility. It was difficult to resist the allure of comparing them to make herself feel better—she was a terrible person, but she was not a murderer, nor did she torment others to the same brutal extent—but she did not succumb, features darkening in a scowl.
You created her, you shaped who she became. She reminded herself, the words fierce, dripping with reproach. Don't ever forget that.
Alison advanced up the patio steps, taking a breath to clear her lungs; she was suprised to find herself trembling, anxiety gathering in her stomach. It had been years since she had seen Mona in the flesh, let alone spoke to her on a one-on-one basis, but she could not turn back now—she wanted to follow through on her conviction, to capitalize on the opportunity to make amends.
There was a faint glow from somewhere within the house, a dim flicker that signalled that at least one person was home-and, after a pause, Alison moved to knock on the door. No sooner than she had dropped her arm than it had swung open, bathing her in scattered light from the interior-and as her eyes met the figure within, a chill seemed to pass between them, the air growing heavy with every moment of their contentious history.
It was an uncomfortable stillness, prickling the hairs upon her skin-and as they stood on opposite sides of the threshold, like two birds of prey locked in a standoff, Mona broke the charged limbo.
"What do you want?" She didn't bother with social niceties, snapping the words, her voice colder than the frigid air-and Alison took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of amnesty. "I...I want to apologize to you, Mona." The words felt like gravel in her throat, but she pushed onward; if was necessary to heal the wound she had created, embarrassment was a small price to pay. "Can I come in?"
"Apologize for what?" Mona hadn't budged from the threshold, an unforgiving sentinel, barring her entrance with crossed arms-and, as she studied the girl with obvious suspicion, Alison endured it without protest.
"For everything." She made her voice softer, gentler, but Mona gave an audible scoff; the sincerity in her words didn't seem to reach the other girl, nor did they seem to hold any significance. "Can we talk?" Alison persisted, watching Mona's sneer begin to settle into a contemplative frown-and, as an inscrutable shadow fell across those features, she stepped back from the door.
"You have quite the nerve, coming here." Mona gestured to allow her entry, though her eyes were still cold, still hostile-and Alison chose to ignore the comment, stepping past the threshold and into the darkness that lay beyond. Mona was already swiveling upon her heel, stalking through the home's grand foyer-and Alison followed, glancing at her surroundings as they walked.
There was little illumination in the foyer, the faint rays originating from a set of candles that peppered the surrounding area; strangely enough, there was no electrical lights on in the house. Perhaps it was meant to save money—she had heard that Mona's family was having financial troubles, though it was difficult to imagine the girl living in such austere surroundings.
As they entered the living room, it was a slight improvement, clear enough to gain a solid grasp of the location of each piece of furniture-and she paused at the entrance, watching as Mona settled on the couch. Turbulent eyes rose to meet hers, expectant-and when she made no sound in response, hesitation catching the words in her throat, those eyes grew dark with irritation.
"Are you going to talk, or waste my time?" She bit out, venom snapping at the edges of her voice-but again, Alison ignored the combative tone, pacing forward.
"Look, I know what I've done to you is unforgivable." Alison started, pausing as Mona gave a contemptuous snort—the noise made her skin crawl with irritation, but for the sake of civility, she smothered that anger—before continuing once again. "But I want to say that I'm sorry, Mona, for all of it. If I could undo everything, I would, and I really mean that."
She hoped that every ounce of sincerity was present in her voice, praying that something in Mona's heart would be reached by the entreaty-but she didn't seem moved at all, her eyes as dark as ever.
"Well, that is a nice little speech, Ali." She settled back against the couch, features harder than steel. "Is that supposed to make the last few years go away?"
Something twisted down Alison's stomach—perhaps guilt, anger, or some perverse combination of the two—but she fired back with a retort of her own, goaded into frustration. "You're not some blameless victim, Mona." She snapped, dimly recognizing that she was falling into the one trap she did not want to fall into; she was here to reconcile, not fight with her longtime enemy, but Mona always seemed to bring out the worst in her.
Perhaps because she saw her own reflection in the girl's darkest self.
"You terrorized my friends for two years, people who had done nothing to you." She noticed Mona's head lower with shame, pain blooming across those features, and pressed her advantage. "You destroyed my life, made me live in exile, almost murdered Hanna—
"I will not be lectured on morality by you, of all people." Rage crackled in Mona's eyes, blazing like a wild inferno; her voice may have been quiet, but it struck with all of the impact of a shout. "I'm not innocent—far from it, actually—but you were the one who drew first blood."
"I did." Alison agreed, voice lowering, a certain heaviness upon her shoulders; any thoughts of anger fled, leaving her with a desolate pang of sorrow. "I don't care if you don't believe me, but I am sorry, and I want to make things right. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I'll do it."
"I'd sooner starve than accept charity from you." Mona rose from her seat, unforgiving, hatred burning through her eyes-but Alison could see the pain behind them, raw and open, the emotion she was trying to shield from her view. Even in the muted light of the chamber, darkness fell upon Mona's features, a glimpse of pain's bitter shadow.
"I don't want your apology, and I don't want your pity." The girl's voice was rising now, a gathering storm, rage bleeding into every syllable. "You didn't make mistakes, Alison, you knew what you were doing. You did it because it was fun, because you enjoyed it...cruelty was nothing more than a game to you."
The truth of those words struck harder than any blow, making her face grow hot with shame-and she wanted to shrink from the condemnation, to bury it away in the depths of her soul. Amidst that biting sense of guilt, a sudden defensiveness boiled up within her; much like the sinner facing their ultimate judgement, she felt the urge to lash out, to direct the blame onto another.
"It takes a sadist to know one, doesn't it?" Alison countered, arms crossed above her chest-and Mona faltered at the implications of that statement, guilt rippling across her features like a wave over water. However, it didn't last long, the anger snapping back to life with renewed force-and the girl's eyes narrowed, growing black with contempt.
"You've destroyed far more lives than I have." Mona growled, outrage lending strength to her voice-and she took a step forward, those eyes drilling into Alison's own, holding her frozen with the sheer weight of that gaze. "How many has it been, besides mine, or have you lost count?" Alison glanced away at the words, knowing the girl was right, no matter how much she hated it-but Mona wasn't done, gaining momentum with every sentence, every word.
"One of them tried to kill himself a few days ago, a boy that was in the same year as we were." Mona continued, the disgust clear in her voice, and Alison felt shame burn in her stomach like a desolate pit. "He heard you were back; it must have terrified him so much that he tried to hang himself in his bedroom. And I'm sure you don't even know his name, do you?"
Alison paused at that, searching the banks of her memory with a fervor that bordered on desperation, but the faces of her adolescent years seemed to blur together; she had no idea who the girl was referring to. She had targeted dozens of boys and girls, most of which had been lost to the passage of time-but her past apathy only made everything worse, revealing the depths of her own cruelty. Her mouth opened, as if to speak, before an iron spike of guilt brought her breath to a halt—she could not form a response, and it made that emptiness weigh upon her more than ever.
"Of course not." Mona turned her back on the other girl, but even without looking at her face, the scorn in her voice was unmistakable. "Why would you? He's just another of your endless catalogue of victims; it's not as if you cared enough to look back."
"His name was David, by the way." The girl continued, sharply, before Alison could gather a response. "You spread rumors that he was impotent."
Now, she remembered, though his face eluded her; like so many of her victims, he had just happened to catch her eye, a random outlet for her cruelty. CeCe may have introduced her to the art of spreading rumors, but she had been an apt protege-she had once enjoyed watching the devestation they could wreak on a person, the chaos a simple nugget of misinformation could cause.
With the clarity of the present, however, it left her with nothing but regret; a bitter, ashen taste, like bile upon her tongue.
"I'm sorry." It was the only thing she could say, the only thing she could do, but she meant every word—for Mona, for David, for every faceless victim she had ever hurt. Cliche, perhaps, but it was the only option left; even if she could not make anything right, at least she had made her best attempt.
"It's a shame your sad-eyed apologies can't turn back time." Mona turned back to face her, lip curled in a sneer, and something dropped in Alison's heart; the flicker of hope that burned within began to fade, drowned in an ocean of despair. She knew what the girl was going to say.
"Get out of my house."
It was as if a door had slammed shut—solemn and irrevocable, erasing any hope of a genuine reconciliation—but Alision refused to give up so easily, approaching the other girl.
"Mona, please." She entreated, features heavy with regret. "If there's anything I can do to make things right, tell me, and I will." When silence greeted her, she began to back away, accepting the unspoken rejection-but as she reached the door, Mona's voice drifted through the silence once again.
"I want you to remember." Alison halted at the threshold, confusion written across her features as she swung back to face her-but as the girl approached, lips taut in a scornful line, everything soon became clear.
"When you look at me, and you see who I've become—" Mona paused, words faltering, her voice cracking with grief and self-hatred. "—I want you to remember who made me that way."
"I already do, Mona." Alison responded softly, sadly. There were tears in the other girl's eyes, much as she tried to conceal them, clouded with a bitter darkness-and as she stalked away, Alison moved to exit, stepping back onto the patio. The shadows of midnight were there to greet her—frigid and dark, wrapping about her skin like a blanket—but she paid them no heed, watching the door swing shut on Mona's retreating form.
Perhaps some things would never be forgiven.
The wound had already been dealt, too old, too deep-set to alleviate; and the knowledge made her spirits plummet, stung by the bitter agony of defeat. She had never been used to failure—Alison DiLaurentis never failed in anything, always coming out as the victor—but in this, she was truly powerless. She had never meant for such a chain reaction to occur, but Mona was right, exposing the flaw that made her into a monster; she had never cared enough to look beyond herself.
Ignoring the dreadful pit that had begun to gather in her stomach, Alison turned away, taking her first step down that ashen sidewalk—
Then she was alone, left to the solemn company of her own regrets.
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Fin.