Every day, Claire got up to go to work, ate out because she hated cooking for one, and came home and went to sleep. She had lost track of the days she used to be so religious about counting; the details she obsessed over slipped past her unnoticed.
She used to love life; she had OCD, but she had it under control. Everything was going good, until the incident that left her alone, barely able to function. She wasn't an alcoholic; she didn't do drugs. But there was an everlasting fog over her mind; she couldn't tell you what she did most days. She didn't remember if she had breakfast that morning. It was as if nothing had happened over the past eight months.
No one upset the delicate balance of her survival routine. Everyone around her knew what it was now, and left her to it no matter what she did, even if it could have harmed her or someone else.
That is, until then.
She'd gotten by at work doing a half-assed job, with a half-assed attitude, not talking to anyone. 'She's gone through a traumatic experience,' her boss defended her to her co-workers. 'Give her some time, she'll come around.'
But nearly a year later, it was the same story; and her superiors couldn't cut her anymore slack.
It didn't surprise anyone, not even Claire. She knew it was coming, but it set her a back, and not long after she got out of her bosses office, she was in the bathroom, having an anxiety attack. She made it through the day, but on the subway home the fear fully set in.
She could picture herself a year in the future, evicted from the apartment she could hardly make payments on now. Used up all the sympathy from friends and family, she'd be out on the streets in mere weeks. Benches would become beds, snowy leaves would be pillows.
She hadn't felt anything so strongly in months, and the fear hit her fragile being hard. It cut through her foggy mind, leaving her defenseless to her haunting thoughts.
She got off the subway, and ran down the crowded streets to her apartment building, up the stairs and towards her apartment. She grabbed the newspaper, went inside and locked the door tight.
"I'm home…" The young blonde whispered out of habit, walking into her apartment and tossing the newspaper on the coffee table. Of course there was no answer. She lived alone now.
Sighing, she flicked on the lights, and leaned against the door. She was safe now, in her quiet apartment.
But she soon realized that quiet wasn't good. Every bump and step she heard was an intruder, every small squeak someone breaking in. She quickly turned on her TV and radio, along with the rest of the lights in the small one bedroom apartment, and collapsed in the chair.
The lights and sounds made it better, but the paranoia was still there. The memories were still there. So long ago, she had never let anyone in; she'd kept people at a distance for a long time. But then she let her guard down, let someone else in. She had started to trust that everything was good, she had started to believe in happy endings.
But then it'd all been snatched away from her, leaving her in shambles.
She couldn't survive that. Not again.
Her walls had to go back up. Inside the fog she had started to heal. She could function without it now; all that was left was to build up the walls again, so she would never go through something like that, ever, ever again.
She picked up the newspaper, and turned to the classifieds. She needed a new job, and soon. She made mental notes of secretary wanted ads, and even menial tasks like dog walker caught her eye; she was soon-to-be desperate.
But then one popped out at her, and it seemed almost too good to be true.
"Would you like to enjoy a peaceful and refreshing farm life?" It asked, and listed a contact number.
She read it three more times. It wasn't like she wanted to move to a farm when she was young, on the contrary; she had grown up in a quiet neighborhood, and dreamed of moving to the big city. But she couldn't stay there any longer. She wasn't ready to face all the people the city offered. She couldn't face her friends. A quiet countryside town seemed a perfect place to start over.
"Farm…" She whispered aloud, thinking of how peaceful and therapeutic it could be.
She stood quickly, and rushed to the phone and dialed the number. "Hello, is this the MT realtor? I'm calling about the farm…" Claire spoke into the phone warily. "Uh-huh, it's still for sale?" A smile flickered across her face, the muscles sorely underused. "I'd like to put an offer down on it…"
Finally, the world seemed like it was looking up.