Life is mysteriously ridiculous. Or perhaps ridiculously mysterious?
Sometimes the things that should scare us, makes us laugh instead.
Not that she had laughed. On the contrary, she had cried a little. Everything had happened so fast. One moment she was searching the medical cabinets for drugged flu shots. The next moment she was tied to a chair while being groped by the Count.
She almost died.
She thought about that word. Almost. Almost. She had come close to death, but not entirely. Almost.
She knew she should be shocked, and she had been for a few minutes, but that's it. She wondered whether her reaction to things was abnormal. On the other hand, the life she led during her nighttime wasn't normal either.
Normality has long been gone from her life. Not since she found about him, but ever since the first time she met him. She just didn't know it back then.
He had killed again.
Because of her? Or for her?
She sighed. She was angry with herself, with Oliver, with everyone and everything.
She was angry with herself for going there alone without backup.
She was angry with Oliver for being so fine with everything.
And she was angry with the entire world for being as it is.
She ran the incidents over and over in her head, desperately trying to see if she could have done something, anything, different so he could spare his pain and guilt. She didn't want to add more to his misery. Even though he had held her hand and told her sincerely that there was no choice to make, she couldn't help feeling mortified.
She also understood him. She had never been in the position he had been, and she prayed to God she never would, but had the situation been reversed, she would without hesitation take a life to save his.
It was scary how thoughts about death came to her so easy. And so often.
She was aware of the danger she had put herself into when she had become a part of the group. But once she experienced it, she realized she had no idea just how much danger she was exposed to.
She sighed. The bath hadn't helped much. She spent more than an hour in her bathtub, partly to scrub away all her negative feelings, and partly to wear herself out so she could sleep. She needed that.
But here she was, still wide-awake. She twisted and turned, her now damp hair making her bed-lining wet. She thought of calling him up, asking him how he is, because she didn't know what else to say. But she refrained from the idea, thinking he probably wants to be left alone.
She sighed and twisted once again for what felt like the hundredth time.