Warning: Rated T.W

Of the Broken


She cannot stop,
It is not her choice.

Her tears cannot fall,
They would not stop if they did.

She cannot scream her sorrows,
They would condemn her,
Worse, hate her, if she did.

She holds her breath...
When had she become so broken?*


She struggled to stay conscious, to breath, unwilling to give in to the pain. If she passed out now she would no doubt bleed out and die and Bo refused to die in a fucking alley, dammit.

Even if I deserve to, self-loathing made her gut twist.

She struggled to stand, still being pursued, and vertigo slammed into her worse than the concrete had just moments ago. She closed her eyes, waiting it out and taking the opportunity to take internal inventory. A few cuts and bruises, her worst injuries being a bad cut on her arm and thigh and a few cracked ribs. Maybe a sprained ankle. She felt at her face, winced. And a black-eye.

Then there was her Hunger, not the one from her stomach, no (though she can't remember the last time she'd let herself eat), it was the one constantly at the back of her throat. The one she could not control. The one that made her a freak, a savage, murderous monster.
The one that gnawed at her now.

5 days, 3 hours and 38 minutes. That's how long it's been since her last kiss. Her latest kill.**

Hearing footsteps, Bo backed farther into the small niche between two ratty buildings. It stunk of piss, garbage and who-knows-what but the sunrise cast the shadows dark and long. She pressed herself into the wall.

A breeze blew by and her nose told her it was that grabby bastard who wore too much cheap cologne, coming with a thug even through the rank stench of the alley. He'd given her a drugged drink and when she came to she was hog tied on a concrete floor surrounded by about a dozen other girls. That is the last time I accept a drink from a customer, thought the bartender. She'd managed to free the girls and stall long enough for them to get to safety.

Now she was injured and dying. Not if you-

No! She cut off her own morbid musings. You're dying, you said so yourself. Besides, no one would miss these assholes.

Still. She remained firm.

Better them than you. Without thinking, she grabbed her pursuers, pinned one by his throat to the brick wall, and kissed the other dead. She felt his life force drain into her, soothing her aches and closing her cuts. But not the Hunger.

She wanted to cry.

He died with an ecstatic smile on his face.


* One of my pieces rewritten especially to fit this fic.
** This fic was inspired in part by a YouTube video I saw about Lost Girl a while ago, something about a comics version.