Trigger warnings: Bloody wounds, nightmares, violence, and minor character death.
By the time she finally made it to her little apartment on West 57th Street, Eden was starting to get dizzy from blood loss.
"You're almost there, just don't drip on the carpet," she murmured as she hauled herself past the fourth floor landing. She took her bloody hand away from the wound to rummage inside her bag for her keys, but she couldn't seem to find them. "Son of a bitch!"
"Olivia?" her across the hall neighbor, Adrian Morales, asked blearily from behind her. Eden didn't turn around to face him. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied as she kept searching for her keys. Where were the damn things? "I'm sorry if I woke you."
Eden admired Adrian quite a bit; he was a sweet-tempered, compassionate guy that always seemed to have a smile on his face, despite the fact that he never seemed to have a moment to himself. He was either at six-hour ballet rehearsals at Juilliard or making overpriced lattes at the little cafe near their building to make ends meet. He never complained or took his stress out on anyone though, and Eden found that commendable.
"I wasn't sleeping, I was studying," Adrian said as Eden finally wrapped her fingers around the keys. She shoved them into the front pocket of her navy Captain America hoodie and removed them with her non-bloodied hand. She didn't need him asking her a gazillion questions about why she was bleeding. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem off."
She shoved the key into the lock of her door and turned it. It made a satisfying click and Eden quickly threw open her door. She looked over her shoulder to see Adrian eyeing her. Despite his obvious lack of sleep, he was still unfairly attractive.
"I'm fine," she replied as she pulled the key from the lock. "I just had a bit too much to drink is all."
"Please tell me you didn't walk home from Luke's by yourself again," he sighed. "Liv, we've talked about this."
Eden's shoulder throbbed as she shrugged. "It was no big deal Adrian, really. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
She shut the door behind her before he had the chance to answer. Pain shot up her shoulder again as she locked the door, and Eden quickly made a beeline for her bathroom. She filled the tub halfway with cold water and threw her bloodstained hoodie and t-shirt into the tub to soak. Her shoulder ached again as if it was trying to get her attention, and Eden pulled her first aid kit—or, as she liked to call it, the 'in-case I do something stupid kit'—from the cabinet beneath her sink and pulled out the suture equipment. She tugged down the strap of her sports bra and cleaned the cut as she gazed at herself in the mirror.
She'd been very lucky tonight; the graze didn't look too bad, and neither did any of the other cuts and bruises that dotted her sore body. But she'd been reckless; if the Man in Black hadn't have shown up when he did, she probably would've been dead in the alley or in the back of the traffickers' van right about now. What the hell had she been thinking, trying to act like some damn hero? Sticking her neck out had only ever brought her a world of trouble.
"I never learn," Eden sighed at her reflection as she began to stitch herself up. She winced as the needle pierced her skin and as the string slowly pulled the wound closed, but it hurt far less than the litany of beatings she'd been through over the years. Stitching was a massage compared to being on the receiving end of a punch.
Once the sutures were done and the kit was stashed back under the sink, Eden set to work getting the blood off of her hands and clothes. She'd perfected the art of getting blood out of just about anything over the years, so it gave the opportunity for her mind to wander a bit as she scrubbed. Her thoughts went to the woman at the warehouse; she'd looked so much like Zoya.
"It wasn't her!" Eden told herself harshly as she scrubbed the stain on her t-shirt. She'd been through all this before; after Zoya died Eden had seen glimpses of her everywhere. She'd see her on the subway, or on the next street corner, or in a crowd of tourists, but they were just apparitions her once-grief stricken mind had conjured up. They weren't real. No matter how much she wished it wasn't true, Zoya was gone for good because of those helicarriers. Fixating on a ghost didn't change anything.
Eden banished her thoughts of Zoya away as she drained the bloody water from the tub and hung up her damp clothes. Once she was finished, she made a beeline for her freezer and pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka. She took a swig, grimacing at the foul taste as it went down her throat. She took another swig to calm her nerves, she just needed to quiet her thoughts and numb everything else enough so she could sleep.
Unfortunately, Eden had a very high alcohol tolerance and her obtrusive thoughts about the night's events wouldn't go away. She was about to take another swig when her cat decided to announce his presence with a curt meow. She tightened her grip on the bottle as she bent down and gave him a little scratch behind the ears, before he scampered off into her bedroom. She heard her bed squeak slightly as Azazel jumped onto it, and Eden took another gulp before she followed in after him. She smiled when she found her cat stretched out on the comforter and set down the nearly-empty bottle, her gun, and the contents of her pockets onto her nightstand and got dressed for bed.
Once she was finished, a bright flash of light flickered through her bedroom window. A few seconds later, an angry thunderclap boomed in the distance. Eden let out an involuntary shriek and practically dove beneath her covers as another crashed menacingly outside.
"It's just a storm, you big baby," she tried to tell herself as another thunderclap boomed. "It can't hurt you."
As if sensing her distress, Azazel curled up next to her and purred, and she was suddenly very grateful that the little beast was in her life.
The rumblings of the storm stopped almost as quickly as it had started, but Eden couldn't shake how scared she was. She just wanted to feel safer and, without even thinking about it, she grabbed her phone and dialed an all-too-familiar number. As the dial tone rang, Eden quickly came to her senses and scrambled to hang up the phone but, before she could, he answered on the final ring.
"You do realize what time it is, don't you?" Vladimir sighed.
Eden couldn't help but scoff at him as she climbed into bed. "Oh please, we both know you stay up until daybreak on most nights. Don't pretend that you were sleeping."
She could hear him chuckle on the other line, and it made her heart ache with longing. She wanted nothing more than to march right over to his apartment and curl up in arms like old times.
"I could have been," he replied casually, "Or I could've been in the arms of a woman even prettier than you."
"You used to say there was no one prettier than me," she said softly, trying to mask how much his words hurt her. She'd broken up with him for a very good reason, but it didn't change the fact that she still missed him and what they'd had.
"That's still true," he replied. "Does this mean you've changed your mind?"
She wanted to say yes, but nothing had changed. If tonight was any indication, the factors that could have altered her decision were clearly still in play.
"No," she replied sternly.
He sighed. "Then why did you call me, Olivia?"
Eden wanted to tell him that she called because she was scared, and he was the only person she had left that was capable of making her feel a bit safer. Instead, she simply said, "I just wanted to hear your voice again."
"Then you're wasting my time," he said coolly, "There's no point in talking if nothing's changed."
He was right of course, but it didn't mean she had to like it.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
Vladimir hung up without another word and Eden held back tears as she exchanged the phone for one last swig from the vodka bottle. She should've known better than to call him; Vladimir was still angry with her and she'd probably only made things worse. It didn't matter that she was lonely or that she missed him, she'd made a choice to end their relationship and she had to learn to live with that.
Eden sighed she listened to the rain patter against her window like a drummer playing a snare. It reminded her of happier times when she and Vladimir had been together. One time, they'd stayed in his apartment for four days dancing, drinking, and partaking in more than a few romps in the hay. On the third night there'd been an awful storm and Vladimir had gone out to buy wine.
"You could always call a store that delivers," she had said as Vladimir pulled on his shoes. He paused for a moment, and Eden took the opportunity to lean down and steal a kiss. "That way you don't have to leave."
He'd given her that sneaky little smile that always made her weak in the knees. "As tempting as that sounds, I have to go see Anatoly for a bit. There's some problem with the latest shipment. I won't be gone long."
"Okay, okay," she sighed before plopping onto his plush bed. "But don't be mad if I eat the last of the pelmeni while you're gone."
He'd laughed and given her one last kiss before leaving. After he'd gone, she'd showered and, true to her word, eaten the last of the dumplings. Soon, it had started to grow dark and low rumblings of thunder sounded above until it crashed spectacularly. She'd shrieked and curled into a ball on her boyfriend's couch, she had always hated thunder. It reminded her of the days when she'd been a child in Sokovia, during one of her homeland's countless wars, and any home could have instantly turned to rubble by enemy bombs. Another thunderclap boomed even louder than the first and she let out a pathetic cry as she shut her eyes and covered her ears. Strangely, she was soon being wrapped up in a strong pair of arms and heard someone whispering soothingly. She opened her eyes to see it was Vladimir, and practically burrowed into his chest.
"I'm sorry, it's just so—" she'd whimpered as the thunder rumbled menacingly.
"Shh, don't be sorry," he replied as he gently rubbed her back. "Everyone's afraid of something, there's no shame in that. I'll be right here until it stops."
She'd smiled at that. "Promise?"
He planted a kiss on her forehead. "I promise, it'll take a lot more than a storm to get rid of me."
Unfortunately, it had taken much less for Vladimir to lose her. Everything had changed between them when she'd caught him in a terrible web of lies and, rather than try to work it out, she walked out on him for good.
"Harden your heart and nothing can hurt you," Eden told herself as she brushed away a few stray tears from her eyes, the words were like a mantra. She'd said them so many times that they'd practically been beaten into her. With a sigh, she grabbed the bottle off her nightstand and took one last swig before laying back down. Eden tried to push Vladimir from her mind as she closed her eyes and slowly drifted off into the inky blackness of sleep.
Eden dreamed of a dark room that was empty, save for the dozens of mirrors that hung on the walls. There were tall mirrors, round mirrors, framed mirrors, mirrors designed to be held in a woman's hand, and each one was more beautiful than last. She could hear soft voices, not unlike the whispers of young children, coming from the largest mirror in the room—it was almost as tall as her and framed in polished, curving silver. In the distance, the mirror seemed to glow like moonlight was bouncing off it and Eden couldn't help but walk over to it. The childish voices grew louder with each step, until finally Eden was close enough to see herself in the glass. She looked just as she always had—long inky hair, brown eyes, and a perpetually curious expression. She put her hand tentatively on the glass, only for it to crack at her touch. To Eden's horror, the room echoed with screaming and she looked up to see blood dripping from the ceiling. She backed away from the mirror slowly, only to find that a single word had been written upon it in blood: killer.
Eden awoke with a start, drenched with sweat and panting as her eyes darted around the bedroom frantically. She took a few deep breaths to calm her heart, which was threatening to beat right out her chest. It was just a nightmare; it hadn't been real.
As her heart rate slowly returned to normal, Eden began to stretch her sore, battle-beaten body, only to notice an acute amount of stiffness in the muscles of her left arm.
"Not again," she grumbled as she slowly lowered her arm; she had a bad habit of sleeping with it held up against her headboard as though it was being hung by an invisible string.
As she climbed out of bed, Azazel ran into the room and began a routine of rubbing his side against her ankles as he meowed impatiently.
"I know, I know," Eden replied as she stood up, wincing as pain bloomed in her right shoulder where she'd been shot. "I'll feed you in just a second."
Azazel meowed impatiently as she followed him into the kitchen. She scooped kibble into the little beast's bowl before checking her email and texts. She only had one message from the courier company so far, they wanted her to hand-deliver a parcel to a room at the Hotel Chelsea. Eden texted back that she'd pick up the package in a bit, put the building's address into her phone for later, and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
"Well, you've looked worse." She said to her reflection as she tallied the visible cuts and bruises that dotted her body. Her face was in remarkably decent shape, the cuts had mostly healed—including the cut on her eyebrow—but her bottom lip was still visibly swollen. Sighing, she removed the bandage from her eyebrow and cleaned and re-bandaged the gunshot wound on her shoulder. She covered the visible damage on her face with the last of her concealer and threw on the first clean pair of clothes she could find along with her leather jacket and boots. Satisfied, Eden holstered her gun and grabbed her bag before heading out the door for the day.
As she unlocked her bike and headed out into the early-morning traffic, Eden couldn't help but wonder about the man in the black mask. Who was he, and why had he helped her? She was probably one of the last people in Hell's Kitchen that deserved saving. Maybe it had just been her lucky night.
These thoughts persisted until she pulled up in front of the tiny Waypoint Courier office on 52nd Street. The place was pretty much a front for Turk's smuggling operations with the Ranskahov brothers, but it did periodically do legitimate deliveries. Eden actually sort of liked working for Turk, it kept her busy and she didn't have to do anything too unsavoury. As she walked inside the shop, she gave the bored, blue-haired receptionist a quick hello. The woman handed her a heavy, yellow envelope without a word and Eden shoved it into her bag before leaving.
It didn't take her long to get to the Hotel Chelsea, a beautiful Victorian Gothic building known for the many artists and thinkers who passed through its doors. Eden always got a kick out of historic buildings; they were like a photograph or a painting, a perfectly captured memory that persevered despite the whims of time. She especially liked the ones with somewhat seedier histories, which the hotel certainly had. Unfortunately, because of the building's sordid past, the doorman stopped her on sight.
"The tour was yesterday, miss," the man said simply. "You'll have to wait 'til next month."
"I'm just here to deliver a package, that's all. My instructions were to deliver it to—" Eden said as she fished the envelope out of her bag. "Laura Lewin in Room 822."
Eden showed him the little 'hand-delivery only' stamp on the envelope and, with a sigh, the doorman let her in. She shoved the envelope back into her bag and took the old, rickety elevator up to the eighth floor and walked to Room 822. However, to Eden's surprise, the door was halfway open. A feeling of dread washed over her as she peaked inside the dark room through the gap in the door, but she couldn't see anyone inside. Something about this didn't feel right.
Her instincts were screaming at her to leave the package at the door and get out of the hotel as fast as humanly possible, but instead Eden pulled her gun from her holster and snuck into the apartment. The first room she peeked into was the bedroom, where a dark haired woman was lying motionlessly on the bed as a large man with undistinguished features leaned over her. Before Eden could even take one step forward to figure out what going on, the man plunged a hunting knife right into the woman's chest.
Time seemed to slow down as Eden pointed the gun at the man's head and tried to ignore the stain of scarlet blooming from the woman's chest. Her instincts were screaming at her again, pleading with her to run away, but her body refused to move away from the scene in front of her. Anger boiled inside her as the man smirked a bit and removed his knife, still unaware of Eden's presence. She'd seen that sort of look on cruel men before, the kind that didn't care about ending lives, and it disgusted her.
"Drop the knife," she said finally as she took a few steps forward, her gun trained on the man's forehead. He looked a bit surprised to see her, but his astonishment quickly turned to a strange look of recognition.
"There you are," he said in an Slavic-type accent Eden couldn't quite place. "I didn't think I'd find you so easily."
The words unnerved her as she search the man's plain face; she'd never seen him before. "I said drop the knife!"
Her hands trembled and her shoulder ached as she kept the gun aimed at the man, but he didn't seem to care one way or the other if she shot him. Instead, he lunged at her with the knife. Eden narrowly avoided getting her stomach sliced open from the slash, but in the chaos she dropped her gun. Panicking, she evaded another wild slash from his knife and threw the first thing she could get her hands on, a thick book from the nightstand, at him before grabbing her gun from the floor and running back into the living room.
The man charged after her, but Eden didn't hesitate as she pulled the trigger and shot him square in the shoulder. He cursed loudly but, rather than charge at her, he ran out of the out of the open widow that connected to the building's fire escape and jumping off the railing. Eden ran onto the fire escape after him, and looked down to see he had landed on the roof of a parked car in the alley below and was now tearing off down the street.
"What the hell?" she said aloud as she ran down a flight of the stairs, her eyes trained on the man's retreating figure until he disappeared down a crowded street. A million questions raced through her mind as she ran down the stairs. Who was that man? How on earth did he seem to know who she was? Why did he stab that poor woman?
After she had rushed down at least fix or six flights, Eden spotted a dumpster below.
With a running start, she launched herself off the fire escape and landed into the dumpster. The impact was a bit harder than she'd expected, her shoulder ached from the landing and the wind had been knocked out of her, but at least nothing felt broken. She couldn't believe that knife-wielding madman he'd been able to make that jump at eight stories without any discernible injury; a feat like that should've been impossible.
"Worry about getting the hell out of here first," Eden told herself as she checked to see that her belongings were all still in one piece. Thankfully, nothing had fallen out of the messenger bag this time. She tightened the strap on it a bit before she attempted to climb out of the dumpster. This proved to be somewhat tricky, as she was fairly short and the dumpster was barely filled halfway. Not to mention, she kept getting poked by, strangely enough, a perfectly good cane designed for a blind person.
Once she'd finally escaped her garbage-filled prison, Eden unlocked her bike from the lamppost she'd left it at and tore off down the street towards Hell's Kitchen as she dimly registered scream of sirens and the blue and red lights of squad cars pulling up near the hotel. She pedaled for what seemed like ages until she came to a park and collapsed onto a bench. Her heart was racing as her mind cycled the mystery man's words over and over again: there you are, I didn't think I'd find you so easily.
He knew her, or at least he thought he did. But who exactly he knew her by was a terrifying variable. Did he know her as Olivia? As Emily or some older alias? He couldn't possibly know her as Eden, that name was a secret known to a very slim few. She just prayed he didn't know her by her birth name, which she'd discarded for a very good reason. If he knew that name, it would mean she'd have to run away as fast and as far from New York as possible.
"Breathe Eden," she told herself as that terrifying possibility took root in her mind. "There's no way he could know anything about that."
That was far from true, but the lie was comforting enough that Eden composed herself and hopped back on her bike. She pushed what she'd seen from her mind as she started to peddle towards home, her body aching from the fights of the last few days. All she wanted now was a long shower, a tall drink, and a thick book to occupy her thoughts. She refused to spend any more time fixating on what she'd found; she'd done everything she could, the police could handle the rest. The last thing she needed was to welcome more carnage and death into her life, she already saw enough of it in her dreams.
A/N: So that's all the rewrites I've finished so far! Chapters three and four are currently being written as we speak, so hopefully I'll have them up soon! What do you guys think of the rewrites so far? I'd love to know!
