As we said before, this is a dark story and is rated M for a reason. You have been warned. Don't forget to review.

Mel and Chuck

AUGUST 2520

It's been a rough couple of months. It feels like every day is spent trying to wade through my own muddied thoughts. I might even doubt my own convictions, and I detest myself for it. For every reason I have to hate him, my subconscious seems to have a counterargument.

Sylar killed my family. But they would be dead by now anyway. It's been 500 years.

He effectively enslaved me for a decade. What's ten years when you can't die?

He takes pleasure in inflicting physical pain on me. Are you sure you don't like it yourself?

He killed our baby as surely as if he had slaughtered him with his own hands. You don't know that.

You don't know anything anymore. You're talking to yourself.

My God. I'm so lost. But I don't have anything better to do than keep living as best I can.

I know Sylar's near; I can feel his presence all around me, all the time. Unfortunately, I can only keep searching for him uselessly until he decides to reveal himself to me. I just pray that it won't take too long. I'm not sure I could handle too many years of this. What he says about being my other half—I don't necessarily believe it, but maybe I need a distraction while I figure it out.

It's going to be one of those days. I wish I could get drunk or maybe high—anything to just go numb for a while. I know a sure way to block out these memories and emotions, but it bars me from meeting him again—for better or worse. I'm not ready to go down that road, not until I know what he and I will do.

I'm just so tired of this. The hatred's wearying, but I don't know how else to live.

As I focus on my tai-chi exercises, attempting to relax and become still, I swear I can hear his voice in my ear and feel his hands in my hair, but when I turn around, there is no one there. Damn. I'm losing my grip here. Maybe it's time for me to move. It'll give me something to do instead of worry about my sanity. He knows where to find you anyway. It's not as though you'd never see him again.

"Shut up," I say aloud, trying to dispel this sensation of teetering on the brink of something and spiraling downward. I finish my routine and leave my home, going for a run in hopes that it will clear my mind.

I push myself to the limits of my endurance, until I have to rest. I lie back on the ground, panting hard and a stitch in my side. Even as my lungs burn, the dark place inside of me takes pleasure in the pain.

I can make you feel alive, Claire, his voice echoes in my head. So why doesn't he? Is this a continuation of his punishment for my foolhardy night with the blonde man?

I've never felt so disoriented in my whole life. My bloodlust for Sylar, my only compass these past five centuries, might be faulty. It might not even be the driving force I thought it was. I think I've lost my way, but I don't know how to get back on track. Until I figure that out, I'll just have to keep doing the same thing I've been doing for what seems like forever.