On the Run

Please review. I respond to every review unless I miss one in error. If so – Please send me another message. I want to talk to you. This one is getting pretty graphic and destructive. But that's the trip I'm taking Mindy on and it can't be done if it stays 'PG'. Thank you all for reading. Trigger warning – previous attempted Suicide. This might be shorter because I want to post something new after mis-posting the last chapter.

I'd found a not too skeezy place to crash and downed about half a bottle of Advil. My entire body hurt like a mother fucker. Not like The Mother Fucker, because he'd been eaten by a shark and wasn't feeling anything now other than maybe being shark shit. I'd considered taking a couple of real pain killers. I had them in my kit but only used them when I otherwise couldn't stand the pain. I mostly avoided them because they made me to groggy and really, too depressed. And depression needed to be avoided at all costs. It was time build a bridge and get the hell over my problems. Preferably the Brooklyn Bridge and get myself the fuck back into New York.

I slept off some of the pain and then got up to take a shower. My entire back was black and blue. I wasn't dead and nothing seemed to be broken, so overall, I still had to put it in the 'Win' column. And I'd be a lovely shade of purple in a day or two. Kidding/not kidding. I still felt like garbage so I basically painted myself in Icy Hot (which worked better than Bengay) and went back to bed.

For the next two days, I basically did a rinse and repeat on that process while occasionally breaking up the monotony by ordering a pizza. I really wanted to just go join a gym and use their steam room / hot tubs but explaining all of the bruises would have been way too much of a pain in the ass. And I had enough pain in my ass, thank you very much.

The depression wasn't gone. It was still there taunting me from the edges. Part of what kept it away was that I'd finally decided I didn't have time to feel that way anymore. I had a life to live and a fuck load of regret wasn't going to get me any closer to where I wanted to be. The other part was that my suicide attempt had left me feeling, well, reborn. I'd intended to die. I'd planned to. I'd made my peace with it. And, well, it hadn't happened. So I decided that maybe the universe was sending me a message. Something like

Universe: "Hey, Hit-Girl? It would be really fucking stupid to kill yourself after all the trouble I just went through to keep you alive."

Me: "What? You made that building that way just so I'd be a dumb ass and fail to jump off it it? Really?"

Universe: "Yes indeed I did. Pretty fucking clever, right?"

Me: "Not really. If you went to that much trouble, would it have killed you to have put a bunch of pillows on that balcony?"

Universe: "Hey, you jumped off of a skyscraper and lived. Quit your bitching!"

And from there, the conversation in my head really started to get silly. I suppose that I probably had a bit of a concussion but mostly, it was a way not to focus on the enormous fuck up that I'd turned my life into. Plus, the TV didn't work and I was really, really bored.

Finally I could move a bit more freely and my black and blue bruises were more purple and green. And then green and yellow as I got more of my strength back. I finally decided that my body didn't look too terrible to go to the gym. I prepared this elaborate story about how I'd been in a car accident and almost died, but saved by this sexy firefighter that I wanted to get in shape to meet and impress and maybe even get jiggy with. Whatever the fuck 'jiggy' was. I wasn't exactly sure. Anyway, I had my identity and story down pat. I even downloaded a random picture of a firefighter off the net, Photoshopped myself into it, and then printed it at the local Walgreen's. Then I headed on into the gym.

Not one fucking person asked me why my skin was five different colors. Not even when I was in the steam room. I was extremely disappointed. Three guys did try to pick me up though. Ask me out I mean, not literally pick me up. I was in a gym so I thought I should clarify. Only one guy tried to actually lift me up but then I 'accidentally' elbowed him in the throat and he put me down nice and gentle like. I spent the rest of the week getting back in shape.

I was mortally tired of being alone. I mean, even while I'd been with Emily, it wasn't the same as home. Home was New York. Pizza. Avoiding that naked cowboy dude in Times Square. Beating up drug dealers in Queens. Jogging in Central Park at 2 AM to see if any of the fishies wanted to bite.

It was smaller, less dramatic things too. I actually missed homework. And being sent to my room by Marcus and then sneaking back out. Working out with Dave. Watching movies with Dave. Reading comics with Dave. Running faster than Dave and laughing when he can't catch me. Taking long walks with Dave. Having midnight talks with Dave. Trying to find another opportunity to kiss Dave without seeming slutty….

I'm getting a little fucking repetitive, aren't I?

Don't get me wrong. Emily's death still haunted me. But I've done a lot of awful things that stare at me when I try to go to sleep in the darkness. I decided to let this become one of them. Heroes in the comics always had stories like that. Next time I would be more careful. Next time I would ask a few questions before doing something permanent. And even though I couldn't make up for what I'd done, I could look out for other girls in the same situation as Emily and make sure that they got to go home. It wasn't forgiveness but it might become atonement.

What I needed now was to go home. I needed life to be back to normal. I probably couldn't live with Marcus anymore but I could at least make things up to him. And I could see Dave again. I could figure out what on earth I really felt about him. Was I just crushing? Was it more? Did he feel the same way or did he still just think I was a kid?

I was ready to back and live inside the fuzzy blanket, so to speak. I packed things up for the last time, tossed all the stuff that was a pain to carry on a bike, and sped off into a glorious sunrise.

And, to go back to the beginning of this story, that was the mindset that got me shot in the fucking head. I'd been ready to be welcomed by Marcus. Marcus was gone. Forever as far as I knew at the time. Which meant that I'd lost the only person I had left as a father figure. And then Dave swept in and even though I'd initially planned on looking for romance, he slid into the father role instead. And that was all because of living alone. It was because of what happened with Jordan and Emily. It was the result of facing the darkness, surviving, but still needing time to heal.

It was because I needed love. Love was the only thing that banished the darkness. It just took a while to figure out what kind of love I was actually looking for.

You know what, I was wrong. Dave needs to hear this story. Even the embarrassing parts. There's still a part of him that hasn't forgiven himself for the hooker we didn't save and the pimp he beat to death. He needs to know that I went through something even more intense and survived it. Technically I didn't survive it on purpose, but , fuck it, I'm still not dead and that's all that really matters in the end.

And I'll even make him a deal. If he promises to NEVER look for those naked pictures of me online, I'll give him a show that he'll never, ever forget.

And if he breaks the promise? Well, then he gets a beating that he might well forget due likelihood of massive head trauma.

That way we both win.

Thank you for reaching the end of this story. I'm going to take some good advice this time and move new things to a separate story. For those of you who come back to read this later, I might re-write it and put the whole thing in sequence, so please don't be too confused if you read it again soon and it doesn't begin with the absurd peeing hospital scene.

For those of you reading other things, I am going to write a final chapter for "It takes one to raise one". Eventually. When I don't hate everything I put on the page. I'm trying to finish it with something more than 'Mindy killed all of the bad guys and then they all lived happily ever after.' And it's not working.

And I haven't decided if the next work will be original or a non-Bethany sequel to this story. Take the whole thing in another direction. If you have a vote, idea, or suggestion, let me know.