/Author's Note: Hello again! Admittedly, I started this chapter sometime last year before promptly forgetting about it, so it might seem like a bit of a… heavy point to return on. But, it's all part of the continual process of shading in the multi-faceted character that is Karen! Enjoy, and expect a (few) new chapter(s) soon! End Author's Note/

(37) Tired

You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but Karen had spent a lifetime honing her abilities as an assassin.

Her victims?

Usually her own feelings.

Her weapon of choice?

Lots and lots of alcohol.

Most people would describe Karen as a girl who lived with her heart on her sleeve. This was mostly true - so long as the heart she chose to show to the world was one that radiated only warmth and cheerfulness.

Karen only wished that she had enough room on her sleeve for the rest of her heart. (The analogy worked eerily well, she realized, with her wardrobe of mostly sleeveless vests. Damn, she was good.)

In short, Karen wished she had the kind of lack of restraint that would let her go absolutely psycho.

When Rick told her, for the thousandth time, that he was too tired to join her that night at the bar, that he had had a long day and had to be up again early the next, she wished she could yell at him, punch him, slam the door on him, threaten to break up with him, to end everything. Instead, her mouth lifted into a smile as her heart dropped into her stomach.

"Have a good night then, sleepyhead."

Her words were curt, but her head swam with a thousand angry thoughts, punctured repeatedly by timid voices telling her "It's not his fault."

And they were right. It wasn't his fault: his mother needed the help, his father had abandoned them, and lugging around sacks of chicken fodder probably was hella tiring. Then she felt guilty for even being mad at him, and the anger just compounded.

You're being petty. You're being selfish. You're asking for too much.

Was she, though? (Of course you are).

The truth was, Karen wanted things to be the way they used to be. She wanted Rod and Lillia back together, she wanted Lillia to be in good health, she wanted Rick to still be hopelessly in love with her, she wanted Popuri to still have dreams and goals that went beyond "sticking around as long as my mother's still alive". She wanted Rick to think her company was worth losing a few hours of sleep - wasn't it only a few short years ago that they had regularly stayed up all night together, watching the stars, Karen looking for the reflection of the sunrise in his oversized glasses?

But time had a way of wearing everything down: health, hopes, dreams, goals, love. Lillia would only get worse. The hope that Rod might come back would only fade. Popuri's dreams would whittle away in the face of her mother's sickness. Rick would spend more and more nights being tired, and Karen could only selfishly hold on to what little had remained unchanged - and wonder for how much longer. What could she do when the things that ate away at her were entirely out of her control? She could only let them eat.

The only thing that got better with time was wine.

She didn't go to the bar that night. She fiddled with the lock on her parents' wine cabinet - seriously, how had they not replaced that by now? - and reached for a dark, murky bottle.

She wasn't tired yet; she hoped the wine might change that.