"Son of a bitch!" Olivia injected all of the frustration of her day into the curse, dropping the hot pan into the sink and instinctively sticking her burnt finger into her mouth to soothe the sting. It was the last straw. All day she had been fucking things up, struggling to force the buttons of her blouse through tight button holes, dropping her house keys in the hall not once but twice, fumbling with change for a Coke. And the day had begun with Olivia's spirits high and her determination set. However, when you're at the top, there's no other place to go but down.

Her plan had been going so well. Yes, she missed Alex. Yes, she felt a pang of loss whenever she woke in the night and remembered that she slept alone. But she had also almost begun to feel like herself again, like she did indeed have the ability to take care of herself. The feeling was regrettably short lived. She had woken early, enjoying her coffee while the east-facing windows of her apartment glowed yellow with the rising summer sun. Normally, this was Alex's private time; Olivia preferred to sleep far into the morning when she had the opportunity. But she had been drawn to the bright light, promising as it was of the things she would accomplish before it was again time for bed. It would take only a few hours for Olivia to deem the sunlight a liar and wish the morning had been cloudy.

Getting dressed was a rocky affair. Olivia brushed the difficulty off, deciding that it was simply one of those instances when her hands refused to cooperate with her demands for proper dexterity. It happened occasionally, just one more of the new issues her body had been dealt. She had learned to deal with it, biting back her frustration and attacking her tasks with tenacity. Eventually, the buttons would get buttoned, the shoelaces would get tied, the mascara would be applied. In the grand scheme of things, she told herself, a few extra minutes were not an exorbitant price. Soon enough, she was out the door, cane in hand, and on her way.

With only occasional glances at the sea crashing against the rocks below the path, Alex let her body and mind sink into the dull rhythm of her feet against the dewy pavement. The sun was just barely beginning to peek above the grey sea, gradually spreading pale light over the dark domed sky and the manicured blades of damp grass. But Alex noticed the beauty with only the barest fraction of her attention. Instead, she focused on the muted thumping of rubber on concrete and the pulsing rush of her breath and heartbeat. In the city, she plugged her ears with an iPod, drowning out the constant and furiously noisy crowds of the urban population. But here, running along a wild coast in the wispy fog, she left her music behind. She wanted solitude and she got it. But for the gulls stirring in their stony roosts, Alex was alone with only her perspiring body and tumbling thoughts for company.

Olivia scribbled out a check and slid it over the counter, hoping that the clerk wouldn't comment on her shaky handwriting. She re-packed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder and jumping at a pat on her thigh. She looked down and smiled at the child. "Can I pet your doggie, please?" She gave her permission and laughed as Blondie wagged with abandon, shaking her entire body with her enthusiasm, and proceeded to shower the little boy with sloppy kisses. The dog had good reason to be so gleeful. The payment Olivia had just handed over was for the vet's services. The often-gnawed-at cast had finally been removed and Blondie was at last free to prance on all four legs. At a wave from a woman in the corner balancing a plastic cat carrier in her lap, the tot ran off and Olivia tugged her over-excited dog through the glass doors and onto the street.

Confidence slowly building, she wove her way slowly through crowds of people, jostling the natives and skirting camera-wielding tourists. Her pockets were bulging with dog biscuits and tennis balls. They were going to the dog park, a place where Blondie could burn off some of her excess energy and Olivia could reacquaint herself with the typically New York habit of being alone in a crowd. On the way, she stopped at a news stand for a cold Coke to mitigate the steamy city heat. Fishing for change, her fingers jerked, sending a spray of pennies and dimes skittering across the concrete. She swore under her breath and shoved dollar bills at the irritable vendor, stuffing her purchase into her purse and making a furious retreat. It didn't matter, she thought, gritting her teeth. The Coke would still be refreshing, the coins couldn't have added up to more than a dollar or two, and she would have a good time at the park come hell or high water.

Pausing to rest her hands on her knees and catch her breath, Alex reluctantly decided that it was time to turn back. Her spirit urged her to keep going but her body was sending her a very different message. Shut up in hospital rooms and Olivia's apartment as she cared for her girlfriend was hard and exhausting work but it could hardly be considered aerobic exertion. She was forced to admit that she would have to rebuild the stamina she had cultivated in Wisconsin. New York had made her soft.

Swiping at the sweat on her forehead, she turned on her heel and took off again. Her run may have been shorter than she would have preferred but she was going to make the best of it. Her pace was quick and she used the fresh strain on her lungs and calves as a funnel for the emotion her thoughts had brought to the surface.

At first, she felt anger. There, she could admit it. She was pissed off. Olivia had essentially kicked her out of the apartment she now considered to be her home with little explanation and no warning. Though she hoped she had hidden it well, the request had hit her hard. It stung like a slap on the cheek. And, like the pain of a slap, the shock and anger was fading quickly by tears and pumping blood. Being angry simply took too much energy and she had to make a choice: stay furious or keep running. She chose the latter, leaving her anger behind like the tracks of footsteps she was now making as she cut through a swath of undisturbed, dewy grass.

As the flush of ire faded, she began to feel a twinge of calmer, if a tad rueful, acceptance. Olivia had asked her if she understood. She didn't. She couldn't. Understanding required experience, something she lacked. But she could accept Olivia for who she had become and the new needs she was burdened with. Or at least she could try. It was difficult. For many months now, Alex had lived with her girlfriend's physical limitations. She had nursed her tenderly and tirelessly while she regained some semblance of her old strength and had even begun not to notice the scarring when she looked at her beautiful girlfriend. She had even convinced herself that overlooking bumpy scars, ignoring limping gaits, and helping overcome the difficulties caused by clumsy fingers were tantamount to real acceptance. Now, distant from Olivia, Alex forced herself to confront her private lie. Tolerance of physical marks was one thing. Dealing with the mental and emotional scarring and accepting that the healing process for these wounds would be much longer was quite another. But this lesson, she found, was one she could understand and with which she could sympathize.

Every whistling breath she pulled into her lungs reminded her of how much easier this had been in Wisconsin. With nothing else to do and few friends, Alex had spent much of her time pursuing solitary sports. She ran, she skied, she swam endless laps in her gym's pool. The exercise made her feel good and, more importantly, it made her feel safe. In perfect cardiac health, she felt confident that she could outrun anything. It was a slightly irrational sense of security but Alex had bought into it whole-heartedly. What other choice was available to her? She was wanted by dangerous and powerful people who would sooner shoot her than blink an eye. She had few defenses but she had been determined to make the most of them. So she had perfected her camouflage and worked out until she was lean and hard. That is, until her reclusive life had been disrupted yet again though not by a gun shot.

Within the space of only a day, she had left everything she had built behind. Using her responsibility to comfort and care for Olivia as a buffer, Alex had ignored her grief. It was only a house, she reasoned. It was only two years out of a life time. It was nothing. But now, freshly ejected from the normal routine of her life yet again, Alex again felt the sense of too familiar loss. And, this time, she had no distraction, no excuse to keep her from addressing her feelings. The knowledge of exactly how dramatically her life had changed in only a few years suddenly crashed down onto her and a tuft of grass snagged her toe, nearly sending her sprawling to the ground. She gasped but regained her footing and insisted that her quickly tiring body pick up its pace. As with her stifling anger, Alex chose to keep running through the grief. She could let it come slowly, a little drip or whiff of loss with every scuffing step. She had to find that middle ground, between drowning in the deluge and wasting her energy building dams to keep it at bay. She had to let it come and keep running.

Olivia picked herself off of the concrete, ignoring the smear of blood on her palm and the crust of gravel and grime on her knees. Even the sharp shock of pain hardly registered. She was single-minded, struggling to reach the safety of her home. She clutched at her purse, fearfully recoiling from strangers who caught sight of her cane and held out hands to help. Leash in a white-knuckled grip, she fled down the sidewalk, head down and shoulders hunched. She couldn't stand the stares burning her skin and, most of all, the constant threat of touch on the crowded curb made her chest feel tight with panic. She yearned for the silence and seclusion of her little apartment. And then, its nondescript entrance standing out dramatically in Olivia's eyes, her building loomed over her. She frantically fought with her keys, wrestling her way into the lobby, the elevator and, after several failed tries, into her apartment. She slammed the door and clicked the locks with trembling hands.

Plunging forward without thought, Olivia stumbled into her little kitchen and slammed her hands down flat on the countertop. The sudden noise shook the air in the quiet kitchen and was echoed by Blondie's scrabbling claws as she skittered away from her turbulent mistress. The dog's frightened movement was the first real data that reached Olivia's reeling senses and she felt a pang of guilt. She took herself in hand and ground her fear in a tight grasp, much like one might crush a bit of scrap paper in a fist. She felt so stupid.

It was such a small thing, the spark that had ignited her anxiety attack. She had been resting comfortably on a bench under a shade tree, people watching as her newly exhausted dog panted away on the relatively cool grass. It was a nice afternoon to spend at the park and Olivia was unique. The sunny green area was packed will milling tourists, sunbathers, skateboarders and businessmen out for a late lunch. Olivia welcomed the dense crowds. Regardless of the other aspects of her being, she was a New Yorker at heart. Losing herself within flocks of people was as natural to her as enjoying the big sky was to Montanans. She resented the thrills of nervousness that plagued her when strangers came within reach. So, even as her body urged her to shrink away, Olivia held her ground and faced her fear. And then a voice seemed to turn her heart into a lump of dead ice. It was him.

Swiveling her skull on a suddenly stiff neck, Olivia searched the sea of unfamiliar faces for that one she sought and prayed she wouldn't find. Aware of her mistress's jolt of fear, even Blondie lifted her chin from the ground and looked around her. But, even as she searched, Olivia reassured herself. He couldn't be near. He was in prison, separated from her by miles of patrolled ground and feet of concrete blocks and razor wire. The voice stung her ears again and she hunched her shoulders involuntarily. Heavy, guffawing laughter broke out, the rolling chuckles of a group of men, chortling at some joke that was crowed above their laughter in throaty Russian. She swallowed the bile burning her throat.

Her bench creaked and shifted and she jolted away from the stranger who sat down heavily, cowering on the wooden edge and choking on a grunt of terror. A moment of interested silence broke through the small group of men now clustered around the far end of the bench and then passed. The seated man leaned towards Olivia. "I'm sorry. Do you mind if I sit?" The rolling Russian accent was cloying to Olivia and she felt the rush of adrenaline shiver through her blood. He leaned a little closer and stretched out his hand, his smile disappearing. "Are you okay, miss?" His fingers grazed her elbow. She felt sick. Blondie growled.

She had run then, her dog's wary threat and her own adrenaline kicking her body into action. She hadn't looked back, hadn't paused for a rational thought or even a fragment of one until her door was locked and the coolness of Formica under her palms anchored her to reality. It hadn't been him. She had just made a fool of herself in front of a group of ignorant strangers who just happened to have eastern European roots. She wanted to slap herself. She wanted Alex to be there so she could slap her. But she wasn't. And she wouldn't, anyway. Olivia stalked to the laundry closet to retrieve the little ring she had left atop the washing machine. Cradled in her violently trembling palm, the ring flashed in the afternoon light filtering in from the world outside. Olivia closed her hand, crushing it savagely in her palm. With a choked-off scream, she raised her fist and flung the ring away.