She wanted to be dead too, wanted to collapse on the cold floor in devastation like she had done at the sight of Liam's still body. But she had done everything she could to fight that urge. She can only begin to comprehend but this time she had hope, hope that Peter would have lived, and hope that the universe could not possibly be that cruel.
She was a fool and without hope she had no idea how she was meant to carry on. It was what she did but suddenly she could not comprehend why it had always been so important to her.
She stumbled through the darkness knowing her home well enough to find her way by touch alone. She had haunted these walls for too long. The curtains were open and there was enough light from the outside to darken the shadows. It was all so horribly fitting.
Instinctively she found herself in front of the glass doors to the balcony, doors she had not opened all winter because of the cold unless Peter had been visiting and had wanted to smoke. A faint, sad smile formed as she found some kind of invisible vindication that at least he had left her some memories. At least he had died knowing she was so grateful for all his help even if the snatched moment hadn't been enough it was something, it was all she had.
A streetlight shines upon the glass and she freezes at the sight of her distorted reflection barely there and distant like the ghost she wished she could be. Somehow she was both empty and full of shock at the sight of her body.
Her face seemed hollow and empty; the tears that streamed down her cheeks and dampened her clothes did not feel like her own. One cheek was still red and slightly swollen but Leanne's slap felt like a life time ago. Her clothes and hair were stained and covered in dust that filled her with an absent wonder. Faced with physical evidence of the night's events it somehow seemed even more unreal.
It was her eyes that made reality impossible to ignore, made her want to vomit or hurt someone, anyone. They were so dark and feverishly bright with bitter pain sat sadly against the paleness of her skin. She wished she could convince herself that she did not recognise herself, as if that would possibly make it just that little easier. Instead she finally realised that this shell of a woman staring back at her had been destined for a long time. She had been eroded by every tragedy, every moment of pain until there was nothing else to lose.
Instinctively she reached out unlocking the doors letting the elements force them open as she stepped out upon the balcony. For a moment she could breathe as the growing wind whipped her hair away from her shoulders. She let herself imagine that it could howl through all her empty places and take the lingering pain with it like the baptism she had never had.
There was a cigarette box on her balcony, squashed and waterlogged so it would not blow away. Its presence was like a crippling punch to her stomach. A physical reminder of what was she never had when the wound was still too open and fresh. She could not look away no matter how it made her eyes sting and her chest constrict as her knees threatened to give way.
With shaking hands she picked up the packet. There were a few cigarettes left as if he had planned to come back and claim them. The sob that forced its way from her throat was closer to a wail but was lost in the sound of a car backfiring. The thin sticks had been destroyed by the elements and just for a moment she craved nothing more than to smoke them herself. Only she was too late once again. The symmetry was beyond horrific.
There was a rolling anger and a growing sense of injustice of it all. A hatred as the violent oranges of sunrise started to infiltrate the sky. A strange warmth against her face. She had not planned on seeing through another day. It all was the only thing that compelled her to stay standing. She tossed the packet away watching with a frown as it fell back down to earth. She knew what she had to do.