December 6th 1998

It was that top, the one with burgundy and white stripes, that she was wearing when Will spilled his coffee outside that little independent bookstore in the Village and laughed it off. It was the olive green sleeveless she was wearing when he bought her sunglasses from a street vendor before heading into Central Park, a place with a higher risk of being noticed, hoping they would mask her from the public eye. It was the pair of jeans with the small hole in the mid-thigh she was wearing when she was in his arms on his couch and he made the joke that he wished that hole was a little higher.

Each with a memory Karen wished would go away. She hadn't touched this box of clothing since Grace found her in Washington Square. She didn't have a reason to, anyway; those clothes were meant to be worn for Will, and now that he was no longer in the picture, there was no longer a reason for her to look inside. But today she felt the need to close the box up. She sneaked into Rosario's room to take a roll of packing tape and dashed to her closet before anyone realized where she was. The box was displayed prominently towards the back of the room, with clothing strewn on the floor surrounding it. She sat down and began folding each piece, putting it back in the box for good.

It was the navy blue button-down she was wearing when they got caught in the rain on the way to a music venue in the East Village; they stopped at the intersection before the building and kissed. It was the gray tank top she was wearing before he took it off the first time they made love. It was the simple black long-sleeved shirt she was wearing when she showed up at his door unannounced for the first time, and she was greeted with open arms.

One by one, she put the shirts and jeans in the box. It was the oversized flannel—she couldn't even believe she had something like this in there—she was wearing when the heat gave out in Will's apartment one night. The golden t-shirt she was wearing the first time they walked through SoHo together, deciding soon after that they should stop at Little Italy. There was still a faint stain from the piece of chocolate cake she dropped on herself in the restaurant on Mulberry they ate at. "No one saw that," he said, the both of them laughing.

"Karen?" she heard a faint voice. Stan's voice. It sounded like he was downstairs; she still had time to pack the remaining clothes up. It was the brown sweatshirt she was wearing when she first told Will she didn't love Stan anymore. She heard him coming closer, each "Karen?" becoming louder and more distinct. There was one outfit left out of the box, the one she was wearing the last time she saw him; she couldn't put it in, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she wanted to. Even though she thought she wanted to forget everything, she needed just one little reminder. She taped the box so it would close up and slid it into the furthest corner, underneath the wardrobe she was expected to wear. She took the outfit she left out and placed it in front of the box.

"There you are." She turned to see Stan in the doorway. Karen stood up and walked towards him as he spoke. "Rosario's looking for you. She says Will Truman is on the phone for you. It seems important."

Damn.

It was the second time today he called. He called her every day, hoping he would be able to reach her. As far as Stan knew, Will was only calling to discuss some legal matter that he obviously wasn't aware of. It was the first time she knew of Stan knowing Will called. She just couldn't take it. She figured he was only calling to confirm what Grace said. He felt bad making her do his dirty work, so now he was wanting to tell Karen himself in order to cleanse his soul. No. He had no right to feel better about this. Karen put everything on the line for him, and this was the result. She knew if she talked to him, she would scream, the entire house would hear it, she would let everything slip and destroy the only option she had left.

"Um…could you tell her to say that I'm not here? I don't really want to take any calls right now."

"Sure," he said as he turned to leave.

"Wait, Stanley."

He turned around. She seemed upset about something, but couldn't put his finger on it. He was never very good at figuring that out in the first place, but she didn't seem to mind it, so he thought. She eventually felt better and he reasoned that this instance was most likely no exception. What he didn't realize was that this was a sadness that might not ever be fixed.

Karen buried her face in his chest. This didn't feel right, it never did. But at this point, did it even matter? It wasn't as if she could run off to Will's apartment to forget about this. She tried to remember what she did before she met Will, when something made her deal with the fact that her marriage was less than perfect.

"I'm sorry," was all she could get out.

"About what?"

Was she ready to let everything come out? She had thought about admitting to what she had done, thinking that she no longer had anything to lose. But eventually she realized that if she told Stan about Will, there was a great chance that she wouldn't have anywhere to go. Karen merely shook her head at her husband.

She looked down. It was the sleek black dress with the low neckline she was wearing when she first realized she was hopeless.

She needed to get out, go somewhere, anywhere. She couldn't stay in this house. She couldn't stay uptown. This wasn't her anymore. But until she figured out how to fix what she so completely destroyed, she had to stay here. But that didn't mean she couldn't steal away every now and again.

Karen closed the door to her closet, raced to the box and picked up the outfit in front of it. This was her skin, this was what she was meant for. She let the dress she had on fall to the floor and hastily crawled into the jeans, the shirt. She grabbed the cheap little coat she had long before this Karen Walker façade ever existed, and turned off the light.

She heard the phone ring when she got downstairs, Rosario's calm greeting. "Walker residence." She felt Rosario's eyes on her as she moved towards the front door. But if Rosario had an opinion about Karen's appearance, she wasn't about to say anything. On some level, Karen figured that she guessed what had been going on. Rosario was the eyes and ears of this place, but she also knew when to keep her mouth shut. Karen froze, wanting to hear if it was him.

"I'm sorry, I just told you that she's not here. I can take a message if you want." He must not have wanted to, Karen thought; Rosario hung up short after.

She knew it. She couldn't be here anymore. She took one look at Rosario, who gave her a look that almost seemed like pity. She was always amazed at how Rosario could feel her out like that, could tune in to her thoughts and feelings without hesitation. Karen whispered, "I'll be out for a little while. Don't let Stan worry." As if she ever was considerate of how Stan felt at any other point.

She closed the door behind her, ran to the nearest subway station and got on the first train that was going downtown. She started taking an inventory of all the places she could go, until she realized that every single one she came up with made her think of Will.

She couldn't escape.

She decided to get off at the next stop and start wandering the streets for a place she could call her own. She looked down at her outfit and started to tear up.

It was the worn white t-shirt and the jeans with holes in both knees she was wearing when she realized she had come undone.