The Struggle

Her body was begging for her to stop moving and succumb to sleep… to just keel over in the tempest, curl up, and let exhaustion finally, finally win. Brooke knew better than to do that though. Besides, she was no quitter - never had been and never would be.

Damn though… the cuts and lacerations stung.

Pure willpower was the only thing keeping her moving against the churning wind and rain at this point. Each gust was like a knife to her already wounded body, but Brooke grit her teeth and pressed on. As much of a difficulty it was to navigate around the darkened alleys while in such excruciating pain, the storm was a perfect cover up for the trail of crimson she was leaving in her wake. It made the worst situation she could think of a whole lot less likely to happen. No damn hunters could come pick her off by the scent of fresh blood.

That didn’t make things any safer though… the clock was ticking with every step she made. With each stride she could feel her body start to falter from all the energy she was expending from just trying to walk. It was as if with every pace, the running water came and sucked the life right out from under the soles of her feet. Brooke needed to apply pressure to the gashes lining her body before she could grant herself the liberty to rest though; and the sooner she could make it home to do just that, the better.

The damn battles… they only get worse, she thought, swallowing down another agonizing surge of pain. She couldn’t ignore it forever though. Seconds later the ache came back twice as bad and Brooke was forced to stop, bringing a hand to the wound at her navel, gripping at the torn fabric where claws had cut through both her shirt and her skin like it was little more than a sheet of paper.

That fight had made her feel so… so helpless… so insignificant…

… so weak.

Henry… she thought, eyes narrowing as the world spun, vision blurring. But no, she was going to keep going. She had to. She was nearly there. You little shit! You knew-- you knew I couldn’t fight you!

She felt revolted even thinking about him now. This was stupidly ironic: Henry was one of those guys she had never trusted from the very beginning. But he kept on pushing her…

Pushing her…

Pushing her…

And then somewhere along the line he had cut a tiny rift in her heart, so small – microscopic even – that she didn’t even recognize it when it happened. Then using that miniscule opening, he wormed his way inside and captured Brooke in some kind of… spell. Yes, it was like some kind of illusion, a dream maybe… a suppressed desire to have someone… care about her. But the misleading signs were all there, now that she was thinking about it. How could she have not seen them?

Maybe she simply didn’t want to.

“What? Did you think I actually cared, Brooke? You said it yourself, remember? We’re not friends – and we never will be!” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block his voice from her mind, but doing so only made a vivid image of his face appear, twisted, cracked smile and all. Trying not to choke, Brooke set her jaw again, putting her free hand against the wall… and one more time she pressed on.

That tone…. That mocking, loathing tone he’d used to repeat her words… her words! “You and I… we’re just two sides of the same coin now. Look at all that you did, Brooke, you monster! Look at how many people you’ve made suffer!”

The laughter seemed to echo through the chambers of her mind as her home finally came into sight. Brooke made one final, desperate dash to get out of the horrible situation she was in, but slipped on the pavement, falling just short of her door. Thunder cracked overhead, but even then she was sure that someone heard her ear-shattering shriek of agony. Hell, maybe even he could hear it.

The mere thought made her lip curl up into a growl, “Not… yet…” But the laughter seemed to only grow louder at her protest. “Not yet!”

She fought, pushing herself to her knees and staying there for a moment, limbs shaking viciously, threatening to yield at any moment. Brooke paused, catching her breath, trying to rid herself of the piercing aches in her body before attempting to get back to her feet. She was unbalanced still, nearly tumbling again as she tried to make it to the door a second time, crashing into its frame and leaning against it. With her face and shoulder pressed against the wood, she dug into her pockets with her opposite arm to find the key.
At long last, she was home.

Home.

But there was little time to celebrate the small victory. Without wasting another second, Brooke stripped her bloodied, soaked clothes off and limped to her bathroom. She rummaged through drawers, tossing what was useless behind her until she finally found the first aid. Fuck, she hoped she had remembered to restock this.

Brooke stared up at the mirror above the sink to get a better look at the damage, but immediately regretted doing so. Wincing, she had to stop and stare for a long, long while. An unfamiliar, almost completely foreign face was looking back at her from there. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from crying, either from pain or fear… maybe both, and had crimson streaks flowing down her face like tribal markings from the wounds she’d suffered to her head.

Brooke couldn’t even recognize herself like this, “How did this… happen to me?”