Another Lonely Night (attn Aislin)

It had been another night, just like the others in the past 251 days. She counted them, each day, each hour. She'd come home and the house was empty. On the table was a folder. The letter, which she took out of her sweater said that something had come up, that he needed to do something for his Clan. There was the deed to the House, made out into her name, the deed to her car and bike, also made out into her name. There was a statement showing that she had a bank account with a lot of money, and that the utilities were being paid from the account. His books were gone too. He had so many books, ones that she loved, original, rare additions. He had only left two. Both were gifts from him, endorsed to her. A Little Princess and The Secret garden.

She smoothed out the edges of the paper. At first it had hurt, that he hadn't said goodbye. Then she had tried his cell. It was disconnected. She'd tried his email. He was gone. He'd taken care of her, as he said he would, but he was gone. It had made her burn, needing that feel for him. He'd asked her to marry him, she wore his engagement diamonds and ruby. But when she picked the folder up, a tiny brass key had fallen out. She knew what it was, it was the key to her collar.

He wouldn't've left it if he had meant to return. That was when it became real and she had broken down, crawled under a cabinet and sobbed. The grief that had racked her small body burned. And it had continued to do so, and then her body itched, like the time she'd eaten shellfish by accident. It had continued through one week, then three, then six. After about the fifth she knew deep inside her that he wasn't coming back. She didn't really even know much about the clan he'd served. She had remembered him saying that the clan could separate them. She wondered what she had done to anger them, that they had taken him away from her. Maybe it had been because she had desired so badly to be turned. She wasn't good enough.

The paper didn't say that he loved her. And this time he hadn't taken the memories away. She had known he was alive, she knew that until about the fourth month when that faded. She folded it again, putting it back into her light sweater, proof against the slight chill to the night air. She had done everything he had asked of her, at least she thought she had. She'd been told growing up that she had suffered from depression, that it was normal for someone who had grown up in the foster care system. But Scott had alleviated that depression with his undeniable love for her. But then when he had left it had hit her like a punch in the stomach. Her few friends had urged her to get help, the Museum had made it an order and so she went, getting prescribed medication that left her dull and lifeless, the twice a week support group, the once a week talk with a 'counsellor'. She had realized that she needed to play by their rules, and so she had done what they asked, and hid her depression and grief very far inside. She refilled the prescription, but she didn't take it, throwing it away right after she had flushed the pills down the drain.

The only thing that seemed to help was her leaving the House. The House that he had spent so much money retrofitting for the two of them. It was her House, free and clear, as her bike and car were her own as well. He'd repaired the gaping financial pit she had been in, and apparently had kept that one promise, that he would see she was taken care of, regardless. But, leaving helped. She got to know Nachton by night, walking endlessly in the moonlight. She now knew that monsters lurked in the dark, but she honestly didn't care. So what if one came and claimed her the way Scott had always feared? So what if one killed her, something she couldn't seem to manage to do for herself. If that happened, so be it. The next life wouldn't be so cruel. And if she was lucky, she could beg to be turned, hope to be amusing enough that he (or she) would do so. If that happened, nothing on this Earth could stop her from finding Scott and repaying his 'kindness' of leaving her with the angry, hurt words that still welled up deeper inside her.

She found herself standing up now, walking off, under the trees, towards the water. She'd always loved the water. It smelled right, it sounded right. She sat down again, her back to the park, staring contemplatively down into the dark, glassy water, not blinking her eyes at all as she tried so very hard not to remember. Some people drank to excess to avoid their problems, some chose drugs, others chose sex. For Miya, her drug of choice was long walks and occasionally runs. She missed Delilah and would at some point contact her and beg forgiveness. Maybe Delilah would know how to trace Scott, she had been born to money and knew how to use it, something that made Miya quite uncomfortable.

And so, pensive and alone with her thoughts, Miya found herself waiting.