Beasts of Burden 1/1

Light resonated from the soft linen curtains that lined the hotel windows. The only protection from the bright morning sun was the shadow of a finch, hopping delicately across the window plane. The apartment, spare of any personal belongings, smelt of clean bedding and polished wood. She had slept in again, her waking hour becoming increasingly later every day. It seemed almost like a burden to wake up, to pry her eyes open; the lids that held together with sleep and the teary remains of a hard night's drinking.

The snapping of joints reverberated from the walls of the quiet room, her shoulders rolling back in unison as she pushed her feminine torso from the sea of blankets and comforters that failed to supply her with the warmth needed for a good night's sleep. Her curly blonde locks gathered in a puddle beside her, the strap of her silk night-gown slipping from her thin shoulders. Her skin, once a pure and clean complexion, now held darkened rings under her violet eyes, and her arms were stained with new scratches and scars.

Stumbling barefoot from her bed, she stretched her arms into the air, breathing in a hefty gulp of oxygen. She had been running out of the serum administered to her by OKARI, and as each tiny glass tube became increasingly rare, the less she would allow herself access to. As a result, tremors shook her on a daily basis, rendering her unable to work. She had been replaced in her latest film, by some woman - probably older and more attractive than she. It's funny how she once thought such a thing was impossible. No one called her "princess" now. Just a "poster girl for anorexia". She had lost all appetite and for the past few weeks, had been searching far and wide for her much-adored K-sol. She was once hassled with phone calls, interviews, contract opportunities. No one bothered her now. She spent much of her day in the company of television and tequila.

She took a seat on the couch, grasping a nearby bottle of poison and tilting it to her lips, struggling to swallow the bitter liquid. She wasn't fond of the taste of alcohol, but the result of indulging in her nightly drinks kept her tremors at bay, and restrained old memories and images from coming to mind. More often than not, when she'd smell the strong scent of alcohol the memories of OKARI would return. The drunken adventure she had taken with Jantec, the hunt for the rebel prototypes. The other Alphas.

Her attention had long before left the television screen, and wandered behind her, to the closet where all of her memories remained. The corner of a case poked out from below the wardrobe. The case that held her weapon - the chipped and scuffed metal scythe that she had not touched since the moment she arrived in New York. For a life of "normalcy". For a life without death or pain, or medications. Her dull purple eyes made their way to the wood flooring, as she swallowed another hard gulp of 'medicine'.

Many things in the world are considered heartbreaking, but few could sway a man as deeply as an old flame, parted with on peaceful terms, now in ruins. A rather relevant fact that mockingly played through Jantec's mind as he lowered his binoculars with heavy a sigh. The worst part was that it shouldn't have mattered. At all.

With a bit of disgust he yanked the expensive Venetian blinds down, letting them slam against the sill. No matter how much perpetration he'd had, Sara's condition couldn't sit well with him. Not that it should've mattered, a fact alone that was driving him so mad that by the time he crossed the moderate hotel room to reach his couch he'd gone from huffing to biting his lower lip enough to make it bleed and quite angrily tossing the binoculars aside. The sound the shattered, several thousand dollar lenses made when they collided with the dry walling soothed him a little. Rubbing his temples he flopped back onto the couch, scuffing the cheap white leather with his boots in the process and groaning.

How was this so hard?

So many things had changed since that night deep within a now bulldozed forest that none of it should have even registered with him. Time had marched on without a drop of remorse, and blood had flowed by the gill, from him, from everyone else, from everything, all leading back to one simple location. He found it a little comical, locale legend now held that the old Okari facility was haunted by the spirits of tormented and trapped mental patients, all murdered when the Headmaster snap and set the place ablaze. For years now everyone avoided the site for miles, less a spirit latch onto them and follow them home to share it's pain. You could even still hear screams and machinery, according to some people. The truth however, as per usual, was much, much more alarming, because two things always rise from ashes. A Phoenix, and ambition.

The latter of which usually extracted a toll of blood instead of flame...

When Jantec had left the company of Sara and all the other Alphas, when he'd put his heart away in a letter and set out in search of some non-existent meaning the world was so clear. As the drugs made sure it was. The problem with being a highly unstable psychopath with more trauma than a Catholic alter boy and incestuous rape victims put together is that clarity takes a hell of a lot of drugs. And you can only carry a finite supply. Within the year his mental condition had degraded so terribly he honestly couldn't distinguish reality from hallucination. Or even want to. Things had gotten so bad he'd turned to less... Specific..Drugs to try and manage his psychosis. The people he'd killed for and on them could drown an elephant, and in all honesty he was glad he couldn't remember it. But now none of it mattered.

His pale blue eyes, bloodshot as they were, wandered from the assortment of celerity gossip magazines he'd been zoning off with on the coffee table to the red silk sheets of the bed. All ruffled and a mess, a night of tossing and turning he didn't bother to fix up, now stained and host to his equipment. Most of it, anyway. With another groan he pushed himself from the couch, every bone in his body aching. It was a lot harder to walk than he'd remembered, a realization that made him chuckle as he gripped a nightstand to stay upright. Why was this such a chore? And why hadn't he listened to his Watcher.

As his fingers brushed the jagged blade of a knife her words echoed through his head. Bring a rifle, she said. Just put a silencer on, she said. Don't go near Sara, she said. Use the hotel window, she said. Why did he have to be so sentimental about it? "No, I want something more intimate.." His voice was low and chuckling as he mocked himself. "A garrote would do.." His eyes flicked to the thin metal wire. It was a personal favorite of his, but right now it's wicked glint only sunk his heart. "A knife is fitting, maybe even some poison in a glass.." His head shook at the mere thought, and a pounding was beginning to take hold between his temples. "I'll strangle her and then I'll cut her up and dispose it. A bullet is too impersonal...Am I ever going to learn to take advice? It's going to be so, so much harder to kill you now, Sara..Why on earth did you have to take up drinking and revert back to a fucked up princess.." An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he reached out for the bottle of Scotch on the nightstand. "I coulda killed an actress so much easier."

It was often that she would find herself contemplating between a day spent in bed, and for once, leaving the confines of her small modern apartment. But when it came down to it, often she would lay spread out, her eyes watching the shadows change on the ceiling, and her hands moving across her body, only to feel the jutting of her ribs and hip bones, poking just slightly from the fortress her pale skin.

Disgusting.

She would get up, if only to vomit a few times, and shower away the grotesque feelings that took refuge in her throat. A brittle arm was raised to her forehead, and rested there to shield her eyes from the light of day. She wondered what the life of every other Alpha came down to. Who was thriving, and who was dying. She wondered, most of all, about Jantec. If he had reverted to the pained, social-disordered psychopathic killer that left her with the 2 inch long memento on the skin of her neck. Her fingers raised to brush against the fading scar, a sensation that matched touch of his so long ago. The twitch of her lip set her mind in motion to push away the abandoned memories. She stood from the small couch, lifting her dress off as she walked to the center of her room. Dropping the satin fabric on the polished wood flooring, she took a unforgiving glance at the mirror in front of her. Her stomach had caved in to create shadows under her small ribs, and her hip-bones protruding just enough to assure that she was malnourished. Her neck seemed tense.. her shoulders more pointed, more grim, more frail. That's what she was, after all. Frail.

Disgusting.

She turned to the window, taking just a few strides forward until she was in the presence of the large glass. She placed a hand on the coldness of the glass and stared out at the city below her. Normal people, with normal lives, in a normal place. And in the reflection stared back at her a look of pure hopelessness. Maybe today she would go outside. Or maybe she would conserve her energy for another day.