FicWad

[A random blurb about the one truely haunting part of Alana's past.

Note: This part did take place in Alana's past, roughly a year to a year and a half before she came to Olympia. While I try not to give everyone of my characters some massively dark past, this is something that simply came up when asked why she was so twitchy about fights. This and her revenge schemes are probably the two major character defining parts of her past.I apollogize if they seem angsty and attention whoreish, but not everyone can have an easy past.

Oh, and to any who read and don't know, Alana is an original character in an RPG]



"Hey Alana! There's a guy in out back lookin' for ya." Kristen said easily, a wink to her co-worker as the other woman slipped by. Alana smiled and moved through the tables. It was probably Drew. He worked in the area and said that he'd stop by sometime for lunch.

Passing through the kitchen, she didn't even hesitate as she went out the back door to the alley behind the building. It wasn't until the door had closed and her hand was raised to block out the sun that she realized that isn't Drew..

Joe was on her within a moment, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her into the buildings stone wall.

"You bitch/!" he snarled, forcing her further into the wall, his hand cutting off her breath. She tried to claw at the hand, to get her knee to his groin, a fist to the ribs, whatever it would take, but his hand hand wasn't the only thing holding her there. She was pinned by his largeer bulk, pushed upon as if he would drive her body into the stone itself. With a smack, the back of her head hit the resisting surface, and she suddenly began to see stars. "It was you wasn't it? Why lies do you tell her, huh? You Slut!" A fist to the ribs. "Do you tell her how you hit on me? You tell her she was too good for me?!" A knee raised and abdomen. She silently let out a gasp at the pain. Her effects redoubled to be free, to do damage, to strike. Her nails dug in at anything they could reach. She went for his eyes. Wham! Her head went against the wall. "You whore!" His unused hand dipped into his pocket, returning with a knife. She couldn't see the weapon, but it made no difference. First came the fingers, dry, callased, rough and almost painful, pushing up the hem of her shirt and drawing across his stomach. But directly behind them was the sharp edge, and the sting of the cut as her marked it's own path. "You like that bitch? Huh? You like the pain?" He brough the blade up into her narrow line of sight, and she felt herself weaken. Blood, her blood, that should /not have been outside of her body. His head tilted closer to hers, the side of the blde smearing the gore on her cheek. He licked the other one, putting his mouth to her ear. "I should take you right here in the alley like the fucking tramp you are." He hand with the knife moved to her waist, touching her hips, almost testing them, stroking them. All alarms within her mind went off. She couldn't yell, she could barely struggle, but the knife was knocked to the ground. "Mother fucker, you'll pay for that!" The hand no free from it's weapon grabbed her arm and twisted. She heard a snap, and so strong was the pain, she finally passed out.

She had no idea was the time was when she finally woke up. She was covered in dirt, her body ached, and somewhere in her mind it registared that he'd given her a continued beating while she was unconscious. Slowly, she groaned and tried to bring her legs to her. PAIN! She would have sworen then, or screamed, but there was no voice, her throat raw and damaged. No one would have heard it over the yelling children or constand traffic anyway. What was one scream within the city?

Eventually, someone came to find her. A cook opened the back door and walked out, holding it open with a toe as he started to light a cigerette, but lighter and smoke were dropped when he saw her, and a cry was raised through the kitchen. "Call the cops! Someone beat up Al! Call 911! NOW!" She had to smile briefly, or would have if any of it registared. No one really called her Al, no one but cooks it seemed. Also know the cooks, she'd taught herself, always.

When she woke up next, it wasn't in some alley, or in her room to prove it was a dream. Instead, she was in a hospital.

And no one was there.

There was no nurse checking on her, no friend waiting in the chair. There seemed almost no one even out in the hall. She was alone.

Completely alone.

Without warning, the tears came. She was sobbing, crying, silently as she ignored the pain within her throat or the bandages around her body. Even now she didn't want to be caught crying, but there was no one there to see her, right? So who cared? No one. No one cared. She was alone. She'd just had a nightmare and was waking up alone. Always alone.



Minutes after that Kristen had walked in, hugging her friend wordlessly, but already the damage was done. For the next nights she'd awaken to the empty hospital room, and the sense of aloneness would be so pressing, she'd be able to do nothing but cry. Then, later, when she'd returned to Kristens place rather then her room with Jas--Jasmine actually--it would happen again. After the first two nights, she took to trying not to sleep, or sleeping were she knew Kristen was near by, or the TV on and a phone in hand. Small things, but things that helped her to fight off that nightmare, the feeling of waking up completely alone.



She was sitting out on the porch of Tannia's house, looking out over the garden of the backyard and wondering not for the first time why she was even there.

"You look pensive."

"Yeah, well. Shit happens and it surprises the fuck outta ya sometimes." Alana didn't bother to look at her friend. The comment was meant that Alana never looked pensive, that doing so in itself was the shock. But the comment in itself belied what was really on her mind, and she had to drop her eyes to keep from directly looking away. God how she wanted a cigerette just then. It'd never been a habit she'd let herself have for long, only a month in truth, but now when she had even better reasons, she wouldn't let herself. Just like she never drank when she thought she wanted to get drunk, she'd never let herself smoke again.

"Anyone ever tell you that you have a foul mouth?" Tany smirked and took the other chair, tilting her head as she studied her best friend. "You don't look to good. Everything alright?"

"I look like a corpse warmed over Tany. I've seen a mirror."

They were both silent for a long moment.

"Alana, tell me what happened?"

I had my ass handed to me by an abusive ex-boyfriend of Jas's, she almost said. But that wasn't what Tany meant. She'd heard that part through the grapevine from Kristen. It was hard to be pissed at someone when they were trying to look out for you, but Alana's pride had still been wounded by her former co-workers action. The move from the city after the trial was over was necassary, and Tannia was the best choice... but she almost felt stabbed in the back when she found out that the details of what had happened in her quiet months had been told from one friend to another. She hadn't spoken to Jasmine really since the how ordeal. All she could think was 'I warned you. I told you. And now I have to pay the price of your mistake.' But somehow, the 'I told you so' was just bitterness talking, and she forced her sympathy to the surface. Jas had been the real target. Sure Alana had been hit physically in the backlash, but Jas had taken so much more emotionally. Her thumb tapped idly on the arm rest. "It's hard to live Tany," she said softly. "I should have.. taken him down, or reported him sooner. Something." Slowly, a sigh escaped. "But the worst part is that I just can't fuckin' get past it, ya know? It happened months ago, and I still have trouble sleeping at night. I keep thinkin'.."

"What Athena?" The voice was soft, echoing, and it was hard to tell if Tannia had actually said them, or if Alana had only thought that she did. So often the best friend was the conscience to the other, the support and strength. But when she turned to look at her friend, she wondered not for the first time if she was doing her a disservice by being there.

"I'm a fuckin' coward."

The anger within Tannia was instant. She was up and glaring at Alana without even a thought, pointing a finger at her as if it were a threatening weapon. "Don't you ever think that! You are stonger and braver and more fierce of a force then half the people in this world."

"I'm a coward and the only person who doesn't fuckin' know it is you, Hestia." She tried to make the name sound like an insult, but she couldn't. Just because they were different people, there were still best friends, and there was nothing that would make Alana purposely turn against this better half of herself.

"The only person who thinks that is you! Do you want me to remind you of what you've done? Or how brave you are? Or should I just go and get a frying pan and beat you over the head with it."

"I'm a coward. I haven't done jack in my life that's brave. Bravery takes courage and strength, not some bullshit revenge scheme or twisted sense of pride. I'm a fuckin' loser who's got nothin' ta show for her life except a few photographs and a couple of tales." She glared right back at her friend, matching anger to anger. It could take a lot to get Tannia angry, but her friends skewed view of herself was one of the quickest ways. She defended her friends, even against themselves.

"You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I give myself exactly the right amount of credit."

"You're wasting yourself Alana. What are you afraid of anyway, huh? You think that just because one jackass surprise attacks you that you are some miserable loss to the world? Since when did you start living by other people's standards? The Alana I know doesn't take shit from anyone." She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes, staring down at her friend as if daring her to argue. "What are you so afraid of that you won't even let yourself be happy?"

She curled herself up within a ball and hide her face from Tannia. Dare she admit it? What was she afraid of? "Breaking." Failing, being alone, succeeding, gaining someone who might actually love her... everything was secondary in question to that one thought. She didn't want to break. Because then, someone else would have to put her together. A cracked vase is never as beautiful and never as strong. It has a story, and a past. A real beauty, a true vase, is practical, strudy, independant, but above all, surving and strong.

What else was there to be afraid of, if you could no longer hold everything inside?