* as if they could erase it, [alistair]

Nell was becoming rather disheartened, though she didn’t want to admit it. She was an optimist—to feel this way would mean that there was something truly wrong. But there was no way to deny it, or avoid it. Clinical depression couldn’t be cured like that, and she knew that she needed to listen to whatever her therapist said, and take the pills, and try to get better. It was hard. Really hard. But for the sake of her loved ones, she hid, and she hid well. No one knew, no one needed to know. How cruel would it be to put that type of pressure on her loved ones? If she could prevent anyone from worrying themselves about her, then she would do her best to keep her secrets just that—secret. The trial, however, was not a secret, and those loved ones…they were leaving her. Dropping like flies. Fading away. It was the most frightening thing. She couldn’t control what people saw or heard or talked about, and before it hadn’t been a bother. Now that she was infamous in the news, it was more concerning. How many more people are going to find out about her, by watching the news, by talking to their parents or friends.

Her hands shook as she opened the bills. Having been laid off, she was scraping together money from her savings to pay off anything she could. The room was cold. Plants died in the windowsill. She heard Pablo knock something to the floor. She had a papercut she was nursing in her mouth. Phone bills. Water bills. Electric bills. Rent. And to think, she wanted to get a better apartment. That was when she had had a stable job, when there looked to be a chance at recovery. After all, surviving the trial was supposed to make her hopeful. But it did the opposite, because even though she was free, there was a lot of other things that had replaced her concerns about being thrown in jail. Now there was the fact she needed to reconcile with her past, that she had to live a life as legally as possible if naturalization was going to happen, and she had college tuition, and a social life, and she never realized freedom would be so difficult. She wouldn’t give it up, though. Never. As hard as it got, she knew she had to persevere.

It was with this thought that she stood from the couch, dressed herself warmly. Out. She needed out if she was going to survive. She couldn’t go back to sleep, and she definitely needed to eat. I can do it. She really didn’t know, though. She was afraid. Nell decided that when she stepped through the threshold, she’d head to the Academy. It was a long walk, but she didn’t want to take the car, and the cold helped cleanse her mind. She popped the collar of her jacket against her ears, felt the backs of her studs pressing into the hollows behind her ears. Luckily enough, she was born with hair that she could do whatever she wanted with. It seemed to be genetic, the fact that she could throw her brown locks up in a clip and still looked presentable. And Nell didn’t go to great lengths to be presentable, only if it was for something important. Today, she went out in jeans, and that was good enough. At least she got dressed today.

In her messenger bag, she had brought some assignments to work on, and decided to stay outside the Academy. It wasn’t as cold as it could be during the winter, but a dusting of snow clung to the ground. She made her way from the parking lot, up the Academy grounds, to the gardens. The Earth students helped keep it in shape, though it definitely looked healthier when the sun was shining and not obscured by low-lying clouds. She found herself a bench, dropped her messenger bag and took out a paper she’d been writing. It wasn’t long before she had distracted herself from writing by trying to balance the pen on her upper lip, holding her hands up next to her face as if that would stop it from dropping. She wasn’t procrastinating, just taking a small break.