Post by ~Kitty Petrova~ on Nov 16, 2016 10:11:56 GMT
LOCATION: THE PAST: Los Angeles, California
DATE/TIME: June 14, 2002 || 08:47AM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
Brad Jackson's bare feet slapped against the hardwood as he sat up, silencing the alarm. Dragging in a deep breath, the intended yawn became more a sigh as the scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled his lungs. Padding silently across the loft, he cocked his head, listening to the silence before he felt a reverberation through the floor. He filled his cup and made his way through the doorway, leaning on the railing. Kitty was already down below in nothing but a hot pink sports bra and the tiniest shorts he'd ever seen – barefoot.
"Hey," he called down, watching her ponytail swing as she pounded on the heavy bag.
"Hey yourself," she called back, "got sick of waiting so I decided to warm up a little."
"Waiting?" He lifted the cup to his lips, draining half of the black coffee in one long swallow. "For what?"
"Hilarious, really." She stopped, pivoted and glared at him, "you said last night that you'd help me train. Remember? That was your way of apologizing for almost bashing my brains in with that Louisville slugger of yours."
Jackson stared at her, brain still foggy, "I did? Doesn't sound like me – you sure? Was I awake when I said it? Was I sober? Pretty sure I'd remember something like–"
"JAX!" The scream was one of outrage, and he waved it off with a chuckle.
"Okay, Jesus Christ. Don't get your panties in a wad. I'm coming." Ten seconds later they were facing each other across the cushioned mats. He still had the cup of coffee in hand. "Not in Kansas anymore, baby. You ready to tango with a real wrestler?"
She smiled, brushing the errant strands of hair off her face. "Yeah, I'm ready, Bradley. Promise you won't hurt me," she crooned as she moved in closer, reaching up to kiss him softly on the lips.
He chuckled, a sound of contentment as he pulled her close, hugging her tight. The clean scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils, accompanied by the sickeningly sweet scent of her cotton candy perfume. "I won't hurt you, Kitty." His words were sincere, his eyes fixed on her as she pulled back from his embrace. "How about we start with—"
Her palm smashed into his solar plexus and then she dropped, sweeping his legs out from under him. He was on his back, gasping for air even as she caught the coffee cup, lifting it to her lips with a triumphant smile. "How about you start without the patronizing tone, hmm?"
"Touché," he wheezed.
LOCATION: THE PAST: REDACTED
DATE/TIME: March 17, 2013 || 3:17PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
YOU'VE GOT MAIL!
That old-school AOL voice issued from the speakers of the battered laptop, shattering the Zen that she'd been striving to achieve via yoga for the last half an hour. Sighing, she dropped back down to her hands and knees, feeling the crackle along her spine as she reached for the bottle of water. She kept the thing on even though she was only allowed access to a few sites, everything she did monitored and filtered by the bastards who called themselves her handlers but had essentially become her captors.
Flipping open the laptop, she clicked the worn touchpad, bringing the screen to life before navigating to her email. That old Gmail account was apparently still active, still able to receive even though this was the first thing that had come through since November.
From: Mikhail
Date: 03/17/2013 3:12:07 PM
Subject: (no subject)
My Dearest Kaitlynn,
How I wish, I had had the nerve to call you this when you could hear me say it. Or that you could get the flowers I will send, so many things I wish were different. I like to believe that a part of you knew how high I held you in my regard, in my heart. That there was nothing I would not do, to make you happy as you always deserved. Perhaps this is my conceit, that I think this way that I could have made you happy, Princess of my heart?
You were precious to me. I would look forward to our talks, so very much. To hear your voice, to have that connection. I would give anything to have been able to talk to you when you needed me most.
Moya samaya krasivaya printsessa, my most beautiful Princess. I hope that wherever you are tonight, that you are happy somehow, that you know that I still think of you.
Happy Birthday, Kaitlynn.
Always,
Your Mikhail.
"No," she whispered, her heart in her throat, a stabbing pain in her middle, "please no. Please don't do this to me... not today." Her eyes were red-rimmed already, bright green behind the sheen of tears as she looked up, her gaze seeking out the camera in the corner of the room. "I need to speak to someone in charge." She said the words loudly, clearly, knowing they were listening. They were always listening. She didn't bother to wait for a reply, didn't bother to wait to hear the key in the lock. Instead she hit reply and started typing.
From: Gmail <kittyamac@gmail.com>
Date: 03/17/2013 3:19:07 PM
Subject: re: (no subject)
To: Mikhail
There are so many things I wish I could tell you right now. So many things I should have done that I never had the courage to do and now it's too late and I'm gone. You're gone. You're lost to me forever and the thing I want the most right now is to hear you laugh. I know that's strange, but I used to save up all my best, my silliest stories just so I could regale you when we got together. I wanted to see that crinkle at the corner of your eyes. I wanted to hear that laugh.
On the flipside of every coin is a face. A dead president. A queen. Whatever. For the longest time you were that for me, you and Sabra both, my anchors.
My family after Robby died.
But you, Mik. You were a prince to me always. You were stalwart and reliable. You were always there and I took you for granted in the worst way because you were my flipside – you were always supposed to be right there, close enough to touch but I'm so very foolish.
I don't deserve the love of someone like you.
No. To answer you honestly, I'm not happy and I believe I'll never be again but it doesn't matter. I'm going to save lives. That's what they tell me. I'm a hero. I sold my soul to bring down an evil man. I'm in protective custody and I'm probably never going to be released as long as Anthony Gambini is still alive. Maybe not even after he dies or they bring him in. There will always be someone, something in our way. There always has been.
They probably won't let me send this because nobody is allowed to know the truth.
That grave, if you've visited it – I'm not there. Obviously. But they told me someone leaves white flowers often. I know it's you and I hope that haunting that place of lies hasn't ruined your life. I hope that you smile. I hope that you're keeping our bunny safe. I hope that you won't hate me when the truth comes out. You understand sacrifice. I know you do. And this is my prison, my own fault. I should never have married Alex Stryfe. I was young. I was stupid and egotistical and he promised me the world, he promised to make me a star.
This life isn't long enough to atone for everything I have done. Centuries wouldn't be adequate and I don't have the faintest idea of how to make this right where you're concerned.
They won't let me send this so I'll tell you the truth: I've always loved you. You were my best friend, my rock. I have no knowledge of how this came to pass. It crept up on me and then it simply was and I never in a million years believed that you felt the same way. Even reading your words today, I can't bring myself to really and truly accept them.
Maybe you only love what might have been. The fantasy that's built up in your mind, all the things we could have been that I selfishly stole from you are now elevated to something magical, something ephemeral.
I hate myself the most for hurting you.
If I ever get out of this place, I'll look for you. To the ends of the earth, wherever you may be, I'll find you. If not in this life, the next. I promise you that.
I love you, Mikhail.
Always,
Your Kaitlynn
She looked up after typing her name, meeting the cool blue eyes of her current handler. "You need to find a way for me to send this."
"That's impossible," he replied, his voice soft, "I've already done far too much damage in letting that message come through. You've been so sad lately, I thought that maybe it would cheer you up."
The tears fell down her cheeks, a hot flood but to her credit she didn't sob or rage. She simply stared at him, hatred written all over her face. "Did you read it?" The words came out clipped, lips thinning as she stared at Agent Donovan. "Of course you did. And you thought that me seeing..." her voice broke as she looked away, "you could find him, couldn't you? Bring him here? Let him see me so that he knows... so he knows I didn't leave... you could do that, couldn't you? He's probably in Arizona or California. Please... you could do that for me, couldn't you? Tell him... just... don't even have to bring him here. Just find a way to tell him that I–"
"Kaitlynn, you know we can't. We can't jeopardize the investigation. We can't put you at risk like that."
She seemed to deflate before his eyes, pushing the laptop away as she pulled her knees up to her chest. "Go away," she muttered, shaking her head. "Just leave me alone. You've already done enough..."
"I'm sorr–"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" She screamed, suddenly launching herself at him. "JUST GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, YOU MONSTER! YOU SICK, TWISTED, FUCKING SADIST!" She kept battering at him until he was down on the floor, turtling to protect his head and neck from her nails and teeth. The room was full of faces she'd never seen before but she kept fighting until she felt the needle slip into her arm and then she was finally still. "Mikhail loves me," she mouthed the words to herself, holding them close, knowing that when she woke up again the laptop would be gone, along with that message she was never supposed to read.
He loves me.
That was the only thing that mattered.
LOCATION: THE PAST: REDACTED
DATE/TIME: March 18, 2013 || 11:03PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
There were no windows in the bunker.
They'd stripped the room while she'd been sedated, completely scrubbing it other than the damned camera still mounted in the corner and she spent a good hour flipping it off in a disconsolate silence. The computer was gone. So was the little USB-powered radio. All the books that they'd brought from her hotel room – Sabra's favourites, lovingly dog-eared with pages marked over passages that she knew Kitty would like best. They were all gone and she felt like a teenager, moping around her room on some sort of ludicrous time out.
The door opened and closed and she didn't bother to look up past the tangle of her hair, continuing to hang over the edge of the military cot that served as her bed.
Heavy footsteps crossed the room before the chair creaked under his weight. She smelled cheap cologne, knew who it was without looking up. "Here to tell me why I'm a bad, bad girl?"
The psychiatrist cleared his throat, "Kaitlynn," that cultured accent always made her feel small.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"Are you?"
She snorted derisively. "Sure. I'm just a little tired, considering. I mean, they did shoot me full of all the tranquilizers they had," Kitty lifted her hand, letting it flop back against the mattress. "See? Steady as a rock. Don't worry. I'm not losing my shit. That's why they sent you in here, isn't it?"
"Can we talk about the letter?"
"No."
"I'm not your enemy, Kaitlynn."
She sighed. Loudly. "Right. And they're not my jailers. And this isn't the seventh level of hell. And it will all be over soon when Anthony motherfuckin' Gambini is in custody. Except we both know that's never going to happen and I'm just this loose end that's never going to be tied – best you can do is keep me hidden away until they decide to make me disappear."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Of course you don't," she rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "You're my friend, right? That's what you want me to believe. Except we both know that's a load of shit. I don't have friends. I don't even have a husband anymore. Did all of this for him... to save his sorry ass and..." she trailed off, making a frustrated noise. "It's been almost six months. I just want to go home. God, I'd give anything right now to be on the road, to be bunking down in some tour bus or a random hotel or even sleeping in the back of a car like I did when Robby and I started out."
"What will you do when you get to go back?"
She made an exasperated sound, shaking her head, "I had to delete Twitter... my email... I had to get rid of Instagram and everything social media – I don't even know. Look for closure, I guess. Spit on Gambini's grave. I'd say give Alex that divorce, but that's moot now, isn't it? I mean, I'm dead. Legally, speaking. I don't exist. So... he's free to do whatever in the hell he wants. With whomever. And the media vultures will clamour if they catch wind of the reason I disappeared... if anyone tells them the shit Gambini did to me, that two-bit wannabe Michael Corleone. I'm a wrestler. I'm not some stupid wise-gal. I'm not some mafia groupie. I'm... I'm... I'm just a girl from Hamilton who wanted to be famous." She laughed bitterly, "there's something worthy of an epitaph. Here lies Kitty: she just wanted to be famous. She just wanted to be loved."
"Did you?"
"Of course. I wanted to be the best. I saw the way they looked up to Brad, the way they hung on every word, the way the talentless turds went out of their way to copy him. I wanted that for myself."
"We all want to make our mark on the world. We all want to leave something behind. That's why so many women you age have families."
She pointed a finger, scowling, "don't you even start on that bullshit. I don't," her voice faltered, "I don't want that. This world is too fucked up to bring a child into... so whatever you're going to say about me going with the flow, about how I just need to ride the storm out or whatever... get on with it. We'll pretend I'm in some fucking halfway house... like I'm just 'exhasuted', like I need a good nap and everything'll go back to peachy-keen." The anger was there in her voice as she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. She took a few deep breaths, flinching when his hand rested on her shoulder.
"Being angry is natural, Kaitlynn," he said softly, "the man tried to rape you."
"All due respect," she rolled over, glaring at him, "I'm going to be hard-pressed not to punch you in the face if you don't get the hell out of here. Now."
"Tell me about this letter. Tell me about this... Mikhail, was it?"
"No." She bit her lip, stubbornly closing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest. "Absolutely not. He's..." special died on her lips as she bit the bottom one hard enough to taste blood.
"Do you love him?"
"Love is a joke," she scoffed, rolling her eyes through the tears, "it's a chemical reaction that makes you high, isn't that what they say? That true love isn't real?" Kitty sighed, "being alone is what I deserve. I twisted so many guys around my fingers over the years... I lied... I manipulated. This... t-this is karma, right?"
"Karma doesn't exist." The doctor said, patting her shoulder, "and every mistake is meant to be a learning opportunity. You've already come so far, Kaitlynn. Maybe you can't see the progress for the pain, but I can. You have to trust, child. Trust and believe."
"In what?"
"Things happen for a reason, in their own time. Have a little faith, Kaitlynn. It's brought you this far, hasn't it?"
"Faith? Fuck that."
DATE/TIME: June 14, 2002 || 08:47AM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
Brad Jackson's bare feet slapped against the hardwood as he sat up, silencing the alarm. Dragging in a deep breath, the intended yawn became more a sigh as the scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled his lungs. Padding silently across the loft, he cocked his head, listening to the silence before he felt a reverberation through the floor. He filled his cup and made his way through the doorway, leaning on the railing. Kitty was already down below in nothing but a hot pink sports bra and the tiniest shorts he'd ever seen – barefoot.
"Hey," he called down, watching her ponytail swing as she pounded on the heavy bag.
"Hey yourself," she called back, "got sick of waiting so I decided to warm up a little."
"Waiting?" He lifted the cup to his lips, draining half of the black coffee in one long swallow. "For what?"
"Hilarious, really." She stopped, pivoted and glared at him, "you said last night that you'd help me train. Remember? That was your way of apologizing for almost bashing my brains in with that Louisville slugger of yours."
Jackson stared at her, brain still foggy, "I did? Doesn't sound like me – you sure? Was I awake when I said it? Was I sober? Pretty sure I'd remember something like–"
"JAX!" The scream was one of outrage, and he waved it off with a chuckle.
"Okay, Jesus Christ. Don't get your panties in a wad. I'm coming." Ten seconds later they were facing each other across the cushioned mats. He still had the cup of coffee in hand. "Not in Kansas anymore, baby. You ready to tango with a real wrestler?"
She smiled, brushing the errant strands of hair off her face. "Yeah, I'm ready, Bradley. Promise you won't hurt me," she crooned as she moved in closer, reaching up to kiss him softly on the lips.
He chuckled, a sound of contentment as he pulled her close, hugging her tight. The clean scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils, accompanied by the sickeningly sweet scent of her cotton candy perfume. "I won't hurt you, Kitty." His words were sincere, his eyes fixed on her as she pulled back from his embrace. "How about we start with—"
Her palm smashed into his solar plexus and then she dropped, sweeping his legs out from under him. He was on his back, gasping for air even as she caught the coffee cup, lifting it to her lips with a triumphant smile. "How about you start without the patronizing tone, hmm?"
"Touché," he wheezed.
LOCATION: THE PAST: REDACTED
DATE/TIME: March 17, 2013 || 3:17PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
YOU'VE GOT MAIL!
That old-school AOL voice issued from the speakers of the battered laptop, shattering the Zen that she'd been striving to achieve via yoga for the last half an hour. Sighing, she dropped back down to her hands and knees, feeling the crackle along her spine as she reached for the bottle of water. She kept the thing on even though she was only allowed access to a few sites, everything she did monitored and filtered by the bastards who called themselves her handlers but had essentially become her captors.
Flipping open the laptop, she clicked the worn touchpad, bringing the screen to life before navigating to her email. That old Gmail account was apparently still active, still able to receive even though this was the first thing that had come through since November.
From: Mikhail
Date: 03/17/2013 3:12:07 PM
Subject: (no subject)
My Dearest Kaitlynn,
How I wish, I had had the nerve to call you this when you could hear me say it. Or that you could get the flowers I will send, so many things I wish were different. I like to believe that a part of you knew how high I held you in my regard, in my heart. That there was nothing I would not do, to make you happy as you always deserved. Perhaps this is my conceit, that I think this way that I could have made you happy, Princess of my heart?
You were precious to me. I would look forward to our talks, so very much. To hear your voice, to have that connection. I would give anything to have been able to talk to you when you needed me most.
Moya samaya krasivaya printsessa, my most beautiful Princess. I hope that wherever you are tonight, that you are happy somehow, that you know that I still think of you.
Happy Birthday, Kaitlynn.
Always,
Your Mikhail.
"No," she whispered, her heart in her throat, a stabbing pain in her middle, "please no. Please don't do this to me... not today." Her eyes were red-rimmed already, bright green behind the sheen of tears as she looked up, her gaze seeking out the camera in the corner of the room. "I need to speak to someone in charge." She said the words loudly, clearly, knowing they were listening. They were always listening. She didn't bother to wait for a reply, didn't bother to wait to hear the key in the lock. Instead she hit reply and started typing.
From: Gmail <kittyamac@gmail.com>
Date: 03/17/2013 3:19:07 PM
Subject: re: (no subject)
To: Mikhail
There are so many things I wish I could tell you right now. So many things I should have done that I never had the courage to do and now it's too late and I'm gone. You're gone. You're lost to me forever and the thing I want the most right now is to hear you laugh. I know that's strange, but I used to save up all my best, my silliest stories just so I could regale you when we got together. I wanted to see that crinkle at the corner of your eyes. I wanted to hear that laugh.
On the flipside of every coin is a face. A dead president. A queen. Whatever. For the longest time you were that for me, you and Sabra both, my anchors.
My family after Robby died.
But you, Mik. You were a prince to me always. You were stalwart and reliable. You were always there and I took you for granted in the worst way because you were my flipside – you were always supposed to be right there, close enough to touch but I'm so very foolish.
I don't deserve the love of someone like you.
No. To answer you honestly, I'm not happy and I believe I'll never be again but it doesn't matter. I'm going to save lives. That's what they tell me. I'm a hero. I sold my soul to bring down an evil man. I'm in protective custody and I'm probably never going to be released as long as Anthony Gambini is still alive. Maybe not even after he dies or they bring him in. There will always be someone, something in our way. There always has been.
They probably won't let me send this because nobody is allowed to know the truth.
That grave, if you've visited it – I'm not there. Obviously. But they told me someone leaves white flowers often. I know it's you and I hope that haunting that place of lies hasn't ruined your life. I hope that you smile. I hope that you're keeping our bunny safe. I hope that you won't hate me when the truth comes out. You understand sacrifice. I know you do. And this is my prison, my own fault. I should never have married Alex Stryfe. I was young. I was stupid and egotistical and he promised me the world, he promised to make me a star.
This life isn't long enough to atone for everything I have done. Centuries wouldn't be adequate and I don't have the faintest idea of how to make this right where you're concerned.
They won't let me send this so I'll tell you the truth: I've always loved you. You were my best friend, my rock. I have no knowledge of how this came to pass. It crept up on me and then it simply was and I never in a million years believed that you felt the same way. Even reading your words today, I can't bring myself to really and truly accept them.
Maybe you only love what might have been. The fantasy that's built up in your mind, all the things we could have been that I selfishly stole from you are now elevated to something magical, something ephemeral.
I hate myself the most for hurting you.
If I ever get out of this place, I'll look for you. To the ends of the earth, wherever you may be, I'll find you. If not in this life, the next. I promise you that.
I love you, Mikhail.
Always,
Your Kaitlynn
She looked up after typing her name, meeting the cool blue eyes of her current handler. "You need to find a way for me to send this."
"That's impossible," he replied, his voice soft, "I've already done far too much damage in letting that message come through. You've been so sad lately, I thought that maybe it would cheer you up."
The tears fell down her cheeks, a hot flood but to her credit she didn't sob or rage. She simply stared at him, hatred written all over her face. "Did you read it?" The words came out clipped, lips thinning as she stared at Agent Donovan. "Of course you did. And you thought that me seeing..." her voice broke as she looked away, "you could find him, couldn't you? Bring him here? Let him see me so that he knows... so he knows I didn't leave... you could do that, couldn't you? He's probably in Arizona or California. Please... you could do that for me, couldn't you? Tell him... just... don't even have to bring him here. Just find a way to tell him that I–"
"Kaitlynn, you know we can't. We can't jeopardize the investigation. We can't put you at risk like that."
She seemed to deflate before his eyes, pushing the laptop away as she pulled her knees up to her chest. "Go away," she muttered, shaking her head. "Just leave me alone. You've already done enough..."
"I'm sorr–"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" She screamed, suddenly launching herself at him. "JUST GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, YOU MONSTER! YOU SICK, TWISTED, FUCKING SADIST!" She kept battering at him until he was down on the floor, turtling to protect his head and neck from her nails and teeth. The room was full of faces she'd never seen before but she kept fighting until she felt the needle slip into her arm and then she was finally still. "Mikhail loves me," she mouthed the words to herself, holding them close, knowing that when she woke up again the laptop would be gone, along with that message she was never supposed to read.
He loves me.
That was the only thing that mattered.
LOCATION: THE PAST: REDACTED
DATE/TIME: March 18, 2013 || 11:03PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
There were no windows in the bunker.
They'd stripped the room while she'd been sedated, completely scrubbing it other than the damned camera still mounted in the corner and she spent a good hour flipping it off in a disconsolate silence. The computer was gone. So was the little USB-powered radio. All the books that they'd brought from her hotel room – Sabra's favourites, lovingly dog-eared with pages marked over passages that she knew Kitty would like best. They were all gone and she felt like a teenager, moping around her room on some sort of ludicrous time out.
The door opened and closed and she didn't bother to look up past the tangle of her hair, continuing to hang over the edge of the military cot that served as her bed.
Heavy footsteps crossed the room before the chair creaked under his weight. She smelled cheap cologne, knew who it was without looking up. "Here to tell me why I'm a bad, bad girl?"
The psychiatrist cleared his throat, "Kaitlynn," that cultured accent always made her feel small.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"Are you?"
She snorted derisively. "Sure. I'm just a little tired, considering. I mean, they did shoot me full of all the tranquilizers they had," Kitty lifted her hand, letting it flop back against the mattress. "See? Steady as a rock. Don't worry. I'm not losing my shit. That's why they sent you in here, isn't it?"
"Can we talk about the letter?"
"No."
"I'm not your enemy, Kaitlynn."
She sighed. Loudly. "Right. And they're not my jailers. And this isn't the seventh level of hell. And it will all be over soon when Anthony motherfuckin' Gambini is in custody. Except we both know that's never going to happen and I'm just this loose end that's never going to be tied – best you can do is keep me hidden away until they decide to make me disappear."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Of course you don't," she rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "You're my friend, right? That's what you want me to believe. Except we both know that's a load of shit. I don't have friends. I don't even have a husband anymore. Did all of this for him... to save his sorry ass and..." she trailed off, making a frustrated noise. "It's been almost six months. I just want to go home. God, I'd give anything right now to be on the road, to be bunking down in some tour bus or a random hotel or even sleeping in the back of a car like I did when Robby and I started out."
"What will you do when you get to go back?"
She made an exasperated sound, shaking her head, "I had to delete Twitter... my email... I had to get rid of Instagram and everything social media – I don't even know. Look for closure, I guess. Spit on Gambini's grave. I'd say give Alex that divorce, but that's moot now, isn't it? I mean, I'm dead. Legally, speaking. I don't exist. So... he's free to do whatever in the hell he wants. With whomever. And the media vultures will clamour if they catch wind of the reason I disappeared... if anyone tells them the shit Gambini did to me, that two-bit wannabe Michael Corleone. I'm a wrestler. I'm not some stupid wise-gal. I'm not some mafia groupie. I'm... I'm... I'm just a girl from Hamilton who wanted to be famous." She laughed bitterly, "there's something worthy of an epitaph. Here lies Kitty: she just wanted to be famous. She just wanted to be loved."
"Did you?"
"Of course. I wanted to be the best. I saw the way they looked up to Brad, the way they hung on every word, the way the talentless turds went out of their way to copy him. I wanted that for myself."
"We all want to make our mark on the world. We all want to leave something behind. That's why so many women you age have families."
She pointed a finger, scowling, "don't you even start on that bullshit. I don't," her voice faltered, "I don't want that. This world is too fucked up to bring a child into... so whatever you're going to say about me going with the flow, about how I just need to ride the storm out or whatever... get on with it. We'll pretend I'm in some fucking halfway house... like I'm just 'exhasuted', like I need a good nap and everything'll go back to peachy-keen." The anger was there in her voice as she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened. She took a few deep breaths, flinching when his hand rested on her shoulder.
"Being angry is natural, Kaitlynn," he said softly, "the man tried to rape you."
"All due respect," she rolled over, glaring at him, "I'm going to be hard-pressed not to punch you in the face if you don't get the hell out of here. Now."
"Tell me about this letter. Tell me about this... Mikhail, was it?"
"No." She bit her lip, stubbornly closing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest. "Absolutely not. He's..." special died on her lips as she bit the bottom one hard enough to taste blood.
"Do you love him?"
"Love is a joke," she scoffed, rolling her eyes through the tears, "it's a chemical reaction that makes you high, isn't that what they say? That true love isn't real?" Kitty sighed, "being alone is what I deserve. I twisted so many guys around my fingers over the years... I lied... I manipulated. This... t-this is karma, right?"
"Karma doesn't exist." The doctor said, patting her shoulder, "and every mistake is meant to be a learning opportunity. You've already come so far, Kaitlynn. Maybe you can't see the progress for the pain, but I can. You have to trust, child. Trust and believe."
"In what?"
"Things happen for a reason, in their own time. Have a little faith, Kaitlynn. It's brought you this far, hasn't it?"
"Faith? Fuck that."
