wounds won't heal
an above suspicion fanfiction
She sits alone, in her flat on the floor. Her knees are tucked under her chin, trackmarks where she's cried for hours running along her cheeks and she's staring blankly at the bare white wall.
She stares at the phone that she threw across the room in hurt. It's broken into pieces and Anna can relate. In that moment, that's how her heart feels. Cracked and beaten and broken, never to beat or feel again.
He's dead but she doesn't believe it. James, can't be dead. She'd only spoken to him three hours ago. He was alive and well. He was going to take her out for dinner this evening.
Now — now he's lying in an alleyway, barely cold yet dead.
She feels a sob escape her lips and her whole body begins to shake again. Why him, she question. He had a family. A wife and two children. Why couldn't it be her? What exactly does she have? She's nothing except a dirty homewrecker.
She feels the anger inside. All she wants to do is trash this flat, their flat into pieces and fall into bed and cry. She won't trash the flat, they spent too long on it. She's just angry for the fact he's left her in this shitty world alone.
And once again, Anna believes she'll never be loved.
Her mother died first when Anna was a child. Next to die was her boyfriend when they were nineteen, followed by their unborn child. Then it was her father, a few years before she joined the MET. Now James.
Why was it everyone she loved had to die a painful death?
(James is dead. James is never coming home!)
She gets up off the floor, heads to the bar in the corner of the living room. She picks up his bottle of brandy and necks the liquid, takes the bottle into the bedroom and lies on the bed.
And with the bottle of brandy and the scent of him on the bed covers, she finds herself crying herself to sleep. Anna knows this is exactly how she's gonna pass the next fifty fucking years.
Alone and dead inside.
jottings — alternative universe for the book, clean cut. if you like it enough to favourite, please review.