Fiona Gallagher (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
not_lost) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
all_inclusive2014-02-04 04:26 am
not_lost) wrote in all_inclusive2014-02-04 04:26 am
Entry tags:
I've got a knife behind my back, just sayin'.
Last Tuesday, Fiona had finished a morning shift at the Smoking Room, had a quick shower in her room, and headed back home to the slushy Chicago streets. Ever-mindful of the constant march of time at the Nexus, she'd only been home for about twelve hours before she'd opened the door to head back, only to find herself faced with the tiny closet of a bathroom that she'd last seen months before. It had been her go-to door, had never failed.
That was nearly three months ago.
When she'd opened the bathroom door today, it had been to use the toilet. Standing on the threshold, she'd stared with sober finality out at the cool, glittering lobby, hesitated a moment, and then stepped through, slamming the door behind her. She glanced toward the front desk. It was still Tuesday morning.
Upstairs, she'd shucked off her pencil skirt and heavy winter coat, and had soaked in a whirlpool tub for almost an hour. Afterward, she'd tried to open a door home so that she could collect some more clothes, planning an extended stay. Three times she'd tried, and it hadn't worked. She'd stared at the door for awhile, and then wrapped herself in a fluffy bathrobe and went calmly downstairs to buy a bathing suit from the shop.
Lip was at school, Ian was god knew where. Debbie and Carl had become self-sufficient overnight, and Sheila could look after Liam.
She needed a break. From Frank and the damned liver he had destroyed, from Carl refusing to speak to her because she wouldn't hand over a piece of her own. From Mike and his perfect fucking superiority about everything, from trying so hard to smooth down all her rough, vulgar edges. From Robbie and… just from Robbie, full stop.
Addict.
There was no outdoor swimming pool here and no beach, so Fiona had carried a towel and a six pack down to one of the gardens and spread herself out next to the soothing gurgle of a fountain. On her back in a black string bikini, dark sunglasses obscuring her eyes, she reached for her first beer, intent on drinking them all.
Fuck it. Just fuck it all.
[Hover for notes.]
That was nearly three months ago.
When she'd opened the bathroom door today, it had been to use the toilet. Standing on the threshold, she'd stared with sober finality out at the cool, glittering lobby, hesitated a moment, and then stepped through, slamming the door behind her. She glanced toward the front desk. It was still Tuesday morning.
Upstairs, she'd shucked off her pencil skirt and heavy winter coat, and had soaked in a whirlpool tub for almost an hour. Afterward, she'd tried to open a door home so that she could collect some more clothes, planning an extended stay. Three times she'd tried, and it hadn't worked. She'd stared at the door for awhile, and then wrapped herself in a fluffy bathrobe and went calmly downstairs to buy a bathing suit from the shop.
Lip was at school, Ian was god knew where. Debbie and Carl had become self-sufficient overnight, and Sheila could look after Liam.
She needed a break. From Frank and the damned liver he had destroyed, from Carl refusing to speak to her because she wouldn't hand over a piece of her own. From Mike and his perfect fucking superiority about everything, from trying so hard to smooth down all her rough, vulgar edges. From Robbie and… just from Robbie, full stop.
Addict.
There was no outdoor swimming pool here and no beach, so Fiona had carried a towel and a six pack down to one of the gardens and spread herself out next to the soothing gurgle of a fountain. On her back in a black string bikini, dark sunglasses obscuring her eyes, she reached for her first beer, intent on drinking them all.
Fuck it. Just fuck it all.
[Hover for notes.]