Boundries

[Dr Adjective]

Great. Fucking great. She’d spoken without thinking, just one time blurted out what she actually thought without exhaustively making sure it wouldn’t bother her audience, and that had been enough. Sure, she hadn’t admitted to murder, the implication was weak enough that it could’ve just been a fistfight, but still. Lara knew what was up, she wasn’t stupid.

So she invited Evie to choose the subject. What a way to twist the knife.

Evie wanted to talk about a lot of things. If she had a therapist in front of her, rather than a friend, a friend who’d have to die if Evie was ever going to make it home? Why, Evie would have desperately wanted to talk about the death of Chloé Delacroix, how unsure she was if it was even her own fault. She’d want to bring up Kelsey Brewer, how she thought she might really be in love with her, but maybe that was just stupid adolescent hormones and infatuation, how she couldn’t really know her own heart. And speaking of Kelsey, how she’d hate her when all she was told was that Evie had gunned down the class president. Claire would too. Lara she could still hold in thrall at gunpoint, but all three of them, they’d never look at her the same way.

Then again, wasn’t Evie planning on outliving all three of them anyway?

Several quiet seconds passed, punctuated only by chewing. Evie thought about Steve and Mitch. The violent anger she’d felt on hearing they’d been killed. She couldn’t even hate their murderers now, not in good conscience: she was the same. No, no she’d spared Marshall and California, hadn’t she? Or had that been cowardice? Leaving them to suffer with the corpse of their friend, rather than have three kills to her name and a neon sign saying MONSTER on her back?

Evie took another bite. It really did taste like dry cardboard.

“If…”

Her voice came out dry, scratchy. Evie took a swig of water. She had more now, she could be slightly more liberal with it.

“If you could be eating anything else now, what would you pick?”

Sure, she was setting herself up to be disappointed in the answer, but the subject was safe. Distant. Unimportant. Something to get them back to the cheerful banter, away from the time Evie broke someone’s nose and knocked her through a chair before shooting her dead. Preferable, in other words.

[Frozen Smoke]

The silence bit at Lara as her question lingered unanswered in the air between them. Her mind insisted on inventing new ways in which she could have offended her host, as a distant look briefly enveloped their face.

Thankfully, their torchlight dinner continued without becoming a final supper, and Evie offered a handle she could grab to unwind the awkwardness which had begun constricting them again. A contemplative noise escaped her as she leaned back and looked up, trying to dust off memories she’d shoved into a corner a week ago.

“A baked russet with beef queso. Maybe a glass of lemonade too.”

It was what Lara had brought into school for lunch last year on her birthday, determined to have something special whilst keeping to what her teammates expected. It had ended up taking her half of their break trying to weasel her way into using a microwave to heat it up, but had returned to their table a queen, the weight of cream and cheese and meat leaving her falling asleep in the next period. The memory of everyone’s laughter rung in her ears for a moment, bringing a genuine, sheepish smile to her face.

“Guess you can tell why they called me Spuds.”

It took a couple of seconds for the past tense of that statement to feel sour in her mouth. Most of the team was still alive, she would have noticed their names being called. Beatrice, Juanita, both still kicking. Only Iliya had fallen. It was hard not to think of the look of incredulity spreading across the now dead girl’s pockmarked face, before collapsing into hysterics as one of their younger team members had asked if she needed a candle for it.

“What about you?” She asked, reaching for the comfort of company, as she shoved the blanket of fond memories to the floor – itchy and lice ridden.

[Dr Adjective]

"Well... not that."

Not that Evie didn't love a good baked potato, in fairness. But not those toppings, perhaps unsurprisingly. But at least it was a jumping-off point to thinking of something nicer than her present situation. Instead, Evie thought not exactly of home, but of home life. Of her family.

"So, two years ago, uh... no, lemme start again."

It wasn't an intentional gambit to draw out the more comfy conversation for longer, but as an unintended side-effect, it was one Evie liked.

"You know how Plymouth Rock is just outside of Boston? So yeah, I've been there before, bunch of times. But two years ago we finally figured we should go to the other Plymouth and see where the Mayflower launched from, right? We, uh, being my family and me. So we went to England that summer, y'know, flew into London, spent a bit of time there first,"

Evie stopped again, took another drink. Her mouth felt less and less like wadded cotten as she went on, but it was still dry. At least it seemed like the distraction of nostalgia was working.

"And then we went down to Devon, saw the Mayflower Steps, National Marine Aquarium, all the touristy stuff... but there was this restaurant we went to, did all sorts of vegan junk food. Ended up going back like, three times."

Even in the dim half-light, it would be hard not to make out the wistful smile playing across Evie's face. It was easy to get settled in, to feel like the island was all that her life even was now, to forget that it had ever been anything else. But no, Evie wasn't just a newly-minted murderer. She was still a teenage girl with a family, who liked to travel and take in the local history, and gorge on unhealthy food once in a while.

"I really fucking wish I was having their poutine right now."

The poutine of course, wasn't all that important in the long run. But the family? The life? It helped to remember that what she had done, was doing, would yet have to do, was all for that. To survive. To get back home. Assuming home would have her.

"You, um, you travel much?"

[Frozen Smoke]

Lara chewed as she nodded, trying to imagine what England was like. Cobbled streets, dainty little cottages by the sea, hedgerow scarred hills – all the beauty that lay in between Big Ben and Stonehenge. Evie did little to paint a picture exactly, but a blend of second-hand information and TV shows swirled together in her mind’s eye, right until the story broke the illusion.

“They have vegan food over there?!”

Her voice carried an equal weight of mirth and incredulity as she blurted out the question. It seemed blasphemous, like finding out your uptight Grandad had been at Woodstock ’69, with the pictures to prove it. The Brits only lived on beige food and tea (also beige), it was a fact both her family and the internet agreed on, even if upon reflection it made no sense. Of course they’d have vegan food over there. Probably had every cuisine under the sun, just like back in Salem.

“Sorry – Uh, no. Never travelled much, barely been outside the state. Too busy on the farm.”

There was another comfortable routine that had fallen away so cleanly she had failed to notice it, the simple mindful work that followed the rise and fall of the seasons. She should have been grading potatoes, making mounds around herself of all different shapes, sizes, qualities as if she was a dragon that had taken the name Yukon Gold a little too literally and was assembling a horde. Echoes of an imagined England were replaced by the mental image of her parents despondently doing the first job that had truly belonged to her.

“I- I would have liked to though. I was supposed to go to Harvard, do a degree in Agriculture. Hoped I could maybe do something in South America, charity work, volunteer, something like that.”

Lara looked down at the empty wrapper, mindlessly pulling it apart, letting the strips of matte green and silver foil join the rest of the debris that scattered the room. So many evenings had been spent reading books about the Andean method of agriculture, how they managed to cultivate all sorts of tubers on the sides of mountains, cutting these thin terraces into the stone like market gardens which followed the contour of the land itself. It was a shame those lines of grey and verdant green couldn’t replace the images etching themselves into the back of her eyelids.

[Dr Adjective]

Well shit. On the plus side, conversation had very definitely drifted far, far away from Evie’s recent brush with death. Just unfortunate that it had run aground on Lara’s doomed hopes and dreams instead. No sooner had Evie finished fondly recalling how everything there was so much more usefully labelled, she was looking wistfully at the remains of some more real, immediate food packaging being pulled apart at the seams in a way that defied any label besides “sad”. Evie couldn’t really qualify why in words, but she could perceive it just the same.

Awkwardly, she shoved the remainder of her own protein bar into her pocket, took hold of her gun once more, and shuffled across towards Lara.

“Sorry, I…”

Evie tried flashing her classic smile, but it was ultimately rather hollow. What could she say that’d actually make it better? That Lara might yet survive this, and leave behind a trail of 100+ corpses on her way down to Brazil or wherever she had her sights set? Her smile ended up more like an I'm sorry grimace, in the end.

"I was going more for, you know, fond memories. Didn't mean to get into, you know... regrets."

The shorter girl let out a slow sigh, and continued.

“But, uh, you know, I think I would've liked that too. South America, helping people, learning...

She moved a touch closer.

“Wish you could’ve seen England with me, too.”

[Frozen Smoke]

The sound of denim rubbing against the unfinished wooden floor jerked Lara’s head upright. Her own form had already unravelled a little as her companion’s apologies washed over her, legs splayed out flat whilst she rested her weight on arms unfurled and pitched slightly behind her. Evie sat at more of an angle to her now, the girl’s normally easy smile strained by something she couldn’t make out in the torchlight. Pity? Anger?

Nervousness?

Her voice was softer now, comforting, wistful. The alternate reality where the two of them were having this conversation over a plate of vegan pancakes in some quaint hotel seemed almost within her grasp for a second. It was enough to turn the corners of her mouth upwards once again, even as she had to avert her gaze from the other girl’s eyes.

“I would have l-iked that.” She murmured, the fourth word turning on a dime.

It took a few seconds for the heat in her cheeks to die down enough to look back.

“I wish I could just have spent more time with you, just back at home.”

Lara shuffled her weight as if she was uncomfortable, rolling her neck and shoulder before taking up what she thought looked like a relaxed posture.

Her left hand intruded on the empty space that seperated them.

[Dr Adjective]

With the shifting of the light, Lara became the one to appear vulnerable. Her voice seemed to shift quieter, softer. Wistful.

She sounded like someone coming to terms with things.

Evie had been there herself, of course. It had been a process. First she'd been angry, violently angry. Then she'd started making plans, most of which had gone nowhere. Then she'd run into Chloé, and... well, that part she was still trying very hard not to think about. So much for those five stages of grief, if she'd started with anger and bargaining and then circled back around to denial, huh? In any case, she got it. Lara's tone and her words told of a girl coming to accept the notion that the island would be all that was left of her life. No chance to make up for the things she left unfinished at home. Or, perhaps, that she intended to make it all the way, and it would be Evie herself that wouldn't be there with her. The thought gave Evie a brief moment of pause, and her grip tightened around the machine pistol clutched in the shadows behind her.

But with her other hand, she reached out. The girl needed a friend. She'd always been so stiff, so distant. Evie could only imagine how difficult it was for her to open up like this.

She laid her hand atop Lara's, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and fixed her with as earnest a look as she'd ever given.

"I'm here now, at least."

[Frozen Smoke]

Lara managed to stifle her response as Evie’s hand embraced her own, with only a shuddering exhale gracing her lips. It was a warmth she had been denied for days. Even when she was with Chloe, the two of them had kept the line of personal space sacrosanct, for all the times crossing it had passed through her mind. Her head dipped again, but with a smile firmly etched on it this time. Once her heartbeat had settled, she looked back up at her companion.

“Thank you.”

It was a simple statement, but her voice ached as she gave it life. How else was she supposed to express what she felt right now? It was nameless, the numbness that crept over her face and made her tongue feel clumsy and inelegant, the heat that radiated from where they had made contact and washed away anything else that clung to her mind. Her hand relaxed, and their fingers became as entangled as their gazes.

[Dr Adjective]

Evie's eyes remained set on Lara's, taking in her expression, her response. In the dim half-light, it was hard to be absolutely certain of her interpretation, so she kept her focus rapt. That little sigh, that awkward smile. The language of a teen with a crush if Ms. McKown had ever seen it.

Evie had, on occasion, had cause to wonder about Lara, about the way she'd looked... God, the handful of months felt like aeons ago, at the poolside. The way she'd blushed, and insisted it was embarrassment over her humiliating injury, the way Evie had been a good 60% sure Lara had been checking her out. But did that cut both ways? She'd striven to be discreet with Kelsey, not quite ready to come out until she did her big dumb Christmas gesture for her parents, which, if she was being honest, was as much procrastination as it was desire for a moment. But still. Did Lara think, did she know?

In the end, the girl pushed those thoughts out of her mind. This was her last opportunity to have a remotely normal interaction with someone, she wasn't going to squander it interrogating whether her companion was glad for her company or, well, gay for her company. So instead, Evie put a bit more effort into her smile in response to the thanks she received. She shuffled closer, still clutching the weapon she'd killed Chloé Delacroix with in the hand hidden behind her body. She softened her expression, telling Lara without words that she was safe here for now. To put her regrets aside, like Evie wished she could.

Evie fixed her eyes on Lara's, and thought of ways to make the interaction last longer.

But a part of her knew that by morning, it would be over no matter what. She was a killer. She'd killed Lara's friend. Lara, like everyone else she cared about that was still alive themselves, would hate her. Even if she got home? Her parents, her brother, everyone in town? They'd hate her too. The thought coiled up around Evie's heart, it drove nausea into her gut, and she held onto the gun just as tight as she held Lara's gaze.

Just let this last, just a little longer. Before I have to be That Girl.

[Frozen Smoke]

The gap between every beat of Lara’s heart dragged.

Thump-thump

She rolled her body to the side a little, resting her weight on her left hip and the hand that was intertwined with Evie’s.

Thump-thump

The look in her blue eyes didn’t change, as deeply as Lara studied them for a moment.

Thump-thump

Her lips parted wordlessly for a flash, tongue lying limp in her mouth before she closed it again.

Thump-thump

No more missed opportunities.

Thump-thump

Lara moved, slowly compressing the distance between them.

Thump-thump

Arms length. She could make out every one of the freckles which dotted the bridge of her nose.

Thump-thump

Shoulder to shoulder. She could feel the warmth of her body radiating through her clothes. Smell the scent she recognised as Evie underneath sweat and blood and cordite which clung to her.

Thump-thump

Eye to eye. Lara tilted her head back, looking up at her now. Her companion’s shoulders had turned to face her advances, and her back had arched down to meet them.

Thump-thump

Nearly touching. A shallow breath washed over her face.

Thump-thump

Their lips touched.



Lara wished it could last forever.

Thump-thump

Evie followed her as she retreated. The grip on her hand intensified, and she reciprocated the gesture, rubbing her thumb reassuringly over her index finger. Lara’s own gaze was silken, the forced smile having melted into something else, a happy but slack expression accompanying her transfixion as she waited for her to make the move that she wished would come faster with every fibre of her being.

[Dr Adjective]

The only people left who wouldn't hate Evie, it seemed to her, would be the people who had no right to. And hell, someone would probably still find it in themselves to hypocritically hate her anyway. Could she really look Kitty in the eye, or Jezzie, and not have that seething anger resurface towards someone who'd killed someone she loved? Evie sincerely doubted it. So she had until morning at most, to steal some undeserved hours of friendly comfort before settling into her new life as a pariah. It felt as though her heart were in a constant state of sinking, not quite falling, just... sliding, slowly but surely further into an abyss that wouldn't end.

And to think she had the temerity to secure her own comfort in the moment by focusing the conversation on what was hurting Lara, after being the one to bring it up. She was a fucking monster.

But then, something changed in the air between the two. Something in Lara's body language, impossible to describe but just as impossible to miss, or to misunderstand. The bigger girl moved closer, imperceptible at first, right up until it was unmistakeable. True, Evie had often wondered after Lara's sexuality, true she had harboured something of a crush on the big girl herself, and true their prolonged eye- and hand-contact had given her pause as to whether the situation was "safe", but... she hadn't truly expected Lara to make a move. Yet here she was, inarguably making one. One moment, Evie was pontificating on what a monster she was to impose on Lara's company when so she scarcely deserved anybody's, the next, well...

Evie's reasons, she imagined, were much the same as Lara's. Neither was likely long for this world, unless Evie's incredible luck held out. They were both young, hormonal, in dire need of distracting from the horror surrounding them, and Lara didn't know about Kelsey. For those few moments of weakness, she didn't need to. Evie moved closer in kind, drawn by a figurative magnetism between them, close enough that even by the meagre light she could make out every feature of the other girl's face, the icy blue of her eyes, the strong lines of her jaw and nose, that fetching little scar over her lips. She felt a nervous exhale from Lara brush across her own face, and then the two met.

It was Lara who made the first contact, but instinct swiftly took hold for Evie. On the floor of a collapsing cabin just as readily as on the soft couch of a warm living room, she took to her role as easily as she took to water. As Lara pulled back first her extended neck and then her shoulders, Evie followed, shifting up and above her, taking the lead. Her grip tightened around the bigger girl's hand, seeming to be much smaller, more vulnerable, beneath Evie's tender attentions. Reasons for and against didn't consciously occur to her in that moment, she simply followed the impulse to feel good, to take what little joy was on offer to her in this reprieve from the frigid hell outside. "Why shouldn't she?" wasn't even a question, there was only impulse. Evie made to rise up onto her knees, to gently urge Lara down further beneath her. She shifted forwards, gentle yet forceful, her trailing right hand shifted behind her to follow, making an audible scratching along the wooden floor w--

Wait, scratching? The sound snapped Evie out of her tunnel-vision, and she pulled back briefly. Of course. The gun. That gun. It had been in her grasp so long that it had warmed up to her palm, felt almost a part of her. The gun that had shot Chloé Delacroix dead. Lara's friend Chloé. Lara who was grinning like an idiot below her, hungry for more. The more that Evie knew for a damn certainty that she didn't deserve, that she was a monster for taking any of. She had a girlfriend already for starters, and again, she'd murdered Lara's friend and refused to admit to it and her blood was still on her knuckles and she was still holding the weapon and still reeked of gunpowder and come morning she'd know anyway and she would hate Evie for doing it and hate her all the more for hiding it and, and...

"Stop!"

Evie exclaimed it as if startled, as if it were Lara that needed stopping, in their relative positions.

"I... I can't, I shouldn't, I, I don't..."

Evie almost tripped over her own right arm in her haste to back away. She fell back onto her behind, scooting away rapidly, glad that she'd heard of such a thing as trigger discipline and hadn't filled her own legs with lead by stumbling over the loaded weapon she was carrying. A few feet back she scrambled back up onto her knees, then her feet.

"I'm sorry!"

[Frozen Smoke]

Thump-thump

And then everything fell apart.

Her face at least had the good grace to contort into something close to shame as she twisted herself away from Evie. Every stammering apology offered only added to the weight of her limbs. It felt like the strings that connected them to her mind were slack, every movement graceless and brutish as she pulled herself away from the morass she’d made.

All she could manage in response was a few meek nods in Evie’s direction. The bile at the back of her throat pickled any words before they could pass her lips, only more galling for the things Lara could imagine saying now, in that moment lost. Apologies. Requests. Compliments. Questions. Thoughts more than sentences ricocheting behind her eyes as her form folded in on itself, and her mind followed. The heat in her cheeks was as much anger as it was embarrassment, her internal gaze scouring for the part of her that had lied, told her she could make up for 18 years of lost time if she just acted quickly. If she just didn’t think.

“My fault too. Sorry.” Lara finally mumbled once her voice could be trusted not to betray her as well.

The sound of the wind whistling through the bullet hole in one of the windows caused her to judder out of her stupor for a moment, eyes just about catching the snowdrift whipping against the glass in the dim yellow light that filled their domain, her arms instinctively pulling her knees closer to her body as the memory of the cold bit. There was a stolen glance at the door again, then at Evie.

But she stayed silent.

[Dr Adjective]

Lara apologised too. Like it was her fault somehow. Evie barely heard it. She took the lead, took the initiative. She invited it with her manner, lead Lara on, didn’t see fit to disclose to very damn good reasons not to. All Lara did was accept her premise and agree with the proposition if we don’t let ourselves by happy now, then when?

No, Evie was the one going behind the backs of her own presumably-yet-living girlfriend and of Lara’s very definitely dead friend. Remember Chloé? Chloé Delacroix? Dead Chloé Delacroix who Evie killed scant few hours ago, with the same gun she was still clinging onto for dear life? Evie remembered her. Would probably never forget her. She was big shining neon reason number one why Evie had no right to even be speaking to Lara, let alone kissing her, or God alone knows what else they might’ve done if it hadn’t been cut short by the intrusion of a conscience.

The murderer stood up. She should leave, she decided.

But the howl of the wind outside was audible enough of a reminder that shelter was life, leaving it was suicide. She didn’t deserve Lara’s company, but leaving would be idiotic, and sending Lara away instead would be murder two.

So instead, Evie the Killer crossed to the other side of the room, pushed aside a fallen chair - one that Chloé Delacroix, who Evie would like to again recall had recently died at her hand, had not smashed through and thereby received fatal puncture wounds - and set herself up a spot to sleep in. She rolled out her emergency blanket, curled up underneath it…

And Evie didn’t sleep.

That thought from before - no, not specifically Chloé Delacroix for once - stuck with her for a moment. Evie the Killer, what was that, why did it feel so familiar to her somehow? Macabre as the exact subject matter was, it was also ironically a pleasant escape from the actual meaning in the words. She could turn over pleasant memories of home in her head, interrogate why any of those might give meaning to Evie the Killer rather than think about how she, Evie, had become a killer.

Unfortunately it didn’t take long before she remembered movie title. One of her mother’s weird Japanese films. Ichi the Killer. She hadn’t watched it, only knew second-hand that it was about the Yakuza and it was really messed up. Evidently the name had stuck anyway.

So that left Evie with her thoughts. She couldn’t close her eyes to sleep, all she could see was a Greatest Hits of her midday activities: the soft crunch of cartilage when she’d broken Chloé’s nose, the slam of her skull recoiling back against the wall behind her, the crash of her body into splintering wood, that sickening squelch of that wood piercing her back…

Evie shook her head as if to physically shake the thoughts out. She looked across the room, to the outline of Lara traced by pale moonlight through the windows. She’d said nothing in… however long they’d been like this. Had plenty of time to think though. To think about what it was Evie didn’t want to talk about. She’d surely already assessed the two basic truths, that Evie was a killer and that going outside would be a killer too, so she couldn’t even assume that Lara was simply okay with the former.

For all she knew, Lara’s romantic overtures were the only bargaining chip she felt she had to buy safety, whether just for tonight or in the shape of Evie’s ongoing protection. That thought made her feel sick, mostly at the realisation that in other circumstances it probably would have worked. She recalled another of her mother’s choices of media, a single line of dialogue emerging from a sea of not really paying attention to which show was which. Some guy in army dress uniform, explaining that trading sex for safety was tantamount to rape. Evie hadn’t meant it like that on purpose, but… was it? Would she really have taken advantage of Lara’s vulnerability like that, if a few key details hadn’t gotten in the way?

She sat with those thoughts, unsure for how long.

She wanted to go outside and throw up.

Of course there was the other option, suddenly carving through the hypothetical guilt to save the day. What if Lara had just been trying to get her guard down, to get the gun? Unlikely. But she had to believe it, to distract herself.

Evie’s eyes flitted across the room again. Lara remained stationary. Asleep, maybe. The murderess clutched her gun tighter. Just in case.

Hours must surely have passed, judging by the gradual shifting of the moonlight. It seemed to drift lower and lower in the sky, shedding less and less light on the pair of bodies low to the ground as the angle flattened. Less visibility of Lara and her intentions. Deeper darkness to fill with the way Chloé had looked up at her, blood pooling under her broken body, and pleaded with her to finish it quickly. With the smell of gunpowder, the crack of tiny explosions, the way the recoil had dragged her aim halfway up the wall and emptied far too many rounds into wood and glass.

And then looking down at what she’d done, at the very real result of propelling balls of hot lead into a human body at high velocity, the damage that most fictional media prefers to pan away from or simply whitewash into neat little red circles.

Evie the Killer stood up again. Hey, she was starting to get attached to that appellation. Murderer suggested too much clear intent. Murderess just felt vaguely sexist. But Killer, it was true. It didn’t shy away from what she’d done, but left room to argue over intention and fault. Then Evie the Killer quietly packed her things away in her bag. She slid her gun into her pocket. Her gun now. Not Chloé’s gun. Then she shouldered her bag, hovered by the door for a moment, and finally committed to her decision.

Cowardice.

She simply didn’t want to be in the room when Lara heard the bad news.

So she pushed the door open as quietly as she could, and slipped out into the dawn twilight. The announcement would come soon, and then she’d be Evie the Killer to everyone else, too. May as well make the most of the last hour as Just Evie.

So, hugging her overcoat close against the pervasive cold, Just Evie made her exit.

[Just Evie, probably cursed.]

[Frozen Smoke]

Somewhere along the past week, the version of Lara that wouldn't have stirred an inch at the subtle sounds of rubber catching on wooden splinters, or the dim pink-purple rays of the bruised arctic sky at sunrise falling across her face had worn away. She snatched at sleep now, her body jerking just as it finally lost all tension and slid towards the ground, dreams and fears blending together. In the moments spent behind her eyelids there were figures in the windows, bones in her hands, knives against her throat. Her body spilled to the side, an arm rising sluggishly to shield herself from the light as she watched Evie leave through sleep blurred eyes. Only the bite of the wind as the door slammed shut convinced her it was real, and not another vision she'd shudder away from and return to the darkness, but her limbs refused to respond fast enough all the same.

It was only framed in silhouette, before being stuffed away once more, that the gun Evie's fingers never strayed from began to seem familiar to Lara. Memories of days earlier, another morning, another girl, another angle, but the same object framed in the morning light. The pressure that poured out of her eyes as she stared travelled down, pressing against her tongue and holding it in place as every atom of air trickled out of her lungs without making a sound. Not that Lara could put words to the formless urge that paralyzed her body with its intensity. It was only as the door crunched back into place that it's grip abated and she could inhale. A few seconds passed as she reflated, regained control of her body, exhaust forcing every action to be a conscious thought as she clambered to her feet.

It took her far too long to decide what to do.

((Lara Bullock continued Elsewhere))