No One But Me

notes: I'm so sorry this has taken so long to write and post to you all. I had initially wanted to finish the epilogue and post it as one complete work, however it has stretched longer than I anticipated and I don't think it is fair to keep you guys waiting. I know it might be annoying that I'm posting this epilogue as two parts, so forgive me for that, but it might be more enjoyable this way.

warnings: some warnings have been omitted in order not to spoil parts of the story, dissociation, descriptions of episodes of depression, instances of PTSD, mentions of pregnancy, lots of angst and emotion, grief.

••••••

When you arrive back to your home in Jackson the first thing you do is take a shower. You strip the layers of clothes from your body and leave them discarded on the floor in the corner, too tired to bother putting them in the clothes hamper. You remove the necklace from your neck and toss it ontop of the pile of clothes.

You stand under the blasting stream of hot water and groan with appreciative satisfaction as it pours along your neck and down your back. You lather your hands with a bar of soap and drag it over your arms and chest, then your legs and the rest of your body. You bow your head to watch the diluted soapy mix of blood and dirt swirl around your feet before disappearing down the drain. You stay under the water until every inch of your body is clean.

Your brain is blank, operating on autopilot, and all the scarce remaining energy within you is channelled into each slow, deliberate movement of your limbs. After the shower you dress in an old shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, then you pad to the kitchen to see what you can eat. Maria had dropped off a stew earlier, when you had just returned back home - she had lingered at your doorstep, concern etched all over her pretty features, only leaving once you reassured her you'd be okay alone.

You stand in the kitchen and eat a few spoonfuls of stew directly from the pot. Although you haven't eaten a full meal for several days your appetite is dulled by exhaustion, and a few bites seem to suffice, sating the twisting hunger pains in your stomach.

The lure of sleep is too inticing and powerful to resist any longer, and so you half stumble to your bedroom to finally collapse into your bed. Both your body and mind are so overcome with fatigue that you slip into a black dreamless state as soon as your head hits the pillow. You sleep for 12 straight hours.

••••••

The first few days pass by in a blur. Maria and Tommy take turns stopping by each day to check up on you, a meal from the mess hall always in hand. You barely talk during their visits, purposely avoiding their pitying and worried expressions. They don't hang around for long, just enough to check that you are coping and not in need of anything. They want you to take some time off work for a while, they say. You don't bother to protest.

During those first days your friends stop by several times, but you don't answer their knocks on your door. You aren't ready to socialise with anyone and you know they will overwhelm you with a myriad of questions about things that you have no desire to talk about. Tommy or Maria must tell them as much, for the knocks eventually cease, leaving you to the quiet comfort of your self imposed isolation.

You wake, eat as much of the food as you can stomach, then go back to sleep. This cycle continues for a week. On the seventh day you wake up feeling less disconnected from reality, your brain and body more refreshed, a calm clarity flooding through your system. But the feeling is short lived, for as soon as your feet touch the bedroom floor you find yourself retching. You blindly rush to the toilet just in time to vomit a heap of yellow bile into the bowl. You gasp in between heaves, sweat beads forming along your hairline, and it doesn't take long for your stomach to empty itself from the gross acidic liquid.