(no subject)
One month. It had been a month since everything had gone to hell for Maureen. Since her boyfriend had decided to beat the shit out of her and then blow up a bunch of people.
She'd had a lot of time to think since then. First it was worrying over what would happen when he got out - but that didn't matter, in the end. Patrick had never been released... he was just gone. But even after, she hadn't exactly felt like being around people at all - and that had gone doubly so while her face had still been black and blue. Now she looked like herself; she just didn't feel like herself. Which just made her hate Patrick even more. What had he done to her?
The worst part was, deep down inside, she missed him - or she missed the man she thought he'd been. And she felt like everyone knew, and irrational as it was, that maybe they blamed her somehow. Her relationship with Patrick had not been a secret; they'd had their share of PDA moments in the months they'd been together. And this part was true, at least: If she'd told the police the first time he'd hit her, maybe he wouldn't have had the opportunity to blow up the scrapyard. That was on her.
Which was maybe why, after a month, she went there. She'd been avoiding even walking by the place for the past four weeks, but today she went to the scrapyard and looked down at the scorch marks on the ground. It was something tangible, proof of the damage Patrick had done like her bruises that had faded. And the fact that it made her feel so much just pissed her off more.
It was a scrapyard, so it wasn't exactly difficult for her to find something to throw. "Fuck you!" she yelled, and hit a tree with a piece of metal. So much for keeping her emotions bottled up.
She'd had a lot of time to think since then. First it was worrying over what would happen when he got out - but that didn't matter, in the end. Patrick had never been released... he was just gone. But even after, she hadn't exactly felt like being around people at all - and that had gone doubly so while her face had still been black and blue. Now she looked like herself; she just didn't feel like herself. Which just made her hate Patrick even more. What had he done to her?
The worst part was, deep down inside, she missed him - or she missed the man she thought he'd been. And she felt like everyone knew, and irrational as it was, that maybe they blamed her somehow. Her relationship with Patrick had not been a secret; they'd had their share of PDA moments in the months they'd been together. And this part was true, at least: If she'd told the police the first time he'd hit her, maybe he wouldn't have had the opportunity to blow up the scrapyard. That was on her.
Which was maybe why, after a month, she went there. She'd been avoiding even walking by the place for the past four weeks, but today she went to the scrapyard and looked down at the scorch marks on the ground. It was something tangible, proof of the damage Patrick had done like her bruises that had faded. And the fact that it made her feel so much just pissed her off more.
It was a scrapyard, so it wasn't exactly difficult for her to find something to throw. "Fuck you!" she yelled, and hit a tree with a piece of metal. So much for keeping her emotions bottled up.