fic ][ it's hard enough to live so far away
{Something Rift-AU I think. Not binding. IDK. Just writing.}
It took her a long time to accept where she was, and every day she fought to go back. She wanted to go home. Not to Boston, but to Chicago. Chicago, that Chicago, was home. That was where people cared about her and wanted her, that was where she was happy, and she wanted to go home.
The place she was suddenly in wasn't good, and it wasn't anything like home. It was dark, and it did things to her. It made her think about things she didn't want to think about, and it made her start to forget. It was small things at first, like the coffee shop that made really good hot chocolate, and the guy that worked there who always gave her extra whipped cream. She forgot about her favorite tree and the way Grant Park looked as the sun went down. Then she forgot that Grant Park even had a name.
There were monsters there that were nothing like the ones in Chicago, because you couldn't see them. You felt them. Like heavy walls pushing in on you from either side, wanting to crush you between. They whispered things in your ear, things you didn't want to hear or think about, things you tried to bury in the past.
And the people there, they weren't her friends. They weren't kind or welcoming, and there was no special shelter for people like her. She found an abandoned squat that reminded her of the storage unit she called home for so long back in Boston, another lifetime ago. She made it her own. Made it her sanctuary. Outside of that place was a dark and cold world, but inside was hers.
She tended to stay in there for days at a time. She would go out and find food and other rations that she needed, and she'd use her best skills to get them. It didn't take long before she stopped seeing the disapproving stare that she knew she would get back in Chicago. Not long before she stopped thinking about the people that did the things she did, as they would sometimes come to mind with every pocket she picked and every apple she stole.
All of those faces, the names, were just blurs somewhere in the back of her mind. The better she knew them, the blurrier they got. Sometimes the ghost of one of them crept into her thoughts, and she had to stop and think hard to remember their voice or their face. Most of the time it never came. Still the ache of missing all of those people, that place, throbbed in her heart. It was home, she knew it was home, and even if she couldn't remember it completely she missed it.
Then one day she met someone, someone like herself. Someone who fell into the dark and didn't belong. Sure there were others like them around, but none that admitted to it. None that showed themselves. Most of them had already changed anyway, already given in and turned into something that fit better into that world. It couldn't be denied that she was changing too, acclimating even, but she was still herself. A piece of her was still fighting.
His name was Garrett and he didn't like to talk about where he was from. There was something about him that struck her memory, something that she knew she should be able to pinpoint, but she couldn't. He reminded her of someone and she didn't know who.
She found him on one of the days that she crept out. She hadn't eaten in two days because she'd been waiting for the sirens to stop. She didn't know what had set them off, but they were loud and they sang all over town. When they sounded the real monsters were out on foot. They looked human, they carried weapons like a human, and at first glance she had confused them for cops, but they weren't. While she never was a big fan of cops, at least most were humane on some level. She knew they were called The Brigade, and she knew that if they sensed her as an Intruder they'd shoot her on the spot. "Intruder" being the name penned for people like her. People who fell through the Rift into this place where they didn't belong, and weren't welcome. They all lived in hiding, creeping around just as much as needed to find food and shelter and somewhere to wait out their stay in this world. The things she did know, the terms, came only from listening to others talk. Locals, other Intruders. And it really only took so long for Intruders to find their way into becoming locals and blending in so deep that they no longer remembered any other way. She didn't want to be that way, though. She didn't want to blend and stay, so she didn't trust anyone or talk to anyone unless she had to.
Until she met Garrett. She had just left the local market, and the knapsack on her back was filled as much as she could risk. A few apples, potatoes, molded bread that had been thrown into the trash. She had a few coins in her pocket that she'd managed to lift, but they wouldn't buy her much, especially if any shop realized she was an Intruder. He couldn't have fallen through the Rift too long before, because he still had that look. That confused and scared look that would get him shot if he wasn't careful. He knocked into someone and apologized, and something about his voice, the way it reminded her of a piece of her past, made her grab his arm and pull him into the alleyway.
He had tried to fight her, to argue, but she carefully explained to him the place they were in. He didn't want to believe her, and he tried to hard not to, but she knew. She knew he was scared. She had been there herself before. She didn't give up though, because something made her want to take care of him, and she really wished she remembered what that something was.
She was able to convince him to go back to the squat with her. She would never call it home, because it never would be. It was a place, just a place, and that's all she could let it be. She took Garrett in, she gave him water and a piece of bread, and she told him everything she knew about the world they were in. She told him that where they were at the moment was safe, and probably the only safe place he would find.
It was hours after she had brought him back, and the room was dark. There wasn't much point in wasting candlelight all of the time, so she didn't. She was curled up under a blanket and an old burlap sack, her head rested on a trash bag of leaves, and he was several feet away under a large jacket she had found once. She had wanted to offer him more for a bed, but it was all she had. She wasn't asleep, because she rarely slept anymore. She was watching the ceiling and trying to remember what the stars looked like where she was from. She vaguely remembered being on the roof of a building she had lived in...home, it was. She had felt safest and at home there more than anywhere she had ever lived, and she couldn't remember what it had been called. But she somewhat remembered the roof, and looking at the stars, and that night she was trying her hardest to remember how they had looked. His voice sounded in the room, and it made her jump. She still wasn't used to other voices there.
"You never did tell me your name," he said softly.
She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. There was a pause, a long pause, and her mouth closed. She blinked. She tried again to say it, but nothing came to mind. "I...don't remember," she whispered back. "No one's had any reason to use it since I've been here."
"And how long have you been here?"
She closed her eyes tightly and turned onto her side. Hot tears hit her cheeks, tears of being homesick and tired and scared, tears of not remembering all of the things she wanted to remember. "I don't remember," she whispered again.
It took her a long time to accept where she was, and every day she fought to go back. She wanted to go home. Not to Boston, but to Chicago. Chicago, that Chicago, was home. That was where people cared about her and wanted her, that was where she was happy, and she wanted to go home.
The place she was suddenly in wasn't good, and it wasn't anything like home. It was dark, and it did things to her. It made her think about things she didn't want to think about, and it made her start to forget. It was small things at first, like the coffee shop that made really good hot chocolate, and the guy that worked there who always gave her extra whipped cream. She forgot about her favorite tree and the way Grant Park looked as the sun went down. Then she forgot that Grant Park even had a name.
There were monsters there that were nothing like the ones in Chicago, because you couldn't see them. You felt them. Like heavy walls pushing in on you from either side, wanting to crush you between. They whispered things in your ear, things you didn't want to hear or think about, things you tried to bury in the past.
And the people there, they weren't her friends. They weren't kind or welcoming, and there was no special shelter for people like her. She found an abandoned squat that reminded her of the storage unit she called home for so long back in Boston, another lifetime ago. She made it her own. Made it her sanctuary. Outside of that place was a dark and cold world, but inside was hers.
She tended to stay in there for days at a time. She would go out and find food and other rations that she needed, and she'd use her best skills to get them. It didn't take long before she stopped seeing the disapproving stare that she knew she would get back in Chicago. Not long before she stopped thinking about the people that did the things she did, as they would sometimes come to mind with every pocket she picked and every apple she stole.
All of those faces, the names, were just blurs somewhere in the back of her mind. The better she knew them, the blurrier they got. Sometimes the ghost of one of them crept into her thoughts, and she had to stop and think hard to remember their voice or their face. Most of the time it never came. Still the ache of missing all of those people, that place, throbbed in her heart. It was home, she knew it was home, and even if she couldn't remember it completely she missed it.
Then one day she met someone, someone like herself. Someone who fell into the dark and didn't belong. Sure there were others like them around, but none that admitted to it. None that showed themselves. Most of them had already changed anyway, already given in and turned into something that fit better into that world. It couldn't be denied that she was changing too, acclimating even, but she was still herself. A piece of her was still fighting.
His name was Garrett and he didn't like to talk about where he was from. There was something about him that struck her memory, something that she knew she should be able to pinpoint, but she couldn't. He reminded her of someone and she didn't know who.
She found him on one of the days that she crept out. She hadn't eaten in two days because she'd been waiting for the sirens to stop. She didn't know what had set them off, but they were loud and they sang all over town. When they sounded the real monsters were out on foot. They looked human, they carried weapons like a human, and at first glance she had confused them for cops, but they weren't. While she never was a big fan of cops, at least most were humane on some level. She knew they were called The Brigade, and she knew that if they sensed her as an Intruder they'd shoot her on the spot. "Intruder" being the name penned for people like her. People who fell through the Rift into this place where they didn't belong, and weren't welcome. They all lived in hiding, creeping around just as much as needed to find food and shelter and somewhere to wait out their stay in this world. The things she did know, the terms, came only from listening to others talk. Locals, other Intruders. And it really only took so long for Intruders to find their way into becoming locals and blending in so deep that they no longer remembered any other way. She didn't want to be that way, though. She didn't want to blend and stay, so she didn't trust anyone or talk to anyone unless she had to.
Until she met Garrett. She had just left the local market, and the knapsack on her back was filled as much as she could risk. A few apples, potatoes, molded bread that had been thrown into the trash. She had a few coins in her pocket that she'd managed to lift, but they wouldn't buy her much, especially if any shop realized she was an Intruder. He couldn't have fallen through the Rift too long before, because he still had that look. That confused and scared look that would get him shot if he wasn't careful. He knocked into someone and apologized, and something about his voice, the way it reminded her of a piece of her past, made her grab his arm and pull him into the alleyway.
He had tried to fight her, to argue, but she carefully explained to him the place they were in. He didn't want to believe her, and he tried to hard not to, but she knew. She knew he was scared. She had been there herself before. She didn't give up though, because something made her want to take care of him, and she really wished she remembered what that something was.
She was able to convince him to go back to the squat with her. She would never call it home, because it never would be. It was a place, just a place, and that's all she could let it be. She took Garrett in, she gave him water and a piece of bread, and she told him everything she knew about the world they were in. She told him that where they were at the moment was safe, and probably the only safe place he would find.
It was hours after she had brought him back, and the room was dark. There wasn't much point in wasting candlelight all of the time, so she didn't. She was curled up under a blanket and an old burlap sack, her head rested on a trash bag of leaves, and he was several feet away under a large jacket she had found once. She had wanted to offer him more for a bed, but it was all she had. She wasn't asleep, because she rarely slept anymore. She was watching the ceiling and trying to remember what the stars looked like where she was from. She vaguely remembered being on the roof of a building she had lived in...home, it was. She had felt safest and at home there more than anywhere she had ever lived, and she couldn't remember what it had been called. But she somewhat remembered the roof, and looking at the stars, and that night she was trying her hardest to remember how they had looked. His voice sounded in the room, and it made her jump. She still wasn't used to other voices there.
"You never did tell me your name," he said softly.
She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. There was a pause, a long pause, and her mouth closed. She blinked. She tried again to say it, but nothing came to mind. "I...don't remember," she whispered back. "No one's had any reason to use it since I've been here."
"And how long have you been here?"
She closed her eyes tightly and turned onto her side. Hot tears hit her cheeks, tears of being homesick and tired and scared, tears of not remembering all of the things she wanted to remember. "I don't remember," she whispered again.