Chapter Text
With Danny Lawrence gone, the studio apartment was half-empty and devoid of noise, save for the quiet sobbing emanating from the master bedroom. The cramped space was sparsely furnished, with a bed, desk and chair. The walls remained decorated with photo collages featuring the now-separated couple that neither party had the heart to take down, a testament to the past. It would take much more than a cursory glance to notice the figure huddled underneath the blankets, clinging to a baseball shirt that Danny left behind.
Two weeks ago, Danny walked out of that front door for the last time. What few dishes Laura had managed to use stayed piled in the sink. She had not changed her clothing or bathed since her girl—ex-girlfriend left, and she slept the hours away as much as was humanly possible. The waking hours were the darkest. One year and six months wasted, Laura whispered to herself repeatedly. All that time, down the drain. As she lay on her bed of torment, other memories relentlessly assaulted her. Losing her mother crippled her years ago, and she never quite came to terms with it. The pain floated to the surface facilely, as though it were a bubble of air in a murky lake.
Every day was the same, had been the same. First and foremost, she’d resolutely ignore all calls except her father’s. She’d speak to him in clipped sentences, feigning keeping busy and answering in a falsely cheerful tone. She could not drag herself out of bed for class, and stubbornly pretended to have no commitments. She knew she would be unable to pay this month’s rent in its entirety, and the shame of admitting that to herself fueled her self-hatred. Shame and self-hatred gave way to self-injury with the razor she kept in her nightstand ‘for emergencies’. Her arms, thighs and stomach were covered in makeshift bandages and betadine stains. She fastidiously cleaned her own injuries, and had even stitched a particularly severe laceration to her anterior left thigh with a makeshift curved needle and thin cotton thread.
The cut she stitched herself seemed to mend at first, but as the skin knit together, it grew redder and hotter with each passing day. By the fifth day, when her forehead grew hot and she was soaked by sweat, Laura was sure something had gone horribly wrong. She slipped in and out of consciousness with no control. She had no qualms about what was happening to her body. Her dim awareness that gangrene might develop and death might result from a high enough fever was not enough to overpower her inability to care. She was drowning in her mental illness. She only feared being caught.
She had not forced Danny to return her copy of the key. More than anything, this was what Laura came to regret. Laura Hollis never hated the world more than when Danny stepped quietly through the front door. It was the middle of the day on a Tuesday, and Danny expected to be able to slip in unnoticed while Laura was in class. The first thing Danny noticed was the stagnant air, the piled messes of dishes and clothing.
Despite all the signs evident during their fights, Danny was completely, blissfully unaware of the ticking time bomb that was Laura’s depression.
It would have been an easy mistake to make, missing that Laura was there. Indeed, Danny’s eyes almost passed directly over Laura’s shivering form under the blankets when she entered the bedroom. The only hint Danny had was the tiny gasp Laura emitted when her eyes opened and she was lifted from her state of half-consciousness.
Weak and delirious, Laura struggled to sit up, opening old cuts that had been slow to heal and sending droplets of blood through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. She dragged the dead weight of her left thigh to the right, attempting to swing her legs off of the bed. Laura saw that the once-deep injury to her thigh was now a grisly, oozing mix of purple, red, and yellow. The effort was too much, and Laura’s body listed to the right side as she lost consciousness once more. At first, Danny thought she was having a hallucination, perhaps brought on by the lack of sleep whilst staying in the hotel. Surely, this tiny, broken thing was not her Laura.
Danny’s heart fell through her stomach to her toes.
Laura wasn’t hers anymore.
The cold reality of that fact did nothing to stop her from cradling her ex’s body in her arms while she fumbled to dial 911. “Laura, Laura, no. No. No.” As she shook Laura’s shoulders, the staccato mantra issued from Danny’s lips, feeling more grave, more important than any other words she’d ever repeated. She had no time to blame herself. She had time only to act.
Danny’s cell landed on the hall carpet, and after freezing for a fraction of a second, she left it there. She was going to take matters into her own hands. Forgetting that moving an injured victim can often cause more internal harm, Danny panicked. She sprinted outside carrying Laura fireman-style, easing the tiny girl’s limp form into the backseat of the station wagon they once shared. The trashed cream-colored vehicle pulled away from the curb so quickly that the nearly treadless tires squealed. Dead-eyed, with tears streaming down her face and blood on her hands, Danny drove. It was all she could do to stay within five miles per hour above the speed limit.