Bound in black leather and wrapped with red ties, a journal was littered with aged pages and bits of memories written down in brief moments of lucidity. Few entries were dated and almost every sheet was spotted with stains. It was a fitting homage to a woman who had scars etched into her skin, etched into her muscles, and etched into her mind.

Cash asked me once who would be there for me when I finally break down. Normally, I would say that it was a line that most use on chicks just to get them into the sack. Or maybe something used to get me to just open up further and let him inside, which I did. So I fell for it, and I don't really know why I did.

I think because as much as I try to hide it, persistence actually does wear me down. I can show stranger's faces to my walls and they most of the time just give up and say I'm not worth the trouble. Which really, I'm thankful for.

But Cash was persistent. And I'm not sure why. We didn't have sex but a few times, hell I wouldn't be surprised if he thought that I was a frigid b*tch in that department. Maybe he just wanted to prove (to himself maybe) that he could break me down to the pieces of the woman that were still left. To the end though, I felt like he wasn't so pleased with the pieces that I was breaking to. Could be that was why everything was dumped in a flash.

He was quick to point out that he didn't think that I had anyone though, except him and Nonno. Easily reminding myself of this, and it wasn't so hard to get over what we tried to have together. We weren't perfect together, and I know once he told me that we were. It just shows me how well he didn't ever know me.

I opened up to Tony faster than I did to him. Cash thought that I was completely alone in the world; he never bothered to realize that I actually have friends.



Friends, I like that word. And I hope that they don't mind me calling them that.

I think I'm growing soft.

No, rather I know that I'm growing soft. I feel the jagged edges of my shoulders sloping down to a freshly exfoliated curve. The harshness in my voice is blending into just something that's more saucy than stern. I don't dare show my eyes because I'm positive they'd give away my fate. The pupils do some crazy stuff you know?

I know that people are starting to wonder. People who'll say they know me. And they do, to a point. At least to the point I'd ever let anyone know me. Soon they're going to ask why the change. What's causing it. Why are you being....nice Jessica? Are you actually trying to protect me? You care about something? Anything? A friend? You...have friends?

I've been able to keep away from emotions for so long, fighting the battle and been winning until he wandered in that diner again. I wonder if he knows that I've been avoiding him? I'm going to lose the battle completely. I know it. He'll stand in victory while I keep trying to hide my face because I won't want to admit it.

I was almost polite today. Social. And for the second time in twenty four hours, did something nice. For the same person. I helped. Once by being asked and once all on my own.

Zeke found me in the alley a few nights ago. I?m not even sure if I was released or I broke out even. I don?t know if I?m ready to snap, or who I killed even, if anyone. I don?t have any memory of what happened really prior to when he found me. I heard his voice calling me back and felt a tug on my dog tags.

Beyond that? I don?t know. Everything always just comes back in disjointed pieces if at all. I can never really tell what is reality or a memory. What was forced upon me or what I decided on my own to do.

He thought I was dead, or dying he said. Only managed to figure out that it wasn?t my blood all over me and my clothes after I got cleaned up some. Blood, gore and grime all spiraled down the drain and all that remained were a few bruises and fresh scars. And me, more or less. What pieces there are left.

Somewhere through the change of clothes and Chinese food I started to come around. Good thing is that Zeke didn?t really ask too many questions. Not sure what I could have told him anyway. But I can tell that he?s concerned. If only to be sure that I wasn?t about to go on a stabbing rampage throughout the city.

It kind of makes sense, right? That a smoke jumper like him would be the only one crazy or able to put out the fires that rage inside me. Guess it?s true what they say. We?d never leave one of our own behind.

I woke up cold. Freezing even in a cold sweat. I don?t know what that $%#@&*%& injected into me; it?s already filtered its way into my bloodstream, into my organs. I?m trying to monitor what I can between blackouts, but I?ve already lost a couple of days since the injection. At least, that?s what I?m guessing based off the coloration of the bruises on my knuckles and wrists.

I considered trying to do a biopsy of my liver myself, to see if I could identify what it was, but no. I mean, that?s crazy right? Or is it crazier to wait and see what happens? To see what I end up doing? To see if it?s something that I can control?

Staying locked up in my lab sounds like a good idea.

And if I die in here, least I can claim that I didn?t kill anyone on my way out to the afterlife.

Unless I can enter the access code to open the doors when I?m ---

It?s strange to think that even I?ve been through my fair share of lovers in this messed up town. As much as I constantly try to push everyone back and away from me, there?s always the crazy few that dare to try to get close.

Cash, Frank, Dante ?Hell, even Roman tried to chase me to get me to go back to him. At some point, I loved each of them. As best as I could I guess. All four of them tried to change me. A couple of them even succeeded ?for better or worse depending on how you look at it.

But Michael?

No.

People say he?s crazy, hell he probably believes it himself. But he?s not. Not to me.

It?s the first time where a man has loved all of me and hasn?t made any attempt to change me, to "fix" me. He simply accepts me for what I am, whether that?s good or bad. He hasn?t said that, but I see it in his eyes.

How long will I stay with him because of that?

Till the casket drops Michael.

If you ever read this, I?m in it till the casket drops.

Some days it seems as though the lily grows, blossoms and blooms underneath the incandescent light. I know that?s not really true since it?s made of glass and not alive. It seemed like such a strange and unexpected gift once. I know more than a few were surprised by it, questioning why a quiet drunk would give a grunting drug dealer such a thing.

I?m hardly virginal and pure. Not sweet or a refined type of beauty. Not innocent or demure. White is not a color that many would associate with me.

Hand blown glass, high artisanal work. If you hold the stem carefully and twirl it just so?

I can almost smell it, it looks so real.

People questioned why he would give me anything and what we were to each other. Not family. Not lovers or soul mates. Just friends?

It wasn?t a gift to subdue me. It wasn?t a peace offering or an attempt to buy my affection. Why not the heart of an ogre or head of a troll?

No, Desmond knew that I was still fond of simple things. And that the only flower fitting for me is one that belongs at a funeral.

I?ve been asked why I do it. Why I prowl through the night?s streets and tightly knit alleyways of the city. Why I find more peace and solace among the grim cobblestones between crumbling buildings and rusted iron bars.

To which I respond with:

You ever watch someone tie off their arm, teeth holding the end of the rubber wrapped around their arm, syringe in hand and injection slowly made? Waiting for that sweet blissful rush to kick in and take over? And then the warm sense of relaxation and security; the idea of protection; the dissipation of all fear, hunger, and anxiety sweeps over them. Nearly orgasmic the feeling is so ****ing intense. Their anger and frustration simply fading away like magic. Like a miracle. A ****ing miracle worker. That's what I am.

A miracle worker, but no saint.

Because when I can tell that their money runs dry? I give them one last free score. I was told once it was bad for business to kill off your clients. But they?re like cockroaches here. There will always be more.

And they know where to find me.

Just follow your nose.

( Cross posted from Broken Parts, Missing Pieces Prompt thread )

The Bear told me that we have a daughter. Rather, some form of us in a different dimension met and had a daughter. Instead of shoving his testicles far up enough to go through his nostrils and removing them, I agreed to meet her.

I don?t know why though.

I shouldn?t meet her.

I?m not whoever or whatever her actual mother was. If he wants to pretend that he?s her father, that?s his business. I can?t be a mother.

I destroy families. I don?t create them.

But maybe?.

Maybe it would still be okay to look at her from a distance. Make sure that she?s safe from things like me.