It was never easy to revisit memory lane. I don't care what kind of memories might be residential on your personal lane, it's never easy to revisit those houses. Even if my memories had not been tainted with macabre bits and pieces, I don't think it would be a place I truly wanted to visit. Almost like playing a board game and having to stop in the middle; when you begin to play again, it is never the same game, and it's never as fun as it was the first time. Memories aren't something you ever truly want to see again, either. It's one thing for them to lurk near the surface, unfortunately reachable to you in the river of your mind. It is another thing entirely for you to quite literally see them all over again. It is another thing completely, even more, that another can witness your memories through their spectral residue. It is another thing for another person to see the visible remnants of your past and it's side effects.

Oh, it's another thing entirely.

There is nothing human or inhuman on this earth that could have prepared me to share memories of that caliber with Serafina. Truthfully, there isn't anything within the universe that might have compelled me to allow another person to see the gruesome details of those memories at all. Their blood and gore were figments of my memory and they were carefully preserved there for my pitiful self-wallowing whenever I so chose. This safety of my memories was compromised at the hands of the (literal) skeletons in my closet, widening the door's gap for Serafina to look through and rifle through the bones. What she would find there was open to interpretation, though not without personal comments from the skeletons themselves. I could still hear the taunts from the headless boys ringing in my ears when sleep wouldn't come. Those words weren't meant for anyone's torment but my own, and it was cruel to both myself and Serafina that she should have experience with them. She shouldn't have had to be the target of their words. She shouldn't have been able to see them. The memories of the incidences in which I took their lives haunted me in the moments before sleep; and just when I thought I might fall into the arms of said relief, their faces swam back into view and I was left awake all night again.

If only it were their sallow faces and taunting words that haunted my existence alone.

But no. Accompanying the faces of the boys who held their heads in their arms like a child was the actual sound of an infant's cries. It was that sound that made me most uncomfortable. It was that sound that pulled my attention in public, and ran a shiver up my spine when I realized there was no baby in sight. How the discomfort grew. I had found no effective way to silence those cries when they were first audible to me nearly eleven years ago. I had no way to silence them now. As I always had when the din became too much, I fell into the arms of a drug that had never led me anywhere but to safety. Heroin wasn't hard for me to get my hands on, though I should have known better at this point. It wasn't like when Serena had first died, no. I just needed a moment's worth of silence and amber and patience and... Oh no, the moment had all but doubled and then suddenly it was 24 hours later and I was sweating out the remnants of the drug after an accidental overdose, curled up on the couch of my sister's neighbor who claimed some kind of proficiency with medical practices.

The first few days after relapse had always been crucial for me. Elenore had begun sleeping on my couch. Finley left his door open at night. It was impossible to explain to them that this wasn't a real relapse, it was only a momentary loss of strength and... What did I know? Elenore's kind words had been supported by Isolt, her neighbor, who more likely than not had demanded they watch over me. Like they had done, time, and time, and time before. I hadn't bothered to resist, or to even complain when Elenore asked me not to be alone while she was at work with Rowena. Finley, too, had work and therefore I was left to my own devices which meant stepping into Arsenaal where I had plenty of sharp objects to take out my discomfort on... Or into the company of Isolt and Damon. Surely the red-head would have mentioned to her vampire lover boy that I was on an HRSA (High Risk of Self Abuse) watch, but I found myself unable to be mad at her. After what Serafina had seen, I expected her to need someone to confide in. After speaking with Isolt about what had put me to the needle, I was fairly sure she'd need someone to confide in, too. At least her confidant was someone who might think my anger at the situation humorous and give me a target with two legs...

I digress.

The bar wasn't terribly crowded, fortunately for me. Instead of feigning some kind of disgust at the host as I typically might have, I slipped past her with a very minute nod of my head before finding myself an open seat at a far end of the bar to slip onto. Within moments I found a drink in front of me that was a familiar color amber; and with that, I found I was on my feet all too quickly and in the bathroom, losing my lunch in a graceless fashion. Probably a little pale did I return to my place at the bar.

"Could I have a water instead, please?" I requested quietly, my accent thicker and my voice a little hoarse. When the glass was handed to me, I gently sipped on it without taking a pause for a cigarette. No, that wouldn't help now. It had been with a pleasant surprise of ... thoughtfulness that I agreed to take a look at the legal documents of the establishment and offer to be a partner in the enterprise by investing. Now, equipped with water and an all too sober brain, I lowered my tired eyes to the words I couldn't care less about.