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Fuck South Dakota.
And fuck Gordon for dragging her here. She was done with all of this, she's been done with it for years. More than years. A fucking lifetime.
Diane drains the last of the vodka from the glass and waits for the bartender to fill it up again. She's been hard at it since she woke up this morning, but it's not like there's much else for her to be doing while the others are up to god knows what and she's left in this shitty hotel staring at cowboy kitsch and waiting to be needed again.
She sighs heavily and takes a sip from her newly topped up glass, tapping her fingernails along the rim.
Sleep hasn't exactly been easy to come by since Gordon and Albert dragged her along on this fucked up field trip. Not since she saw...him. Her brain recoils from the memory and she feels the nauseatingly familiar ice in her veins. All she wants to do is go home and forget it all, but part of her knows how unlikely it is that that will ever happen. That tiny, annoying part of her that never lets her completely delude herself no matter how hard she tries to drown it.
Finishing her drink again, she pushes the glass away and stands up for the first time in what feels like hours. She sways just a bit on her feet and realizes she's probably been at this for longer than she thought.
Checking her phone she sees it. 2:53.
"Jesus," she says under her breath. Definitely longer than she thought. Time for a little fresh air.
She nods at the bartender and grabs her purse, making her way to the bar exit that leads directly out onto the street. She's in absolutely no mood to be dealing with the hotel lobby and the possibility she might run into one of her FBI keepers.
Pushing the door open, she stumbles slightly on the small step down to the sidewalk and drops her pack of cigarettes. When she looks down to retrieve them she sees...sand?
It crunches under her feet as she turns around to find the bar gone. The hotel gone. Her breath comes hard and fast and she begins to shake uncontrollably, her knuckles gone white from her grip on her purse.
"No." She shakes her head and backs away from the spot where the door she'd just exited should have been. "No fucking way. No. Not again. I'm not doing this again."
Diane squeezes her eyes shut and tries to clear her head but it's like all the alarms in the world are going off at once and it would be impossible to think past the noise even if she wasn't completely losing her shit. Even if she was a lot more sober.
With a sob she drops down like her strings have been cut, ass landing hard in the sand next to the cigarettes she'd momentarily forgotten about. She taps one into her violently shaking hand and it takes a few tries before she can manage to get the lighter working, but the first drag helps. Mildly. So she just sits there, smoking, staring out into nothing because what the hell else was she supposed to do. Because she should have known this was how it would end the minute they showed up in her fucking living room asking her to remember all the things she'd never wanted to remember and pulling her right back into all their bullshit. She should have said she wouldn't go. She should have done a lot of things.
"Fuck."
And fuck Gordon for dragging her here. She was done with all of this, she's been done with it for years. More than years. A fucking lifetime.
Diane drains the last of the vodka from the glass and waits for the bartender to fill it up again. She's been hard at it since she woke up this morning, but it's not like there's much else for her to be doing while the others are up to god knows what and she's left in this shitty hotel staring at cowboy kitsch and waiting to be needed again.
She sighs heavily and takes a sip from her newly topped up glass, tapping her fingernails along the rim.
Sleep hasn't exactly been easy to come by since Gordon and Albert dragged her along on this fucked up field trip. Not since she saw...him. Her brain recoils from the memory and she feels the nauseatingly familiar ice in her veins. All she wants to do is go home and forget it all, but part of her knows how unlikely it is that that will ever happen. That tiny, annoying part of her that never lets her completely delude herself no matter how hard she tries to drown it.
Finishing her drink again, she pushes the glass away and stands up for the first time in what feels like hours. She sways just a bit on her feet and realizes she's probably been at this for longer than she thought.
Checking her phone she sees it. 2:53.
"Jesus," she says under her breath. Definitely longer than she thought. Time for a little fresh air.
She nods at the bartender and grabs her purse, making her way to the bar exit that leads directly out onto the street. She's in absolutely no mood to be dealing with the hotel lobby and the possibility she might run into one of her FBI keepers.
Pushing the door open, she stumbles slightly on the small step down to the sidewalk and drops her pack of cigarettes. When she looks down to retrieve them she sees...sand?
It crunches under her feet as she turns around to find the bar gone. The hotel gone. Her breath comes hard and fast and she begins to shake uncontrollably, her knuckles gone white from her grip on her purse.
"No." She shakes her head and backs away from the spot where the door she'd just exited should have been. "No fucking way. No. Not again. I'm not doing this again."
Diane squeezes her eyes shut and tries to clear her head but it's like all the alarms in the world are going off at once and it would be impossible to think past the noise even if she wasn't completely losing her shit. Even if she was a lot more sober.
With a sob she drops down like her strings have been cut, ass landing hard in the sand next to the cigarettes she'd momentarily forgotten about. She taps one into her violently shaking hand and it takes a few tries before she can manage to get the lighter working, but the first drag helps. Mildly. So she just sits there, smoking, staring out into nothing because what the hell else was she supposed to do. Because she should have known this was how it would end the minute they showed up in her fucking living room asking her to remember all the things she'd never wanted to remember and pulling her right back into all their bullshit. She should have said she wouldn't go. She should have done a lot of things.
"Fuck."
