![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jul. 12th, 2006 02:58 amIf she closes her eyes and sort of concentrates, she thinks she can remember exactly what Spike's voice sounds like when he says her name.
Those are the kind of thoughts that send her detouring to the nearest door to halfheartedly try it out before she does anything else.
If it ever worked, she wouldn't still be here.
Some people say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. She's never been in denial; what happened is all too real for that. She's been angry, yes, and she's silently entreated the doors to open to the bar despite feeling that it was a stupid thing to do.
Acceptance, though, is what's underlying everything. She accepted the plague really quickly because she had to. She accepted the strangeness of the bar after a few days because she had to. Not that she minded.
And she's accepted showing up here again because she's had to. It's just not happy acceptance.
It sucks, to understate like Spike. It sucks a whole fucking lot, and there's not much she can safely do here now but sleep, think, read, think, clean, try to fit three small meals into each day, think, get into the occasional staring contest with the Jesus on the cross above the altar (she always loses those), and allow herself some time out in the churchyard for a while after dark most nights.
This place has a great sound system, and every now and then, back before she met Yorick, she'd play music. CDs weren't exactly being looted with the same intensity that food and toiletries were for the first few weeks after the plague, but once Beth settled here and discovered the sound system, she took some for herself.
It gets tempting sometimes to turn everything on and up and play something like Sympathy for the Devil to break the hush in here.
Now she just can't let herself take the chance.
Those are the kind of thoughts that send her detouring to the nearest door to halfheartedly try it out before she does anything else.
If it ever worked, she wouldn't still be here.
Some people say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. She's never been in denial; what happened is all too real for that. She's been angry, yes, and she's silently entreated the doors to open to the bar despite feeling that it was a stupid thing to do.
Acceptance, though, is what's underlying everything. She accepted the plague really quickly because she had to. She accepted the strangeness of the bar after a few days because she had to. Not that she minded.
And she's accepted showing up here again because she's had to. It's just not happy acceptance.
It sucks, to understate like Spike. It sucks a whole fucking lot, and there's not much she can safely do here now but sleep, think, read, think, clean, try to fit three small meals into each day, think, get into the occasional staring contest with the Jesus on the cross above the altar (she always loses those), and allow herself some time out in the churchyard for a while after dark most nights.
This place has a great sound system, and every now and then, back before she met Yorick, she'd play music. CDs weren't exactly being looted with the same intensity that food and toiletries were for the first few weeks after the plague, but once Beth settled here and discovered the sound system, she took some for herself.
It gets tempting sometimes to turn everything on and up and play something like Sympathy for the Devil to break the hush in here.
Now she just can't let herself take the chance.
