The Gift

Chapter 10

Lena slams her apartment door closed and leans heavily against it, breathing in short, sharp bursts that does nothing to appease her aching lungs. Panic grips her chest as she slides down the door, her knees tucked close to her body as she sniffles into them. Her mind seems to be at war with itself, new memories slamming into old ones and struggling to shift into place. Her brain feels muddled, like a jigsaw piece lodged somewhere it doesn't belong.

A migraine settles behind her eyes, the early morning sun much too bright as it filters through the blinds. Standing up to close them is a monumental task for her exhausted mind and body, and Lena braces herself against the furniture as she walks. She feels like she's been hit by a truck, not unsimilar to her worst hangover, but without the initial pleasure of indulgence.

Lena closes the blinds and hits the couch like a rock, tucking herself into a ball as fresh tears leak from her eyes. The new memories are jarring, confusing. It all happened just last night, but her mind pretends it was years ago, and Lena struggles to make any sense of it. Her childhood was awful. Lena knows that, she remembers that. When she was five years old she'd had her worst Christmas ever, and yet the details are gone from her mind, replaced by a new version. A happy version.

Hugs, presents, a trip to see Santa, it all fits inside her mind so perfectly, but it doesn't belong there. Anger from her alcoholic father is replaced with candy canes sneakily gifted by Kara, the formal party the Luthors always hosted erased by a game night with hot chocolate and laughter. Her first happy Christmas, something she always craved, and yet Lena is mortified.

The thought of her former best friend and her family taking care of her makes Lena never want to leave her apartment again. They all promised her that they'd love her forever, that she'd be their family no matter what, but Lena struggles to believe it. It's easy to make those promises to a child, cute and innocent with no baggage dragging behind her.

She sniffles and wipes her nose on the back of her hand, forcing herself back to her feet. Everything in the apartment is how she left it, but it's been cleaned recently. There's a strong scent of pine in the air, not what the cleaning company she hires would usually use, and Lena realizes that it was most likely Eliza. It makes her heart pinch, and Lena leans heavily against her kitchen counter with her eyes squeezed closed.

Lena likes Eliza, everyone does, but the strong, almost overwhelming attachment she has to her is new. Her hand twitches with the urge to call her, to thank her for everything, to even just hear her voice, but Lena won't do it. She can't do it. Eliza could so easily have changed her mind, could have been lying to her little self to comfort her, and Lena can't risk the rejection.

She's holding on by a thread that's already stretched thin, being turned away now would surely cause it to snap.

Lena sighs, slapping her hand against the counter and ignoring the ache it leaves in her palm. She grabs her untouched scotch and pours herself a generous measure. Lena takes a deep pull, draining the glass in one go before refilling it. It does nothing to numb the pain and confusion, but, then again, it rarely does these days.

She grabs the glass and heads out to her balcony, sullenly staring down at the people below. Lena's jealous, bitterly so, as she watches them all live their lives, happy and laughing. She swallows thickly, her vision blurring with fresh tears as a young child passes down below, hand in hand with her parents and skipping along between them.

The scotch doesn't even begin to take the edge off as Lena sips at it, forearms resting on the balcony wall as she clutches it in both hands. The pain she can handle, the embarrassment, too, but the longing is too much. The longing for a family that isn't even hers, the aching need to rush straight back to Kara's apartment, her heart pleading to back amongst them all - it's too much.