The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets as Marceline walked home after a fruitless day of job hunting. She had tried to shake off the weight of her recent firing, but it clung to her like a heavy fog. With every step, her thoughts spiraled deeper into despair, her mind racing with worries about the future and how they would make ends meet.
She pulled her jacket tighter around herself, feeling the chill of the evening air seep in. A small part of her was grateful for the distraction of the bustling city, but it did little to silence the storm brewing inside her.
As she turned onto a quieter side street, she felt a sense of unease creeping in. The alleyway was dimly lit, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It was then that she noticed a figure lurking in the shadows, his eyes glinting with something dark.
"Hey, pretty girl," he called out, his voice dripping with malice. "Got a moment?"
Marceline's heart raced as she felt a rush of fear. "I'm not interested," she said, quickening her pace, but he stepped into her path, blocking her way.
"C'mon, don't be like that," he taunted, a menacing grin spreading across his face. "Just hand over your bag, and we can forget this ever happened."
Adrenaline surged through her as she prepared to defend herself. "Get away from me!" she shouted, her voice shaking but filled with determination. She took a step back, ready to fight if she had to.
But the man lunged at her, faster than she anticipated. She struggled, trying to break free, but his grip was like iron. In a desperate move, she swung her arm, connecting with his face. For a moment, she felt a rush of empowerment—but it was short-lived.
The man retaliated, his expression turning cold as he pulled out a knife. "You shouldn't have done that," he hissed, and before she could react, he lunged forward.
Time seemed to freeze as pain erupted in her side, sharp and consuming. She gasped, looking down to see the crimson stain spreading across her shirt. In an instant, everything faded, the world blurring around her as she collapsed to the ground.
Back at the apartment, Ruin was anxiously pacing the small living room. Hours had passed since Marceline left, and the knot in her stomach had grown tighter with each tick of the clock. She picked up her phone, about to text Marceline when the door swung open, revealing a police officer standing on the threshold.
Ruin's heart dropped at the sight of the officer's grave expression. "Are you Ruin?" he asked, his voice heavy with sadness.
"Y-Yes. Where's Marceline?" she stammered, panic rising in her chest.
"I'm sorry," the officer said, his voice breaking slightly. "There was an incident. Your partner... she's been attacked. I'm afraid she didn't make it."
The words hit Ruin like a freight train, her breath catching in her throat. "What? No! This can't be happening!" She staggered back, her vision swimming as memories of her childhood rushed back—memories of watching her friend die in a terrorist attack, the horror etched into her mind forever. The image of blood splattering, the screams echoing around her.
"No! Not again! Not her!" Ruin screamed, collapsing to the floor as the weight of grief crushed her. The room felt like it was closing in, the walls pressing down on her as the memories flooded back—the helplessness, the overwhelming despair.
She had promised herself she would never go through that kind of pain again, but here she was, faced with another loss. The world around her blurred as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Marcy... no, no, no," she sobbed, the weight of loss suffocating her.
As the officer tried to offer words of comfort, Ruin couldn't hear him. She was trapped in a whirlwind of anguish, spiraling into a darkness she feared she might never escape. The thought of losing Marceline, the love of her life, felt like a betrayal of everything they had fought for.
Once again, she was left to grapple with the void left by a loved one, the dark thoughts creeping back in like an unwelcome visitor.
Days passed in a haze, the world outside her window continuing to turn while Ruin remained paralyzed by grief. She moved through her days like a ghost, her mind clouded with memories of Marceline—the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled.
In the silence of their apartment, the echoes of their shared life haunted her. The little things—the half-eaten takeout, the unmade bed—served as constant reminders of Marceline's absence. The weight of her loss became unbearable, a crushing heaviness that threatened to swallow her whole.
One night, sitting alone in their dimly lit living room, Ruin lit a cigarette, her hands shaking as she inhaled the smoke, hoping it would numb the pain. She thought of the conversations they'd had about life and death, about fighting their demons together. But now, without Marceline, the fight felt pointless.
"Why did you have to go?" she whispered into the emptiness, the tears falling unchecked. "I can't do this without you."
The darkness wrapped around her like a shroud, the familiar temptation of escape pulling at her. She felt like she was standing on the edge of an abyss, the deep void calling to her, promising relief from the pain that consumed her.
But even in her darkest moments, a small part of her clung to the love they had shared, a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness.
She could still hear Marceline's voice in her mind, urging her to keep fighting, to hold on.
And so, she stayed. But the pain was relentless, a reminder of what she had lost, and she was left wondering how she would ever find a way to heal.
