Rosemary Fanfic

Rose

   I wake up with a start, and I don't know where I am. My thoughts seem muffled, somehow. A vague and persistent voice in the back of my mind says that I should care, but for some reason I don't. Why is that? The corners of my mouth turn downwards as I bite my lip in concentration.
   There is a sharp burn in my mouth, and I see an empty glass next to me on the ground. Have I been drinking? I furrow my brow. It seems likely, all things considered. Maybe I'll have another. That is probably not a good idea, but if I stop I'll start to remember. I tilt my head thoughtfully. Now why is that such a horrifying idea?
   I glance around the small room I'm in, taking in the shelves of bottles filled with alcohol. Why am I in my mom's pantry? Where is she?
   There is a sharp pain in my stomach as everything comes rushing back. I double over on the ground, tears running down my face. I desperately grab at the bottle of vodka by my side and pour some shakily into my glass.
   I giggle a little as some splashes over onto my hand. Just like Mom would have.
   Just like Mom would still be doing if he hadn't hit her with his car.
   Did I even say goodbye when I left for school or did yet another of our mornings get wasted in a tense silence?
   I can't remember. I giggle again, shaking as it turns to sobs that rack my body. I feel weightless.
   I wonder if I could fly...
   The bottle slips out of my hand as I consider that. There is a pleasant sound as it hits the ground and shatters, almost like bells. It's nice.
   I take another one from the shelf, disregarding the cold liquid that is all over my skirt and the broken glass that cuts my hand with a sharp sting.
   Something raw and painful fills me. The police called me almost two hours after I had returned home. I had been confused by her absence, but not terribly alarmed. She often wanders away, sometimes for hours, and sometimes for days. I picked up the phone hoping that it might be Mom with another empty apology and no explanation.
  Witnesses say he laughed and called out his name as he drove away. Jack Noir. We are still trying to confirm that this is his real name and not an alias.
   A scream escapes my lips, horrible and unending.
   I called Kanaya, I think. I think I asked her to come. A small part of me worries about what she will think when she gets here, but mostly I want to sleep. It would be a welcome reprieve from the horrors in my mind, slowly taking me over.
   If I could think clearly I'd probably find my own reaction to Mom's death fascinating. As it stands I can only wonder vaguely why it's affecting me so much. I never felt a strong emotional attachment to her before her death, so why am I such a mess now?
   I sink back against the wall, bury my face in my arms, and cry.

   I struggle to my feet an hour and too many drinks later. For a moment my head swims, but then the world snaps into sharper focus than ever before. I can see everything with a bight clarity, the sparkling glass on the floor, the many rows of shelves, and the contrast between my red blood and the dark grey tone of my skin.
   There is only a moment spent considering what to do before I stalk out of the room. Revenge is a powerful motive. The darkness condenses into thorns around me, and for the first time in too long I feel powerful. There are shadows running through my veins and nobody will stand between me and Jack Noir. Nobody would dare.