Hello, From the Other Side

Hello, It's Me

It was quiet.

Not the deadly kind of quiet that precedes an earth-shaking storm, nor the kind that you note in horror movies, where it always seems to be followed by the killer making his next bloody score. This was a peaceful quiet.

However serene this type of silence was, there was always that little voice in Lex's head now that whispered for her to be alert. Ever since the incident ("accident", as the news reports had deemed it) on Bouvetoya Island, this little voice had been constant. It spoke to her in the most un-assuming of times, always reminding her to watch herself. It was rather embaressing at times; especially in front of other people. Going all Amazon-warrior-lady, her eyes scanning every surface, her spine going rigid... It was definitely a way to leave an impression, though not necesarrily one that she would've preferred. She knew it wasn't schizophrenia; she didn't need a doctor to tell her that. Rather, it was a form of post-traumatic stress disorder - a constant survival instinct that, one year later, she still couldn't seem to shake. But then again, the news reports hadn't known the full extent of what had happened, hadn't seen the things she saw. What had occured on Bouvetoya Island was no mere accident.

Who could blame her for being paranoid? She had every right, as the therapist had told her, to feel the way she did. She didn't want this right. She wanted to feel normal again. Wanted to worry about paying her electric bill on time, about what she was going to wear on a date, about what she was going to have for dinner. Not about whether or not there would be a monster lurking around the corner in the hallway of her house, waiting to drag her off into the darkness.

Lex Woods crunched through the snow up the walkway of her little cubby in the forest. The heavy grocery bag in her right hand was nearly weighing her down, as her left hand searched for her house key in her coat pocket. Her fingers found the familiar ridges of a Pepsi-Cola bottlecap, and she knew the key would come out with the cap should she pull the string. She had turned the bottlecap necklace into a makeshift keychain, and it served its purpose as both a practical asset and a memoir.

She inserted the key into the lock on her front door, giving a small smile at the thought of her friend, Sebastian. In the few hours they'd been friends, they'd come to know each other better than she knew most of her female friends she'd been in the company of for years. In an instinctive, survival situation though, it was easy to get to know someone on a deeper level; whether they were a runner or a fighter, how well they did under pressure, how deeply they let their fear affect them.

Stepping inside her house, Lex stomped the snow off of her boots, and gently pushed the door shut. All of the main lights were on in her house, creating a bright, warm atmosphere. Since the incident, Lex had a hard time walking into a completely dark room. She'd taken to leaving lights on even when she wasn't home, just in case she came back after dark, so she wouldn't have to step into the shadows to try and find the lightswitch. She hadn't been kidding about wanting to worry about paying her electric bill - it was more often then not a little outrageous for someone who lived by themself.

Hanging up the bottle cap on the key hook next to her door, she took a moment to study the familiar logo etched on the surface of the cap. Remembering the sardonic way Sebastian had explained how he found it, she gave another small smile. That was a good sign. It had taken her a long time to think about him without crying.

Lex toed her boots off, nudging them with a sock-clad foot over onto the floor mat so they could dry. Heaving the bag of groceries up, she carried it over towards the brightly lit kitchen area while stripping off her winter skins with her free hand. She left her coat on the back of an armchair, along with her hat, scarf, and gloves. Before Bouvetoya, she never would have left it laying around. She was a meticulous person - especially about her space. She kept things very tidy and neat. While her home was still clean, even now, she had stopped caring about little things such as leaving her coat on a chair. Things like that didn't really phase her now, it seemed.