Hellcat

Chapter 64

Seven Months Later...

It was still strange standing in front of the door to apartment 6A. Painful, honestly. But I stood there anyway. Even though I had the keys in my hands, I still knocked. I hesitated; fist raised. Why do I still knock? Something in me said that I had to. This place was still his. It would never be mine. I didn't want it to be mine because it was his. So, I knocked. A part of me still hoped for a response even though I knew there wouldn't be one. There never was one. There never would be again.

Unlocking the door, I stepped right on a pile of mail. Sighing to myself, I crouched down and gathered it up, looking through the bills and junk mail as I kicked the door closed behind me, heading into the living room. On the coffee table were piles of even more mail – bills and junk that I needed to sort through. Setting the new mail down to join the old, I rubbed my hands over my arms. It was cold in here. Heading to the heater, I felt the air around it. Nothing. I tried to fiddle with it and see if it would turn on, but it didn't. "Shit," I sighed under my breath.

The closet under the stairs caught my eyes as I pushed some hair back from my face. I couldn't stop my feet from pulling me closer to it. Even though I knew what was inside, I still felt drawn to it. I still felt that weird string tugging at my heart that made me have to look anyway, just in case something was different. In case something new was there. But there never was.

Damn it, Allison, stop! I practically had to shout at myself as I stepped up to the doors of the closet. My hands rested on the wood, begging me to open it. But I couldn't. Pressing my forehead to the doors, I closed my eyes against the pain and bit my lip to help me focus. I knew what was inside. Why I thought that would ever change was a mystery. He was gone. The suit was gone. The only thing left in that closet was the empty chest he used to store it in.

I remembered a night long ago where I had come here. It was another rough night. One where I drank so much that I barely made it into the bed. One where I drank so much that I puked my guts up the next morning. And then I did it again. I always did it again, until Karen and Foggy talked to me. That night, I had cried in the middle of the bedroom. That night, it all came crashing down around me. Before, I could pretend it wasn't real. Before, I could block it out with constant booze and partying. And then I couldn't.

I knew they were right. He would want me to live. He would want me to keep fighting. He wouldn't want me to hold on to a ghost. And yet, a part of me couldn't let go. So that night I cried and made a pact with myself. Try to live. Try to move on with my life.

There were still rough times. Days when I wanted everything to stop. Moments when I wished I had stayed dead. Death. Who knew it would be easier than living? Well, at least it was easier than living with a piece of me missing.

Death was dark and cold and lonely. I had been completely alone. No one was around. It was just me. Now, when I felt lonely, I was still surrounded by people. Honestly, that's worse – being surrounded by friends and still feeling alone. Knowing that the people who cared didn't know just how bad it hurt. How every moment was punctuated with an ache that never fully faded. Sometimes I could forget about it, but it was never gone.

Huffing out a heavy sigh, I pushed off of the doors to the closet and headed up the wooden stairs. Maybe the breeze would clear my head. I always thought that. It never did, but I always hoped. Even as I stood out there now, cold wind smacking against my face, I could only imagine the last cold night I had been here. That felt like a lifetime ago. In truth, it was almost a year ago. He and I were standing on the edge of this building, talking about how we thought Elektra was good. How she would make it with our help. How we would take on the Hand – and the world – just the two of us.