Frostbite

Alone

The streets of Kathmandu in the early morning were packed with people already, everyone too busy with their own lives to notice me. My hotel was only a few blocks away, and I wanted nothing more than to shower and go straight to sleep after being out all night. Not that it was the first time I had done that since arriving here.

I had been in Nepal for a month now. After I jumped from the raft, I had traversed the waters easily, propelling myself away from everyone and everything. I don't know how long I had been in the water before I had finally hit land. At the time it seemed like an eternity. I found myself on the shores of France and realized just how far from home I was. And how alone.

It was a quick decision that I made to keep traveling East. The more obscure the place, the least likely I'd be found. Preferably somewhere that didn't have an extradition treaty and the only one that came to mind was Nepal, but that was good enough for me. I traveled almost non-stop for a week. It was an exhausting trip, and I ended up staying in Kathmandu. It was easy to stay unseen in the sea of people that always filled the noisy streets.

Before leaving France, I had called Tony one last time. I assured him I was safe and that I would stay that way. He hated how things had ended up, by this was the only choice I had. I couldn't go back to that prison. I would never go back. Nightmares surrounding that place still kept me awake at night. Tony promised he'd only be a call away if needed and that was the last time we had spoken.

I quickly pulled all the money that I could from various accounts to get by. There was no way my accounts weren't being watched and I'd be tracked down if I kept using them. I wouldn't risk Tony sending anything. Though the cheap hotel I was staying in posed no threat in forcing me to spend it all.

After dark was when I preferred to go out; there were ever only two stops, though. The small market store down the way and the bar a few blocks from the hotel. I shouldn't have picked the drinking back up, but one drink had turned into several, and just one trip had turned into an every night occurrence. What else was a traumatized, heartbroken, ex-alcoholic, fugitive to do?

It wasn't like I had a purpose anymore. No mission, no job to be done, no family or friends, the only thing that kept me company was the constant reminder that I was utterly alone. Of course, that had been my choice, to go my own way, to separate from the others. The first week had been fine, it hadn't hit me yet, but once I reached my destination... the realization had hit me hard. The next week I had begun drowning in my own thoughts, and I knew I was going to go crazy in that room, so I made a trip to the closest bar. It never closed.

The desk clerk nodded to me as I finally entered the lobby and I headed straight down the narrow hall to my room. I sighed in relief when I entered and there was no one waiting for me in the open. Actually, I did have another friend keeping me company- paranoia. I leaned over and checked under the bed and scanned the closet and bathroom.

Once I was satisfied that no one was going to jump out at me, I hopped into the shower to hopefully wash the smell of booze from my skin and hair. My fingers went through the now short curls that barely brushed my shoulders, lathering the shampoo. The instant I had the chance after leaving France, I had chopped it as short as I could. I still refused to dye it; this was drastic enough. I had mourned over the hair as it fell to the floor when cutting it. It was dumb to be hung up over that, all things considered, but I had loved my long hair.

I quickly dried myself and changed into a pair of pajamas and crawled into bed. My thoughts began to drift as I laid there, and I found myself fiddling with the ring around my neck. The diamond was now on a silver chain and stayed there no matter what. I was terrified that I'd lose it, or it would be stolen if I left it in a drawer here instead. And in all the madness that had occurred while escaping the raft, I had forgotten to give it back to Steve. Idiot.

Part of me was glad I hadn't given it back though; it was comforting to have it with me. The only piece of home that I had now, even if it did make me think of my ex-fiancé more than I'd like. Every time he popped into my head the broiling anger followed close behind, but at the same time, I missed him, so damn much, but I stood by my decision.

I missed the others too, especially Wanda. In the last year of knowing her, I don't think there had been a day that went by that we hadn't talked. That was the only part of my decision I honestly regretted, leaving without even saying goodbye to her. I knew the others were taking care of her now and I just hoped they'd all stay out of trouble.

The thoughts eventually slowed, and I was able to finally drift off to sleep. And of course, with that came the nightmares. Nightmares that left my blood cold and my mind in bitter, fragile pieces when I woke, gasping for breath.