Survivor ; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥

001. ꕥ Hurt Beyond Compare

[tw: mentioned/attempted suicide]

~forty-nine days since praimfaya~

I, Joanna Murphy, am a terrible person.

For months, there was this human being in my stomach that I was responsible for, and within a matter of minutes, that responsibility was ripped away from me. Just like that, they were gone. The little baby that had found its home in my stomach was relying on me to keep it alive — not anyone else, me... and I failed him. I failed Alex. He was hurt in the one true place where he was supposed to be safe, where nothing was ever supposed to happen to him. Life was yanked away from Alex before he ever even got the chance to live. He died because I couldn't protect him, and for that, I would always hate myself.

When I was left behind here in the Second Dawn Bunker, I thought I would never feel that same amount of grief. I believed that experience was the worst of my entire existence and that nothing would ever be as ghastly as the way I had felt then. In my mind, there was no way anything could be more execrable than the feeling of betrayal and abandonment I had endured. It had felt as though half of my heart was being taken away, leaving me with one cracked and broken half that seemed like it would never mend. And then, when losing Alex, it was that same feeling of my heart being ripped from my soul, and this time, I didn't have the other half; it left this giant hole in my chest that accompanied the void in my body.

There wasn't much I had done in the past three days since the tragedy happened though it wasn't like I would know. The days have been nothing but a blur for me — a blur of pain, despair, and disgust.

The day after, I was in Medical all day so Abby could keep watch on me and ensure that everything ran its course because, according to the older woman when I tried to leave, I had to stay there; otherwise, I could damage my body further. After the day had passed and Abby gave me the all-clear, warning me about the possible side effects — back pain, difficulty sleeping, loss of appetite, abdominal pain, I was permitted to leave. Regardless, it was blatantly obvious that was the last thing Abby wanted. All the things she listed as after-effects were better consequences than what I deserved. What I deserved was to rot in hell for the rest of my life, and even then, that seemed like it wasn't enough punishment for what happened.

I was so angry with myself for letting it happen — why couldn't I have done something to prevent it? Why didn't I do things better?

Something else Abby had explained that she ensured I was heard was that there was no way anyone could have known this would happen. With what little equipment she had access to, she couldn't have predicted it, and she said I couldn't have predicted it, and there was no way to prevent it even if we did know about it. The notion was a gut punch even though I knew Abby was saying that to try and make me feel better — as if telling me I had no control over it would stop the awful gnawing in my stomach. There was also something mentioned about why this may have happened to me, but at that point, I was inattentive, lost in my thoughts that I would be stuck in for a while. No matter how much Abby tried to tell me it wasn't my fault, I still blamed myself for not being enough to protect Alex.

There wasn't much to say — I killed my baby.

So the last couple of days, after my day in Medical, I'd done one of two things — I wasn't eating, I wasn't sleeping, I was just... existing. I was either lying in bed staring at the mattress above, lost in my anguished thoughts, or fighting. Somehow I had to take out my fury, so the best thing I found to release all my pent-up rage was sparing, with Callan, of all people. He was the only person I felt I could legitimately punch my absolute hardest and not cause myself any more guilt for hurting another human being.