Survival is just eight letters [Open~]

[Monique James]

Done a lot of things that I'm not so proud of.
Took a lot of turns, that turned out wrong.
That's a worn out song.
Day by day moment by moment.
Taking my chances, trusting my heart.
It wasn't too smart.

Monique climbed the stairs that led up to the roof, not caring if she got caught. After all, she was here because she was stupid enough to be caught in the first place. What was one more offense? She didn't have any reason to care if she got out of here alive or not anyways. She had nothing, and that didn't seem to bother her anymore. At the door, which was - as predicted - locked, she crouched on the step, pulling out her knife - which had been a bitch to smuggle in - using the tip to pick the lock. It wasn't exactly the easiest way to do something like that, but it worked well enough.

Lonely, as lost as I could be.
No way; it's up to me.

Once she had succeeded in unlocking the door, Monique opened it and slipped outside, grateful that she was alone. The nighttime chill helped keep her grounded in the sense that her mind wouldn't be allowed to spiral away from her quite yet. She needed to have some sort of focus to avoid pitching herself off the roof. It wasn't that she was suicidal, she didn't feel weak enough to do that. She wanted someone to kill her. She deserved it, but she didn't know if deserving it was enough to actually make it happen. It's not like she took that great care of herself anyways. Yes, she followed the basics, enough to keep her presentable in society, but she did drugs, she drank, she smoked, and she practically mainlined caffeine and speed to keep herself from falling asleep. Sleep was her body's way of causing her agony for her mistakes. She knew it. And, like a coward, she ran from the nightmares.

I will survive
I will endure
When the going's rough
you can be sure
I'll tough it out
I won't give in
If I'm knocked down I'll get up again
As long as my dream's alive I will survive

Moving to the edge of the roof, Monique folded her arms on the metal of the safety railing, put there to keep people from accidentally falling off, but no real hindrance to anyone that wanted to throw themselves off of it. It was a tempting thought though. Just lean forward across the bar, and give enough of a jump to send her body tumbling down. But was it enough to kill her? Not likely. Just leave her either in agony or with severe brain damage. Still, one thought persisted. How long was she going to be able to keep this up? She didn't have any real life goals, she didn't have any kind of people skills, to the point where she couldn't even make friends. She was a plague on society. Someone like her would be locked up in prison, and the key thrown away.

Letting go of my bad habits.
Hangin on to the hope for better times.
I'll be fine.
Learning to sleep in the bed that I made.
Laying the blanket where it belongs.
I've gotta be strong.
Tear drops no one sees but me.
I won't stop, I'll always believe.

It wasn't that she was a really bad person. She knew that she had spiraled so horribly every time she lost someone close to her. There had to be some flaw in her brain that stopped her from processing grief like a normal person. She needed an anchor, someone just for her. Someone that she wouldn't feel guilty stealing. She couldn't let that person be Matt. He had given up so much for her already. Given up so many opportunities because he had to take care of her. She was a parasite. And not those good symbiotic ones that you learned about in biology, the ones that helped the world function smoothly. She harmed everyone in her way, breaking apart the world around her and causing chaos. Why? Because she was bored. Because she had no reason not to. Why should she behave if she had no reason left to care about herself or others on more than just a basic level?

I will survive
I will endure
When the going's rough
you can be sure
I'll tough it out
I won't give in
If I'm knocked down I'll get up again
As long as my dream's alive I will survive

Yes, she was surviving. But was she really alive? Nobody, not even Monique, knew at that point in time. Even as she stared at the horizon, her eyes were blank, almost dead. She could force a fire back into them when she was fighting, but when you caught her not paying attention to anything, the emerald orbs had lost their sparkle, and she looked pale, causing the various bruises and dark circles to stand out even more on her face and arms. Her hair, while still wild, also seemed to be missing it's general defiance and shine. On the rooftop, the darkness may have not been all that dark, but to the girl standing on it, there was no end to the constant night.