It was just poetic justice, right?

who: eris
where: middle of nowhere
when: late

She'd done what she'd wanted to do, which was drive until she was out of gas. She noticed, even, that the cars they'd ditched before weren't there anymore. Unless she just didn't get as far, which was entirely possible. Likely, even, considering she hadn't even had a full tank of gas to begin with. The engine coughed for a while, sputtered, died, and went quiet. Which left her with nothing but a dead car and...whatever she'd kept of her own possessions. Really, she probably should have taken a few more things. However, at the time, she'd just wanted out of there as fast as humanly possible.

As she leaned back in the seat of the car, she watched out the windshield, as the day faded into night. It got dark early, though she had no real concept of what time it might be. She didn't even know what time she'd woken up, or left. Vaguely, the question of whether or not she'd taken her medication flitted across the back of her mind, but she couldn't remember. And while she could have dug them out of her things, she couldn't be bothered. That sort of mentality was pushed more forward when it started to snow. Getting out of the vehicle to lean against it, head tilted back, she watched the flakes coming down. And they weren't little light fluffy things, it was heavy, serious snow.

As she shifted to push up onto the hood, leaning back against it like the day she and Brett had first taken off...she let it fall down on her, letting the snow drop onto her skin then melt. Her eyes fell shut, and it was with a surprising amount of detachment that she figured she was going to die. It was snowing now, and while she had her thermal sleeping bag, and something resembling shelter, there wasn't any real heat source. She'd die. She'd freeze to death.

There were worse ways to go. She could name a few. Like being woken up in the middle of the night, beaten, then strangled to death with a belt. That really sucked as a method of dying. Or, alternately, waking up to a machete arching down towards your neck. That too, she was betting, would suck a lot. So really, as far as ways to keel over were concerned, she'd actually take freezing to death. She'd just sort of fall asleep, right? Hypothermia or whatever? She could curl up, probably drink the last of the bottle she had with her, pretending that the warmth the alcohol provided her was real warmth, and fall asleep.

Then she wouldn't be Everett's personal ghost anymore. That walking reminder that he seemed to masochistically want around just because. To remind himself. Like she was just an object. A shade. A shadow that he could see. ...which really, as she thought about it all, snow still falling onto her skin and melting, she was. It was what she'd deliberately done, right? Drifted as far back into the shadows as possible, to avoid detection. Because she didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of killing her. They could fuck off. Reasons or no, she didn't want to be taken out that way.

She was trying not to think about Brett. Trying not to wonder if he'd even read the note she'd left for him, and if it had had any impact at all. Probably not, considering she'd flat out told him the truth there, hadn't she? Or...as flat out as she could have right then, not knowing who else was listening? She'd told him, right? And he hadn't cared. Hadn't wanted to hear. So...it was all for the best. He could find someone new to go on little pointless adventures with, and maybe they'd get somewhere. Or not. Maybe they'd get stuck just like she and Brett had, and fucked around with, and everything else. But it wouldn't be her responsibility anymore. If it was a responsibility at all.

The more she thought about it, the more she knew that she was just telling herself that. It hadn't been a responsibility at all, it had just been what they were doing. She wanted certain parts of it defined very well, and others to remain obscure in her own mind so she didn't think about it too much. She wanted it well known that there wasn't any real personal investment involved between the two of them. That made him safe. His entire attitude really made him safe. It wasn't like he liked her. Or cared. And that's what she required from someone she was spending all of her time with.

Nevermind that she'd decided a bit back that she actually sort of liked him. It wasn't like that mattered, it was just an absent sort of thing that had nothing to do with anything and didn't effect a single thing. And it definitely didn't mean that she felt a loss of some description, with her dismissal, and that if she had been going to survive longer than a few hours, that she'd probably miss him.

No, nothing like that.

It was much better this way. The lights would go out, they'd stay out, and she'd not have to figure anything else out. She wouldn't have to hide, she wouldn't have to deal with anyone or anything, and it would all be over.

She was ignoring the fact that she didn't really want to die. If she'd wanted to, she could have arranged it a hell of a lot more easily than this. She knew who's buttons to push, and they'd be easy fucking buttons. Suicide by third party wouldn't have been that difficult a feat to pull off. What had been more difficult was hiding herself. Keeping going, latching onto the idea that she and Brett were just going to go off, and wander into the wilderness, probably to be captured and tortured. But most likely just to be dumped back in town. To start over again. Decide a different direction, just to change things up.

Whatever, why was she even thinking about it? Their first run out had ended fairly abruptly, and he was no longer speaking to her. He'd been waiting for a reason, or that's what it seemed like to her, when he latched onto that one so fucking fast. In a heartbeat. And that hadn't hurt. Really it hadn't. It didn't gnaw at her insides just that little bit. Just enough to nag, to not quite drop from the back of her mind. It was just poetic justice, right? That the one person she'd made a point not to lie to, and that of course turned around and bit her in the ass. Yeah. Poetic justice. She deserved it, it was karma.

She wondered if she'd wind up in the cemetery. And if so, what name they would be putting on the tombstone. Eris? Julia? Did it matter to her? If she left a note on her corpse, that said what name she wanted on it, would it be heeded to, or done whatever way they wanted just out of spite?

Curling up on her side on the hood of the car, she was feeling the cold really keenly now. She should curl up inside the car. Grab the sleeping bag, kill the bottle, fall asleep. ...she had meds that would knock her out if she took more than her usual dosage, right? Hm. Probably. She still didn't move for a few long moments, before she finally got up, sliding down off the edge of the hood. Snow drifted off with her--it was really coming down. She'd have her own private little snow covered tomb here. Crawling into the back seat, she shut the door, grabbed her meds, the bottle and the sleeping bag, and curled up, preparing to not wake back up.

In the end she didn't write a note, because what would be the point, anyways?