(no subject)

[storybrooke_savior]

The end of the year had sucked. No point in sugar coating it, it sucked. Christmas had sucked and the New Year wasn't holding out much hope of getting better, either.

A couple of weeks prior Emma had sent out a stark text message to anyone she'd thought would care (though only after a frantic thorough search of the entire damned city) that Hook was gone, and no, she didn't want to talk about it. After that, she'd turned off her phone for a bit and shut herself up in her apartment, lied and told them at the station she had the flu. The only person she'd let in, physically or emotionally, was Henry.

She'd probably still have been cocooned under a pile of blankets if she hadn't run out of ice cream and wine.

After taking a much-needed shower and resentfully tugging on a pair of jeans and a mostly clean hoodie, Emma decided against driving (driving with a wine buzz: bad idea) and walked from her apartment building to the closest convenience store. Halfway there she sat down heavily on a bench, hands shoved into her pockets and shoulders hunched to fend off the cold, because she hadn't thought to grab a scarf or gloves.

She wanted to be so damned angry, so furious. Well, no, scratch that: she was furious. What she wanted was something to direct it towards. Something or someone tangible that she could rage at, because cursing the Powers That Be had never made her feel any better.

But lacking any other target, she ended up being angry at herself. For being stupid enough to take the risk, knowing that this outcome was entirely possible.

"Fuck," she cursed softly, swinging her feet and kicking at loose gravel.

Just...fuck it. Fuck it all. Why bother? Why bother trying to make a life here? What was the point in getting attached to people, then waking up one day and bam, they were gone. And even if they came back, they wouldn't remember a damned thing.

Why even try anymore?