Hear No Evil

Returning home was -not- running away. Thérèse reminded herself of that at least a dozen times as she drove back to Shady Pines. She had studiously not looked in the mirror as she drove, not until she parked. Only then did she take a quick look. The small over head light in the car was not flattering. The blood at the corner of her mouth was smeared along her jaw line, the left side of her face was in the process of bruising and swelling a bit, another less notable bruise was on the right side of her jaw and just to top it off her right wrist was turning purple. Well at least it was jammed rather than broken. Thank god for small favors.

She made her way back to the rooms she had adopted in one of the wards, fortunately it was late enough that people were either out or already tucked in. It didn't matter which, so long as she wasn't noticed. Her intention had been to take a shower and go to bed. However, her temper was still up and her body still full of adrenalin, sleep was not going to happen any time soon.

Thérèse paced for a while, she attempted to get some work done, but all she could think of was him. The threats he'd made, the 'job' she had to do. Angry and upset did not begin to cover her feelings, but she didn't cry. It wasn't how she'd been taught to deal with things like this, it wasn't who she was. She took action, she did something about things like this, but he'd hobbled her. She -couldn't- do any thing no matter how much she wanted to.

Finally her eyes fell on her violin. Yes, that would help. But not in here. She might wake some one. It was cold out so she did dress warmly but that didn't stop Thérèse. She followed the paths and got as far away from the buildings as she could. Alone with the stars she found someone else's old fire pit. She quickly cleaned it out and though it was a bit of a challenge to find kindling and dry wood it gave her something else to think about. Soon enough she had a small fire started and a small stock pile of wood, enough that she could stay here a while. The fire was less for her and more for the violin, if it was too cold when she played it, it could be damaged and she wouldn't do that for anything.

With a satisfied sigh she tucked it under her chin and began to play. It was soft but the music followed her thoughts. Some times it was mournful and distant, some times aggressive, and others wistful and lonely.