LezVirus

002: ISOLATED

Messy hair fell into her face as she rolled to her side in bed, trying to slow an ever racing heartbeat, the dark grey sheets drenched in sweat.

Mind slowly reaching a calm level, she chided herself for falling asleep with the light off. Every time she forgot to leave it on the nightmares would come flooding in, haunting, vivid. All her life Anya had been the sort of person to love the dark, revel in its coolness. Something about the eternal quietness the dark of night had to offer used to be calming for her.

Back in third grade when Anya was just a child, all her friends had always found that strange about her even then. One friend, in particular, Claire, a shy brunette who always wore what seemed like a Sunday school dress to class, was Anya's best friend, for a time.

Given Claire was a wallflower, the naturally more outgoing strawberry blonde made a point to befriend Claire, since everyone else seemed to avoid or tease her. Once the other boys thought it was hilarious to lock the poor girl in the hall class supply closet, they had no idea how bad Claire's fear of the dark really was. Or maybe they did, kids can be cruel.

Anya heard her crying and unbarred the supply closet, her friend was too embarrassed to even lift her head. Not wanting to reveal her tear-stained cheeks, to her surprise though, Anya just stepped inside pulling the door mostly shut behind her, to sit there beside her.

She didn't laugh, she didn't leave, to Claire's amazement the ever-flowing tears slowly came to a halt. When asked how she could be so calm in the dark, Anya just shrugged and smiled. Her bravery brightened that closet far more than any light could.

But now... Thirteen years later, Anya can't even find rest in the dark, not without leaving a light on nearby. The brave girl she was back then, gone. Now in place of blissful rest, nightmares fuel in the dark, stealing away her once favorite hours.

Robbing her of more than just rest, but a small piece of sanity.

"Just another nightmare..." Anya muttered to herself.

Only they weren't nightmares, they were memories. Bile coiled in the pit of her stomach, she felt like vomiting. Not wanting to leave the safety of her bed, Anya sank further back in, pulling the covers up to her exposed shoulders. Her memories were resurfacing, vibrant snapshots, colorful tabloids, the crash... It had been barely a month since it all happened. Though most of her wounds were superficial and had mostly healed already, considering what she had survived, it was amazing she escaped with her life.

Sharp flashes of sparking shrapnel hitting the ground and the ear-crushing groan of metal meeting earth, replayed in Anya's mind. The pilot did an amazing job, there was no question about that. To have crash-landed in the middle of the San Diego, Coronado Bridge and not killing everyone on board, was a miracle in and of itself...

Perhaps there really was someone up there watching out for Anya, having answered her prayer. Or maybe surviving the wreck where so many lost their lives, was a curse not to have joined them. The world slowly seemed to be going to shit anyway. Anya wiped that thought from her mind, living would always be better, she told herself.

Russia soon fell, collapsing in every way possible, after she left, there is only so far propaganda and denial can take a country before the truth rears its ugly head. Part of Anya was scarred on a deeper level than what was skin deep, however, having to carry the guilt knowing what happened with the plane, the infected... even though it wasn't her fault, she still blamed herself for the events that transpired that fateful night.

Anya set up, shaking her head before reaching for the glass of water waiting beneath the nightstand lamp.

Just because she had been one of the only people who knew what was going on in Russia and that she'd boarded the plane... Didn't make it her fault. ...Did it?