Hamilton One Shots

Sympathy (2)

Requested by: CrazyPixelCake
OC: Anya Yves

All was silent in the city. People had retired for the night, stepping out of their street clothing and into their beds. Days had been either miserable or wonderful, but that was put aside as people fell asleep one by one.

Out of all those people, one couldn't seem to even shut her eyes. Laying on her back, eyes gazing up at the blank ceiling, the woman was struggling to grasp what she needed. Please, her mind begged.

She was almost too aware of the figure beside her, already asleep. Out of the corner of her eye, his thin, polished figure was visible. Anger pumped through her veins as she remembered all he had put her through. Every urge to flip over and do something to give him a taste of medicine was washed away.

Mouth dry, her lips moved but she didn't speak. She was thinking out loud, but not literally. Her fingers found their way to the edge of the sheets and she used all the strength to pull them back. Once she sensed that frigid rush of air, a timid sigh was released from her cracked lips.

Careful not to wake the man, she stepped on the boards that weren't crooked. If she made one wrong step, it would be the start of another argument and backbreaking session. She couldn't put herself through that pain again.

Somehow she managed to hit one of those forbidden boards. Her eyes shut as the board groaned loudly. From behind her, the man shifted and muttered, "Anya." And then there was silence. But he had said her name.

Anya wiped her forehead. Searching in the darkness, she found the edge of his desk and then a suitcase underneath. She licked her lips and grabbed it. As she opened it, the locks made a rather loud clicking noise. Still, he didn't wake.

The following minutes was a race against time, back and forth between her dresser and suitcase. Anya took the things she'd need the most, nothing that would weigh her down. She knew it was a risk she was taking, but it was worth it.

After all she'd been put through, she just wanted to find something worth living for.

Snap. The suitcase shut again. It was something her partner had created, apart from the spinning chair. He had been so pleased with it and she remembered the look of glory written on his features.

Taking the floorboards one by one, Anya could feel her excitement and nervousness growing by the second. If she messed up, that meant more abuse until the end of her days. However, if she managed to escape, there was some sort of freedom in the distance.

The only way to get out was to break the window. Anya realized this almost instantly and backed up. Break the window? That would surely wake him. She glanced back to see his slumped figure not respond to her padding footsteps.

She thought quick, grabbing the base of a candle. It's sharp figure cast a shadow in the moonlight. In one hand, Anya clutched the bag like suitcase, and the other with a metal object.

Her hands trembled as she stepped forward to the window. "Please," she murmured up to the heavens before raising the price. There was a loud crash and then silence.

Anya let the base clatter to the floor. The man in the bed mumbled something, clearly waking up now. Panicking, she tried to squeeze her way through the opening. She lost her breath when she realized it wasn't big enough.

"Anya..."

From the bed, the man reached his hand out and touched the empty side of her bed. He paused, patting the surface. Something wasn't right. It would only be seconds before he realized that Anya was trying to escape.

Anya grabbed the candle base again and smashed it against the glass. At the sound, he lurched into an upright position. His eyes flashed with darkness as he noticed her figure by the window. "What the hell are you-"

But she didn't wait another second. Throwing the bag through the window, she began to hoist herself into the ledge. He threw his blankets aside and roared, "You're not getting away that easily." Anya cried out as he managed to grip her by the shoulders.

"Let go of me!" Thrashing in his grip, she used her strength to push her way through the crack in the glass. No matter how much she pushed and pleaded, he only tugged harder. Her nightgown was completely ripped at the bottom, exposing her legs.

"Thomas!" When she cried out his name, all hope left her. Anya's body fell weak and she began to sob. Stuck halfway in and out, she was humiliated by her own actions. One thing was different. He had stopped hurting her.

It was his last chance to save her. He knew she was n inexperienced woman, trying to escape into the world. If she ran away, he'd never see her again. But if she stayed, he'd only grow more impatient and abuse her more.

Thomas placed a kiss to her neck, but backed off when she whimpered. In that moment, he realized how much of an impact he had made on the woman in the past months. Not only was it a negative one, it was everlasting.

Anya pleaded to him. "Please, let me be free for once." She held her breath, biting her lip. A droplet of blood appeared on her lip.

For the first time in his life, Jefferson was conflicted. He loved Anya. Even though he abused her, his love was too strong to compare to that. She didn't return his affections, maybe that was why they became so forced.

It was clear to him that the girl he loved didn't feel the same way. She was squirming in his arms, a sign of her uncomfortable attitude towards him. Thomas closed his eyes to conceal the tears underneath. A decision finally struck him.

He let go. Anya felt a release in pressure on her arms and she frantically pushed the rest of the way through. When her feet hit the damp grass, a cry of relief left her lips. She scooped up the carrier bag and began running.

Never did she look back. Running for miles, just to get away from that man. All she wanted was to find someone who would treat her right and a place where people cared. Even if she had to spend her entire life looking for that place, she'd do it.

After all she had been through, she deserved to find her own happiness, no matter how long that would take.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
A/N: Thank you CrazyPixelCake for the request! I liked writing a second part for this and giving Anya her freedom. And yes, I know the real Jefferson didn't create the suitcase, I just added that in there for fun.