Molly Stearns (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
losttheright) wrote2016-12-31 02:25 am
losttheright) wrote2016-12-31 02:25 am
Entry tags:
oh, you're gonna lose your soul tonight
Somehow, it doesn't come as a surprise when she wakes up alone.
Losing Russell and Andrea in one go the way she had, Molly had been thrown for a loop to say the least, left in a state of panic dangerous for her condition at the time, feeling like her entire world had just given way from under her feet. Mindy going not long after hadn't exactly helped much, though she had been preoccupied with Abigail at the time, sleep-deprived and exhausted and not able to stop to pay it too much mine. Before then, there had been any number of others she'd lost, close friends, people who might have been something a little more than that if given half the chance. Lisbeth, Chase, even Stephen, who she still thinks about more often than she would ever admit to, they'd all left her thrown. And it isn't like this doesn't, not by a long shot.
It's just that, sooner or later, she was bound to grow numb to it, and when she finds Lee gone, tries to call him only to hear an automated message that his phone has been disconnected, the most she feels is a hollow emptiness in her chest and the sense that she should have seen this coming.
Then again, for all she knows, time has nothing to do with it. She hasn't felt right since Abby was born, since before then, just waiting for something to click into place that still has yet to come. The other people she knows with children, they're good at it, they're happy about it. Even when it's hard, it seems like something that makes sense. That's never been the case for her. She's always been good with kids, but apparently that doesn't extend to her own, probably in no small part because that connection is something she just seems to be lacking. Oh, she can fake it alright, she can go through the motions and do what she needs to, but that doesn't change the fact that it's been a long time since she felt like herself, with no end to it in sight. Once or twice, she's tried looking it up to find out if that's normal, seen some terms thrown around, read that for people who've been through some of the shit she has, this transition and experience can often be more difficult. Whether there's a clinical term for it or not, though, something is missing. That, apparently, is also the case when it comes to trying to process the fact that Lee is gone, that she's here now on her own with a baby that she's never really known what to do with, just a couple of weeks away from going back to work.
In all the years she's been in Darrow, for the most part, Molly hasn't done much thinking ahead. It's enough just to be here, to know that she gets to have something at all, and if that time runs out, well, so be it. Now, that's just about the only thing she can do, to try to determine where she's going to go from here, because God knows she hadn't considered that this might be where she would wind up, twenty-five and a single parent. Nearly five more years of life than she was ever supposed to get back home is still a big fucking deal, but that's all the more reason why she can't waste what she has. She needs to let herself have a life. She needs to do what's right for both of them, and even before she was on her own with this, she wasn't sure that it was something she would be cut out for. It just seemed like she didn't have another choice. Like she said to Lee once, though, there are choices, and that hasn't changed just because Abby is almost three months old now. Somewhere out there, there's got to be someone who would be thrilled to raise a little girl. When she considers it like that, she isn't really sure that there's even a decision to be made.
Still, it isn't as if she can do any of this impulsively, not least when she doesn't exactly trust herself with it. So, instead, she does the only thing that makes sense: she pulls herself out of bed, calls a babysitter, dresses in jeans and a button-down shirt, curls her hair and puts on a little makeup. Before she leaves the apartment — and, God, she doesn't think she can stay here for very long — she sends texts to Katie and Clarke, two of the only friends she's got left and the two people she trusts the most, to see if they're around for her to stop by. Either one of them, she has no doubt, would tell her if she's making a mistake by even letting this be an option. Deep down, though, it already doesn't feel like one.
Losing Russell and Andrea in one go the way she had, Molly had been thrown for a loop to say the least, left in a state of panic dangerous for her condition at the time, feeling like her entire world had just given way from under her feet. Mindy going not long after hadn't exactly helped much, though she had been preoccupied with Abigail at the time, sleep-deprived and exhausted and not able to stop to pay it too much mine. Before then, there had been any number of others she'd lost, close friends, people who might have been something a little more than that if given half the chance. Lisbeth, Chase, even Stephen, who she still thinks about more often than she would ever admit to, they'd all left her thrown. And it isn't like this doesn't, not by a long shot.
It's just that, sooner or later, she was bound to grow numb to it, and when she finds Lee gone, tries to call him only to hear an automated message that his phone has been disconnected, the most she feels is a hollow emptiness in her chest and the sense that she should have seen this coming.
Then again, for all she knows, time has nothing to do with it. She hasn't felt right since Abby was born, since before then, just waiting for something to click into place that still has yet to come. The other people she knows with children, they're good at it, they're happy about it. Even when it's hard, it seems like something that makes sense. That's never been the case for her. She's always been good with kids, but apparently that doesn't extend to her own, probably in no small part because that connection is something she just seems to be lacking. Oh, she can fake it alright, she can go through the motions and do what she needs to, but that doesn't change the fact that it's been a long time since she felt like herself, with no end to it in sight. Once or twice, she's tried looking it up to find out if that's normal, seen some terms thrown around, read that for people who've been through some of the shit she has, this transition and experience can often be more difficult. Whether there's a clinical term for it or not, though, something is missing. That, apparently, is also the case when it comes to trying to process the fact that Lee is gone, that she's here now on her own with a baby that she's never really known what to do with, just a couple of weeks away from going back to work.
In all the years she's been in Darrow, for the most part, Molly hasn't done much thinking ahead. It's enough just to be here, to know that she gets to have something at all, and if that time runs out, well, so be it. Now, that's just about the only thing she can do, to try to determine where she's going to go from here, because God knows she hadn't considered that this might be where she would wind up, twenty-five and a single parent. Nearly five more years of life than she was ever supposed to get back home is still a big fucking deal, but that's all the more reason why she can't waste what she has. She needs to let herself have a life. She needs to do what's right for both of them, and even before she was on her own with this, she wasn't sure that it was something she would be cut out for. It just seemed like she didn't have another choice. Like she said to Lee once, though, there are choices, and that hasn't changed just because Abby is almost three months old now. Somewhere out there, there's got to be someone who would be thrilled to raise a little girl. When she considers it like that, she isn't really sure that there's even a decision to be made.
Still, it isn't as if she can do any of this impulsively, not least when she doesn't exactly trust herself with it. So, instead, she does the only thing that makes sense: she pulls herself out of bed, calls a babysitter, dresses in jeans and a button-down shirt, curls her hair and puts on a little makeup. Before she leaves the apartment — and, God, she doesn't think she can stay here for very long — she sends texts to Katie and Clarke, two of the only friends she's got left and the two people she trusts the most, to see if they're around for her to stop by. Either one of them, she has no doubt, would tell her if she's making a mistake by even letting this be an option. Deep down, though, it already doesn't feel like one.
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Taking the cup once Clarke has poured her a drink, she takes a small, careful sip, then decides she should come right out with it. "Lee's gone," she says without looking up. "I woke up this morning and he was..."
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"Woah."
It's not much in the way helpful immediate reactions, but it's the first thing that springs to Clarke's mind. She drops into the arm chair, blinking a bit rapidly. She won't claim to have known Lee all that well. They had some commonalities, but he was tangential to Molly. He was part of the package, just like Abigail. It's really kind of a lot to take in.
"Just wow. Like no wonder you need a drink." She takes a sip of her own. "How are you? Honestly?"
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"You could be both." Clarke doesn't see why both can't be an option. Senseless lost has been a constant in her life in the last few years, lessened here by the fact that Darrow seems to play by its own rules. It's weird that people can go and it can feel like a death without a body left behind. Without the knowledge that the shell of them is floating in space or burned returning to earth. "I think both is definitely allowed."
She wants to ask what Molly will do. What can be done. If the roles had been reversed, if Bellamy had disappeared without a trace leaving Clarke with a baby and so much exhaustion, she knows that she'd likely collapse. The mere idea of it is enough to send a shudder racing down her spine. "What can I do?" is what she settles on saying instead.
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"Okay, good." Clarke mirrors the gesture with her own mock toast. For all of her that is glad to be able to be some help, she is still at a loss. This is a problem and therefore it has a solution. It is just lost in the fog of immediacy, the emotional tug that pulls when that loss is of a person who was supposed to stay.
"I don't think you have to do anything right away," she offers cautiously after swallowing another sip of her own wine. Swirling the glass, she watches the liquid flow around the edges, confined by the laws of physics. "I think being caught off-guard and adrift is allowed. I don't think my mom knew what to fully do when my dad and I were taken either." Even though she did the forcing, assists the rest of her brain, helpfully leaving it unsaid. "Not knowing is okay."
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"It's just... hard, with Abigail in the picture," she admits. She loves her daughter, she does, but not in the way that she knows a parent is supposed to love a child. There's something missing, something empty inside her, a void she hasn't been able to fill. "You know, I never wanted to be a mother. I mean, I thought I did, once, figured I would settle down one day and have a family, and then... fucking everything changed, and then this happened, and it wasn't going to be easy but at least I wasn't on my own, you know?"
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Motherhood is this far off thing to her, a notion she'd somewhat accepted, even wanted as a teen, doing her part for the good of the Ark. But then her dad died, and she was sent to prison, and suddenly her plans for the future evaporated like so much stardust. It's only since she's been here that Clarke has really started to think ahead further than six weeks or six months.
"You don't..." Clarke pauses and restarts. "I'm here for whatever you need. Someone to watch Abigail for a bit, someone to help you figure out whatever. I make an amazing pro/con list. I'll vet people..." She breaks off, stopping her ramble. "Sorry. Planning mode took over."
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She can't stay in what was Lee's place, that's something she's already certain of. It's been ages, now, since he asked her to move in, but when she thinks of it, it's his apartment, and she doesn't want to be there when he's not. Even being raised Catholic, she's only got so much room for self-torture.
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"Fortunately, being a part-time college student and receptionist, I have an oddly flexible schedule," Clarke notes, relieved that Molly is willing to give into the planning for just a little while. Part of her is itching to bounce ideas off Bellamy or Raven, just get another perspective, but that's not entirely fair. Going in with what she has is just the best course right. "You both need stability, it just might look weird for a bit."
Swallowing another gulp of wine, she taps her fingers against the glass. "We'll work it all out."
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"It probably did." Clarke's been fighting for stability since she was drugged and placed on a ship hurtling towards a possibly toxic earth. The steadiness of her childhood might even be a lie that her parents protected her from, but she appreciates that. Sometimes kids don't need to know that there are any doubts. Sometimes they just need to be kids. "But I think that comes with the territory. Don't quote me on that, you'd have to consult with Bellamy to really know."