when she makes eye contact with the figure on the floor, her heart damn near jumps into her throat and despite her better judgement, she takes a step forward, leaning in closer, letting her guard down, even if only momentarily. she almost didn't recognize the woman who raised her. alex's face is a smattering of blacks and blues and purples and sickly yellows. her bottom lip is split open. there are sores and cuts all over her body, her tattered clothes splattered with blood. and it's in that moment that she knows exactly who the other two figures are. her head rounds to look over at her foster father's body, strung up and smoking against the piece of fencing, then down to the car battery on the ground. the smell of singed flesh hits her nostrils and she gags on it. she knows there's no helping him, that he's already gone, and the sick feeling creeps back into her throat.
maybe it's shock. maybe it's the undeniable feeling of self loathing that takes over. maybe it's something else entirely, she doesn't know, but she stumbles backwards over her own two feet and then falls right over the chair containing the barely alive body of her boyfriend and lands on her back on the grimy dirt floor.
"no." she can barely find her own voice, it's hollow and weak, as she pulls herself back onto her knees and frantically shuffles over to him. "no, no, no. drew..." she carefully places a hand on his leg but the sticky warmth of the blood on his jeans has her pulling it away just as quickly. she gags slightly at the sight of the gunshot wound that has torn through his thigh, but swallows hard and swears under her breath. she's never been squeamish before and something tells her this isn't the time to start. she places her hand aginast his cheek instead and pats it slightly, trying to will him to come to, get him to say something. there's dried blood on his cheeks, under his eyes and in the corner of his mouth and her stomach feels like it's filled with rocks. "no. please. wake up..." she manages to choke out as she moves her hand to his shoulder and gently shakes him. "please wake up. please?" she can feel the tell tale sting of tears building up in her eyes, but she swallows them down and wipes them away with the back of her hand, trying (and failing) to keep herself together. "come on, baby," she shakes him again, this time with both hands and a little more urgency. but there's nothing. no response. and all she can do is sink back onto her haunches and look up at him, her arms falling limply to her sides as she lets out one last fleeting, "please..." before the taste of salt hits her lips.
anger is boiling up inside of her and she isn't sure if the tears are just adding insult to injury or not. she sniffs hard, takes a shaky breath and presses her hand to the ground, pushing herself back up to her feet. she's ready to get them the hell out of there, to get them as far the hell away as she can. "i told you not to get mixed up with me," she mumbles weakly, "but like an idiot, you did. and now look at you." she wants to yell at him, scream in his face until he wakes up, but she knows she can't, that it isn't his fault.
"it's your fault, you know?" the question is sing-songy and taunting. she can feel the bile in her mouth as her hands ball into fists at her side.
she spins around on her heel to find the source of the voice, only to come face-to-face with herself. for the second time, she stumbles slightly, shaking her head. "this isn't real." she squeezes her eyes shut and repeats the words to herself, but is just met with a bitter laughter from the other-tara.
"you can tell yourself whatever you want to help you sleep at night, darling," the other-tara coos, tsking slightly and taking a step closer. "but you know, deep down in here..." the other-tara gestures to her chest and prods it's long slender finger into her sternum, a twisted little smile curling up across it's lips. "that it's the honest to god truth. that everything, everyone you care about gets hurt. and it's all because of you." the other-tara shurgs casually and leans against a wall, crossing it's ankles and examining it's nails as if this... this chaos is the most casual thing in the world.
her mouth opens to say something, to spit back at the other-tara, but closes just as quickly. every fiber of her being is screaming at her to fight back. to argue. but there's no argument there because the other-tara has hit the nail on the head. everything she touches turns to shit, all the good goes away. it's been like this for as long as she can remember. isn't that why she's ended up in the occupation she's in? it's not something people who have families and lives and things to hold on to do. it's something people like her do to make sure that those that do have those things get to keep doing them, to hold onto them. people like her don't get to have nice things.
"just put them out of their misery, tara," the other-tara whispers, with a sticky sweetness into her ear, leaning in a little too close to comfort. "end their suffering for them. it's only right..." the other-tara places the gun into her hand and steps back, toward where her foster mother now lie crumpled and unmoving on the ground. the other-tara sneers. it's a grotesque ghost of a smile, all too pleased with itself. "oh well," it sighs as it prods the toe of it's boot into the side of alex's lifeless corpse, kicking the body over. "guess now you've just got one to take care of," the other-tara laughs and shrugs for a second time.
the gun is cold and heavy in her hand. normally it would feel natural, easy, but this? her hands are shaking as she begins to slowly raise the gun toward drew. maybe the other-tara is right. it isn't humane to let him keep hurting like this. "do it, tara..." the other-tara yawns slightly, pushing off the wall. "pull the trigger. you'll feel better and he'll cease to suffer. he deserves that much, doesn't he?" it hisses in her ear. "do it. pull the trigger..." it's voice is getting progressively louder, harsher. "pull the fucking trigger, tara!" it finally screams.
in that moment, it's like something clicks inside of her and she shakes her head and shuts her eyes, sucks in a breath and elbows the awful thing that would be her in the gut with all her might, sending it toppling to the ground. this isn't right. this isn't real, she reminds herself again and again until it's drilled into her head. she's in control here. not this fucked up other-tara-doppledemon thing. she turns around to face it, eyes narrow and trains the gun right between her doppleganger's eyes, this time, her hands are steadier than she ever thought they could be in this sort of situation and she lets out a firm, unflappable, "no."
the fact is that she has spent most of her life alone. she was always pushing people away, keeping them at arms length and denying herself things because she'd been so afraid of losing even more than she already had and so afraid that she wouldn't be able to keep herself together if she lost anymore. but these past few weeks? they've been good. hard, sure, but they've been good and she isn't about to lose that feeling because she fucking deserves it and goddamnit, she likes it, likes having someone to talk to about her day, someone who doesn't care that she's competitive and jealous and mean and stubborn sometimes... and she's confident enough to admit that she's selfish enough to not want to let it go without one hell of a fight.
she shakes her head again and pulls the hammer down, her finger brushing against the trigger.
"fuck you," she says with a sideways smirk, letting out a breath as she presses down on the trigger.
and then it's all over, the same way it started: with a bang.
now, chances are she should probably get up off the floor, but frankly, she doesn't have the energy to bother with moving, so she just lies there and stares at the ceiling of the familiar brownstone. it's the same place she'd spent her birthday, where she had fallen asleep that night and she's happier than ever to be here, even if she's feeling partitcularly gross. a thin sheen of sweat covers her sore body, her heart feels like it's going to beat out of her ribcage and she's struggling to catch her breath like she's been running for hours. yet there's also a peace that comes over her because she knows that she's safe and more importantly, that they're safe. that it was just a nightmare.
she reaches up and rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, grimacing at the smear of eyeliner on her skin before she pulls herself up off the floor and onto the couch. (she doesn't need a mirror to know she looks like shit, but she doesn't really care, either. raccoon eyes and messy hair are a small consolation for the comfort of not being in that hellish nightmare anymore.) she needs to go check on drew, to make sure he's okay if only to settle her own mind, but she also needs a moment to catch her breath because it feels like she's been holding it forever.
before she even has a chance to move though, he's on her and his lips are pressing against hers. it's like a wave of relief washes through her body as she relaxes into the kiss. he's here and he's okay and she doesn't want to let him go. when he speaks, she frowns slightly and just looks at him with wide, sad eyes because she knows she's not the only one who went through hell today. she doesn't ask him what happened, doesn't press the subject, she doesn't need to know. so she just takes his hand and offers it a gentle squeeze, okay with just knowing that he's safe and sound and here.
"we're in it together," she promises him, raising their intertwined hands to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles as she lays her head against his shoulder and shuts her eyes. for just having slept as much as she has today, she's fucking exhausted. "whatever it takes."