The apartment was hers for the night. The roommate had fled to her boyfriends, leaving Megan alone with precious time to think.

What was she doing with her life? What kind of direction was she headed in, and why?

...oh, who was she kidding, what life?

If she wasn't cooped up inside, working on something or another, she was out being stupid in the face of danger. (If her latest exploits were anything to go by...) Unfortunately, with how things had been playing out, she just hadn't had the time to sit down and try to sort everything out.

... or maybe she was avoiding it. Whatever.

With everything quiet all of the sudden, and all of her work for the day done, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering. Where did it wander too?... off limit areas, that's where. Places Megan shoved all of the things she didn't want to deal with. Things she wanted to just forget about, and move on from.

Like faces from the past... home... and everything she'd ever run from.

The only life she'd every really had, had been back in Oregon. Her family and friends were there... her fiance had been there... All of her hopes, dreams, and aspirations were there. Hell, she'd even left herself there. The only thing that had come along with the night she'd fled was fear; fear of the future... of uncertainty. Fear that she was jumping into something way too early.

That same fear still stuck with her, too. Lurking at the very back of her mind; whispering darkly whenever there was a choice to be made. All this time, ever since she'd left, she'd let it control her. Fear kept her from facing her mistakes-- with Trent, and everything else. Fear forced her to never allow attachments.. because what if they turned sour? Fear caused her to keep walls up-- never let anyone, or anything in.

Settling her gaze on the glinting silver ring adorning her left ring finger, the twenty six year old frowned.

She'd loved him... Deeply. Thinking about him always managed to ruin whatever mood she was in. He'd been her first love.... the first boy she'd ever kissed, or held hands with. He'd shown her a whole new side of the world, taught her the beauty in her mutation, and loved her unconditionally. Though she'd said before that she didn't love him, that she'd moved on (and would say it again without batting an eyelash)... it was always a lie. Part of her would always want for his touch... to hear his voice as he pointed out different formations of stars. Part of her would always love him.

The other part was a mixture of constantly clashing guilt and anger. Guilt that she'd driven him to the end of his rope-- all because she'd been stupid and selfish the night of the wedding-- and anger over the fact that he'd continued to pursue her, whatever the cost, until the very end.

... She would have gone with him, too, if he hadn't of struck Gregory down.

The events that night played in her head, earning a deep scowl from the spider mutant. Yes, she would have abandoned everything in order for it all to finally be over, until Roach had shown his stupid buggy face. The happiness that had blossomed in her chest had been instantaneous, mixed with equal parts fear and happiness... and the certainty that everything would be OK.

She'd relied too much on him... put too much faith in her friend, and neglected to remember just how dangerous Trent could be.

Then, just like that, Gregory was dead.

..Anger... no, Rage, had consumed all other emotions within her. All thoughts muted. The words that had tumbled from her lips, hollow with a soft tremble, had been only for one purpose. Lure him in, closer and closer, until he was within reach...

She could still smell him-- the faint traces of cologne on his clothes from when he'd closed the distance between them. She could still feel the itch of hundreds of spider legs tickling the back of her throat... and hear the words ring crisply in her ears...

"...Megan, don't cry, my love...." The rough pad of his thumb brushed a tear away from one pale cheek, and his brows drew together gently. "he isn't worth your tears."

"I'm not crying for him... all happy brides cry on their wedding day." She managed a weak smile, a little too sweet if you looked closely, and beckoned him forward with one hand. "Kiss the bride, then... then we can go home."

His eyes lightened momentarily, and he set aside the gun still in his hand on the podium. With a soft smile on his lips; in one long stride, he was before her. One hand cupped her chin, tilting her face up toward him, and the other brushed away a few blonde curls from her forehead.

"I have been waiting all my life for this moment... to kiss you as husband and wife." He leaned down into her, and she touched his cheeks gently with her hands. His lips pressed onto hers, and in that moment all was silent. The world stopped around them while they embraced, and she curled her arms around his neck.

Then, in an instant, the silence shattered. The swam of spiders she'd ordered to hide lurched forward, skittering from her mouth into his-- and when he slammed his teeth shut, they redirected toward his nostrils. She clamped her arms down around him, refusing to let him jerk away from her as thirty of her children attacked. seven made it past the barrier of his teeth, instantly heading for the back of his throat as they'd been instructed. Thirteen had managed to wriggle their way through nostrils, and were busy cramming themselves in on top of the original seven. Ten more assaulted the face, and with one silent command, all thirty sank their fangs into any flesh they found.

She held him still, suffering a barrage of jabs, punches, and jerks; but still refused to let go. Not until he pried her arms forcefully away did she relent.

Trent had stumbled away, coughing and hacking as he spit out spider after spider, and swatted them off his face. Unfortunately for him, the damage had already been done. His airways started to swell within seconds, and by the time he had gotten rid of the last stubborn arachnid, he was already having trouble breathing.

She would never forget the way he had looked at her... a mixture of surprise, anger, and... betrayal

She'd watched him fall to a knee, listened to each ragged breath as they shortened... until gradually they stopped completely.

Megan had killed him; killed the man who had murdered her friend. She'd watched him suffocate to death right before her, mere minutes after he'd finally made her his wife. The ring on her finger burned as a constant reminder of that. Of what had happened, and everything she'd done.

Why did she still wear it? Why not throw it away the first moment she got?

... it was a reminder.

A reminder of who she had been, what she had done, and what she had lost. It was sentimental, yet also a curse.

Megan was sure she would wear it forever; a pathetic attempt to make up for all of the things she'd done wrong... and she had a lot of making up to do...

Since Trent had died, nothing had changed. She still had to watch her back, glance over her shoulder from time to time to reassure herself that she wasn't in any eminent danger. She hadn't wised up; hadn't gotten her rear in gear to make her life better by any means. She was still the same old Megan, with the same old problems.

One demon had stepped aside, and within moments another threat had moved up to take his place. Now she was focused on paying a debt she owed-- one that she would probably owe until the day she keeled over.

...It was like a college loan; something she would be paying for eternally.

Even when she managed to push that particular issue to the back of her mind, there were still others... That horrid dream still crept back up night and day; it never left her alone. Every time she closed her eyes she could hear and see the events that had unfolded. Crystal clear; like a goddamn repeat of an annoying movie with no freakin' pause button.

...All of the fighting and the raids... The people who she helped save; ...those she helped put five feet under.

....Or put into pieces, in Clive's case.

What Roach had become... and the-- ... the kiss she'd shared with the man who'd taken it upon himself to give her a reason to live. A man who she still couldn't get. out. of. her. head!

Groaning, Megan massaged at her throbbing temples for a moment, before she flopped back into the cushions of her couch. What the #$@% was she supposed to do with all of that crap? Learn from it or something?

"Jokes on you, then... I ain't learning nothin'." Chuckling dryly, she fixed her eyes on the ceiling.

All she had been left with after all of that.. that...stuff, was the desire to crawl into a dark hole and die for a while. How could she walk around when she'd look at some strangers face, and recognize him as one of the bastards she'd murdered in a dream? How could she not walk over and cave the same guys nose in, knowing what he'd done?

Every single time she left her apartment it felt like she was drowning in anger. It boiled inside, concentrated in her veins, and seeped out of her pours... and on the off chance that she just up and ran out of rage? Well... she was left with a cold, sad, empty feeling inside. She felt truly pathetic.

What were you supposed to do if you has seen yourself-- been, even-- a better person at some point? Even in a dream?! How was she supposed to deal with being a complete bastard in real life, when there was some make believe version of herself prancing around being a goddamn hero? ... She'd saved the lives of some, tended to the wounds of others, laughed with little orphaned children, and brought smiles to the faces of the dying.

How the HELL was she supposed to compare to THAT!?

Megan had never been that kind of person... Sure, she had moments where she could occasionally pull some human decency out of her butt and blend into a group of people without automatically being labeled as the B*tch with a capitol B, but it never lasted long. Megan didn't like people and she was pretty darn good at expressing it most of the time.

Well, too everyone but the jerks who'd managed to worm their way into her life without her realizing.

It felt like the only way she could cope with what she'd seen, what she'd been through, was by throwing herself into needless danger. The more she caused pain, the less she felt. The more hurt doled out on her body, the less it hurt to think about. It was like a vicious cycle of give and take, one she honestly didn't want to give up...(but could quit whenever she wanted!) ...but, was it what her dream self would have done...?

Hell no!

Even normal, right-this-moment Megan knew it was @#$%ing stupid to do what she did on a weekly basis. She just-- it--... She needed it, okay?. In a large, selfish way it was her way of proving to herself, and the world, that she could be a good guy too. She could go out and change everything for the better, just like everybody else!.... even if she did know that deep down that that was totally a baldfaced lie.

Where on the outside she often wore an over abundance of confidence, defiance, selfishness, and an ego that barely fit in her skull right on her sleeve-- the inside was all different. She hated everything. Inside she tore everything to pieces, like an untrained dog left alone in a house with expensive furniture. She wasn't so much confident in herself as she was determined to prove herself (and everyone else) wrong, and her ego had really only inflated in order to make up for all of the short comings that she knew existed within.

Or at least that's what she liked to believe, anyway.

Blinking at the ceiling, where a fan lazily rotated, the twenty-six year old huffed. Going psychologist on herself was stupid. She didn't like it. When was her damn roommate gonna get home and rescue her already!?