*As Elena switches the log on, she can be seen sitting on her usual chair in front of the desk in her apartment on Glendalough. A cup of black, steamingly hot coffee right beside her on the table, half-empty. If any word could describe her mien the best, it would be weariness, as her dead tired eyes are focusing the camera. Wearing an oversized white T-Shirt, she slouches her shoulders and sprawls on the chair she is sitting on. Her hair has by now taken on a lighter hue of blue, indicating it would have been time for another session of hairdying again. Her right hand reaches out for the cup of coffee, guiding it towards her lips and sipping from it with insinuated relish. Thereupon, she replaced the cup again, licking her lips and inhaling deeply with the intention to begin with her oration. There is no smile whatsoever forming around her lips.*
Okay, here we go again. A lot has happened since last time, and yes, I know I'm saying that each and every time I switch you on. But truth be told, there's really been quite a few things that were done to me. Not like I enjoyed them. That would be too much to ask for. To be honest, when I think about what has happened, I can't even name one single fortunate circumstance. It's a huge pile of crap, to word it nicely. And really, honestly? I don't want to anymore. I'm slowly having enough of all the stuff that's being done to me. Maybe my current attempt to be off the booze pulls its weight, I don't know, but I can tell you it doesn't make things easier without it. I can't drown my sorrows in alcohl anymore, which I, you know, used to do before. Didn't help much, but at least it did a bit. The hangovers were quite a pain in the arse though, so maybe it's better I'm away from it. On the other hand, I really gotta pull myself together constantly to not just grab the closest bottle. Still got them in my apartment, in case of a worst-case scenario happening, or something like that. Jesus Christ, I miss the booze. After only a few days already. Never thought I was that addicted already, but apparently I really am. Doesn't make things better, if I may say so. You know, one of my favourite expressions goes along the lines of "It can't get any worse now, can it?". That foils me every time. Because it can always get worse.
*She sighs, taking a few more sips from the coffee, closing her eyes for a second and muttering a few not further understandable words. Scratching her frowned forehead, she briefly glances at the camera again, then shakes her head and lowers her head to stare at the empty desk.*
Let's start with the worst of the worst then, so we get over with it quickly. I hate my psyche, I really do. When I think about it, I hate myself in pretty much each and every aspect, but my psyche is the damn worst of them all. Because if I didn't know better, and sadly in this case I really do not know better, I'd say I'm slowly, but surely going nuts, insane, coo-coo, however you wanna call it. In essence, I guess you know what I'm talking about. *She rakes her fingers through her hair.* It's not like I have much sleep nowadays anyways, my sleeping cycle is pretty much done for, but eventually you always fall asleep. Only problem is that I really, really don't wanna sleep. Whenever I fall asleep, and believe me there is not a single exception, there are nightmares crawling from the back of my mind and pestering me to no end. Nightmares about ... *She halts for a second.* ... you know exactly what anyway. I still can't get over it, and instead that it becomes better, it just becomes worse and worse. Funny how one single event can strike you down like that. *She shakes her head.* Every time I only think about it, I start hating myself again for what I've done. Believe me, I'd like to get over it, but how am I supposed to do that when I get constantly reminded of all that bull, every night when I try to rest? And the absolute worst - *She looks up, her face painted with anxiety.* - it's not even limited by my dreams only. I ... I can see her, in front of me, sometimes. No, I'm not joking. Yes, I'm hallucinating. First, it was only when I was drunk, which mostly made me try to quit with the whole binge-drinking, but by now, I can sometimes hear her whispering, or see her as she is trying to lurk behind my back. Sometimes have those kind of ... I don't know, call it flashbacks, maybe? I'm back at the point when I'm puking my lungs out in the apartment then, shortly before the doctors arrived. It's ... it's frightening. All I can do is to wait for the next moment when those memories hit me again or when I suddenly hear my ... my child crying in my room. I know that nothing of this is real, but it appears so damn real. And no matter if it's real or not, it's still fucking happening to me. *She buries her face in her heads.* I know it sounds insane, and I know that I'm going insane. Maybe it's the tit-for-tat response for my failure, I don't know. Just want it to stop, really, I can't bear it anymore. And I don't wanna go insane. Can all those memories not please just leave me alone? *She rubs her eyes, then looks at the camera again.* I hate to say it, I really, really do, but I've come to the realization that I need help. Serious help. Not just friends trying to peptalk me. They won't make those daydreams and nightmares go away, as much as I wished they could do that. And apparently I can't help myself. I don't even know what the hell is happening with me, I'm no doctor. Maybe I need one. A psychotherapist, or something. Somebody that makes this whole crap go away. I can't concentrate anymore, the fear of all this is just too much. Often I'm shaking.
I haven't told anybody about this so far, and I will keep my mouth shut about this for sure. If anybody finds out little old me is is losing her sanity, it's game-over. Assuming I find somebody who can help me with that, it's gonna have to be a cloak-and-dagger operation. They'd just frown at me.
I'm frightened of it. Please, just make it all go away.
*She shakes her head again and hectically looks around her apartment, to the sides, behind her. Once again she runs her fingers through her hair, while knitting her brows.*
But no, there's more I got on my shoulders right now. Remember Kiara. She's ... *She hesitates visibly.* ... not dead. Luckily, might I say, but at the same time it's complicating so much more the way it is at the moment. Fact is that she's being held hostage currently, by a bloody slave driver. His name is Remy Moreau, part of the Gallic Brigands. We already got a ransom demand by now. 350 million credits this little asshole demanded to not either send her off to Malta or hack her into little bits to sell her organs afterwards. *Her tone becomes a little louder, wrathful.* I swear, I will waterboard this bastard, slash him open and tear out his guts all while he will cry for mercy. And I will enjoy it. This gay Gaul will wish to have never made my acquaintance. He will suffer for what he's already done with Kiara, I swear by Almighty God. Once we will have this little wanker, he'll find out what consequences it has to mess with me and my friends. *As she chokes on her own words, she has to cough for a few moments.* Sorry, but I'm just getting so worked up on that, it's horrible. That still won't hinder me from exacting revenge on this poor little bastard. Maybe he gets a new view on all and sundry when he experiences what his victims had to experience, don't you think?
The most horrible thing however is that I have to masquerade myself as the one who doesn't care. We could pay the ransom as well, of course, and that would spare Kiara a lot of torture, I suppose, but I feel this reluctance to work together with criminals. Still. Just imagining she has to suffer even more, just because I am acting indifferent as though I didn't care one single bit about her future is just wearing me out even more, and it's difficult for me. I mean, I never had problems acting out something, but this ... *She sighs.* It's something different. Usually I enjoy acting, playing somebody else, you know. But I don't enjoy this. I hate it. And I hate me for having to do it. I'm well aware that working with criminals and complying to their demands is the dumbest thing you could think of, but this is hard to endure. Guess I'm used to that already, though.
I just want to have her back, and to know that she's safe again. Until then, I just can't feel good, especially since it's still obvious I caused this whole debacle. And the more days pass, the more I become doubtful whether our plan will actually work out or not.
*She grabs the cup of coffee and empties it in one last go, a sigh slips her lips before she puts it back on the table and rubs her hands briefly.*
Then there is the thing concerning Lily. A week ago or so, I've seen her in space again, and of course immediately wanted to talk to her again. Had been some time since I had seen her, and after what I got told from other people, especially dear Mason, I was aware there were things about her I was not aware of. So I asked for a meeting, and she suggested to meet in her apartment on Curacao. No sooner said than done. Looking back, I behaved like a dick. Delicacy of feeling wasn't exactly what I displayed, and to be honest, I regret some of the words I chose. I mean, yes I finally what's been going on with her to some extent, but I'm not so proud I found out. Seemed like I hurt her quite a bit. *Groaning slightly, she lowers her head again.* I prodded her too much, and only because I wanted to satisfy my curiosity. On the other hand, maybe it was my right to confront her with what I had found out. Considering I had thought to have found a friend in her. And only then realized I was friends with a costume. *She moves her hands over her face, rubbing it.* No, her name is not Lily Austin. She's called Nancy. I don't know the last name though, forgot to ask about that honestly, it was already enough information I got back then. And according to her, she's a serial killer. Sure that sounds weird first, and I was inclined to not believe her, but it matched the statements Mason had given about her on another occasion. Now for the ugly part: to find out about that, I apparently had to bring back some less pleasant memories of hers. I believe she was on the verge of tears once or twice. And I just kept on digging. *She shakes her head.* Disgusting. I really got no idea what that bothering with questions was supposed to achieve, especially since I got no use for those information. Snitching on her to the authorities, you say? First, just no. Even though she lied to me big-time, I can somewhat understand why she did. Trying to run away from her past. Not very different to what I'm doing at the moment, don't you think? Or at least what I'm trying to do. Except that I don't try to get a new ID. Though I must say this interrogation explained a few things to me. Seems like I've found this friend Leon Isley, you know, the guy who's best buds with Ezrael, had talked about a few months ago. Apparently he actually really managed to lay his hands on an ID. Didn't expect that.
However, there's something else that came to light during this meeting. And seriously, people can stop telling me stuff about it, there's no way around the truth that I think I know what is going on with Unschuld and Maren. You see, I had my doubts, alright? But was sure they are in cahoots together somehow, judging from ... you know the story, I told you. I don't know how, but Lily ... Nancy ... God, whatever, we ended up talking about Maren, God knows why, I can't remember. Nancy told me she had been jealous when her boyfriend told her about the stuff with Hussaini. That she was mad at him for protecting another woman. And no matter what Nancy tried to sell me afterwards, she said that she thinks that's the reason why we're not allowed to meet again. Remember how Ezrael told me that "this certain individual" called Unschuld had decided that? Was it Unschuld or Maren now? Or does that actually matter one single bit? *She scratches her head.* So, that's it. They can try tell me all they want, but I'm convinced they are the same freaking person. It makes sense. Hell, it makes no sense, but it does. Jealousy is a sensible motive for the exact decision that had been made, no?
So what does this mean? *She raises her hand, counting with her fingers.* First. I've been close to somebody who hopped into bed with an infectee. We have definitely reached a certain level of weirdness already. Second. He lied to me. Makes me wonder how much I should trust him. Third. No matter what the hell he told me, he definitely stands under nomad influence when his girlfriend has a nomad inside her. Jesus. Makes me wonder whether I've been working for him or for the nomads the whole time. And fourth. I'm wondering whether I should comm Auxesia concerning this. They aren't nice people, I'm aware, but I'd really like to find out if that scan Ezrael had told me about really was negative or not. Best would be if I heard it from their mouths, not his. After all, he can tell fairy tales to me all day long, apparently. He once told me to not trust him too much. There we go, then. I'm reluctant to reach out to Auxesia though, else I'd probably have already done it. My question would probably only raise counterquestions, and maybe it's better when they don't know that I know those people...
*Another sigh is audible.*
And last but not least, I think there's still this elephant in the room that needs to be talked about. Because ... *She makes a solemn, though ironic gesture with her arms.* ... I'm single again. Yes, we broke up. Was kind of inevitable, to be honest, and I saw it coming when John asked for a meeting after several weeks of no contact at all. *She sighs.* He didn't really help me, and I didn't really help him, mostly because I guess we just couldn't really. I could have used his help, though, at least from time to time. On the other hand, he couldn't have helped me much with all that anyways when I think about it. His sole presence is enough to make me freak out completely, and no I'm not exaggerating. I just can't stand that, when he's around me, he as a person just triggers so many bad thoughts and memories that it has become an impossibility to actually love him. *She sighs again.* I really wish it was different, but sadly it isn't. He asked whether we still could be friends and all that ... Jesus, John, if you just knew what's going on in my head, you would know that that's quite a lot to ask right now. As long as he only is a trigger for my memories, it will work out, surely not.
Maybe things will turn better soon. I just hope it.
*Shaking her head, she briefly glances into the camera for a lost second with narrowed eyes, then with a pinched smile would she end the log.*
