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At 8:51pm on August 3, 2013, ᴄᴀяɴᴀʟ said…
Freedom. There was nothing like. But are we ever really free? That was the question that lingered in the mind of Ingrid Blaise, a woman that had just spent the last 8 months of her life in a secluded rehabilitation centre-- and the 5 before that in a cement box lined with iron bars. Her court ordered sentence at Half-way may have been fulfilled but was she really free of the bonds that bound her? No. Not in the slightest. She was trapped-- stuck in this world-- locked in her own meat suit-- and now, caged by her reputation; forever to be seen as nothing more than an ex-con-- a junkie. Greg had condemned her to a life of foregone judgement. That f****** bastard. Blaise didn't even want to think about that bible basher-- if she ever saw him again, she would bash his head in with that book. Blaise pressed her fingertips against her temple, moving them in a circular motion. God, she needed a smoke.
Raking a hand through her cropped blonde hair she slung her duffle over her shoulder, squinting at rays of light cascading from the retreating sun and casting shadows in the dull greyscale parking lot. The day was nearing it's end and she had yet to acquire a ride back into the city. The city, it'd been so long since she'd seen the towering buildings-- the bright lights. The air, it was to clean out here, no chemicals. She thrived off chemicals, they were the reason she was in this godforsaken place to start with. Not a thing had changed though, all her time at Half-way had been successful at doing was piss 8 months of her life away. Rubbing a hand over her eyes in frustration, a flash of yellow caught her attention from the far side of the lot. A taxi. She would thank the Lord, but she wasn't a believer.
It took Blaise no more than than a few moments to make her way over to the cab, the bittersweet tang of tobacco filling her nostrils as she came to a stop by the driver side window. She had the almost uncontrollable urge to the snatch the cigarette right from between his fingers. She refrained from doing so though, barely."I need a ride," She told the driver kneeling down slightly and leaning against the car to better peer in at him, emerald eyes clear and bright. It was an illusion. Those eyes were the doorway to a broken soul-- a darkness that was so very well hidden. "I haven't got any cash though..." She continued, cocking her head to the side ever so slightly. It was true, she was as broke as joke. "I could offer an...alternative payment though." You could take the girl, throw her in jail, toss her in rehab but she would never change. Blaise had been set on the same setting for so long, there nothing else she knew.
At 8:29pm on July 31, 2013, ɪᴅɪᴏsʏɴᴄʀᴀᴛɪᴄ said…
Jesus christ this girl can write ↓
At 10:19am on July 25, 2013, ɪᴅɪᴏsʏɴᴄʀᴀᴛɪᴄ said…
At 12:58am on July 20, 2013, ɪᴅɪᴏsʏɴᴄʀᴀᴛɪᴄ said…
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