(no subject)

[angela-edmunds.livejournal.com]

Angela is glad when her grandfather finally comes downstairs so they can go out of the bar.

"You ready, sweetheart?" he asks, and Angela grins.

"Definitely ready," she says, shouldering her bag. There are enough clothes for about five days, and she has no books with her--just notebooks, and pens.

She's going to try to deal with things. Inside, it's like there's a part of her that's locked away, and she doesn't feel things as she probably should.

Most of the time, she doesn't feel much of anything at all. And sometimes, she's just hurt and confused and scared all at once.

She had cried with Steph, but that was the last time. There were times when she'd wanted to, but no tears would come. She would stare off into the darkness while trying to sleep, her tears and pain bottled up somewhere in the region of her heart, feeling as if she would die.

Wanting to die, sometimes. And knowing how she would do it if she did.

But now, Angela looks up at her grandfather, and takes his hand, and together they go out of the door.