"Motherfucker."

Had her hands always been so fucking vile? It was a question Mallory found herself asking often now, usually in the dead of night where only to flickering lights of cars passing her window were able to see her mess of being that cradled a bottle of scotch in broken palms. Had they always been so vile? Had they always been so destructive to everyone around her? Had they always been simply wrong and just waiting for a chance to ripple through her body like a deadly disease that spread from the tips of her finger to the pounding flesh of her heart that was entrapped in its bones prison.

She used to wonder if it was a curse, some kind of punishment by the supposed omnibenevolent God who'd looked upon her mortal corpse and decided quite simply that she, she and only she wasn't worth his adoration, his wasted breath because of the ruin she was making of herself, the ruin she had been made of. But that was before, before she lost her faith in any being higher than herself because what kind of God would allow this? This suffering that she and many others had faced, the horrors inside her eyes that would never leave, that would continue to stain her mind for years upon years to come like a bloody shrine of false praise and empty promises.

Fucking hell, another question was had she always been so bloody dramatic, Malloy thought to herself with a tired groan, running her gloved hand up and down her face until it felt as though she was going to get some kind of friction burn, finally putting the almost empty bottle of scotch down upon her second hand table that reeked of old lady with a sigh, breathing the stale air through her lips thinly and trying not to burst into some kind of hysterical laughter because her life really was a shit show and if she didn't laugh she'd probably cry.

This, this was how she'd spend her weekend off from her crappy work where her boss was a sleaze just as much as the patrons, sitting at this exact table in her shitty apartment that was way too small and stained for the rent to be as high as it was, holding her drink like it was a child that had crawled it's way out of her womb, drinking so much that she was pretty sure she could be labelled an alcoholic and pathetically lonely, just like she always was, just like she'd always be because she was poison and the cure and it was so exhausting fighting against both sides of a never ending battle of her humanity or her damnation.

Maybe she should look into seeing a therapist, or maybe she should just throw herself out of the window and be done with it all...decisions, decisions.

"Fuck my life." She eventually muttered, standing up on unsteady legs to make sure her window was actually shut, just to swaddle off the temptation because in the end, Mallory knew she was too much of a coward to go through with any of her suicidal thoughts in the effort of searching for peace, but she still really didn't want to find out just how close she actually was to the edge of it all. However, seemingly because she'd finally got off of her rather numb ass, the fog that had once swarmed over her dark gaze lifted, like a switch flipped, and instead of seeing her apartment through rose tinted glasses...she now realized how much of a shit tip she'd left it in her neglect.

The young woman cursed quietly, looking around in absolutely mortified disgust because the last time she'd had pizza was like, three months ago and there was definitely at least three boxes scattered around her living room, which really was a testimony to just how pathetic her life was getting because what the fuck? Did she want a roommate or something? Was that is? Because if she kept going the way she was going she was going to invite all of the bastard rats in New York into her apartment and they couldn't pay rent, hell, she could barely pay rent but at least she was trying...the window was really starting to look like the better option.

And yet, she was somewhat grateful for that wake up call, as she let out one final groan with only the light of the moon to bare witness to her turmoil as it danced over her skin like a haunting call...before she moved and started to awkwardly fumble around to the side of herself to grab a bin bag, quickly yanking it open and wafting it about and then she started to get to work, muttering and swearing under her breath as she stuffed the rubbish into the black bag, grimacing at the empty bottles, the half eaten take out food that had definitely gone mouldy, the plastic forks and the mail that was usually just bills.

Hopefully, future Mallory was going to be fucking grateful for this, because present Mallory was trying desperately not to gag as something slimy touched the skin of her forearm where her sleeve had unfortunately rolled up, and she didn't dare risk a glance at what it was, mainly for the sake of her sanity as she stumbled her way towards her apartment door, ready to throw her weekend into the garbage shoute where it belonged...only to almost fell onto her face, just managing to catch herself in time as she cursed and whimpered and wondered just how her Sunday was going to get any worse.

"You alright?"

She hadn't been looking for an answer, honestly, she hadn't...and yet the deep, rough voice that was never louder than a gruff mutter did so all the same as she sighed, glaring down at the god awful pattern of the carpet below her that was filled with so many stains that it sometimes wanted to make her sick and hoping it would just fucking swallow her whole, before she finally lifted her gaze to awkwardly nod at the man staring down at her, his usual assortment of bruises scattered across his large and unfortunately handsome face that made her feel all sorts of intimated as she smiled apologetically. "Yep, sorry, 'scuse me."

He simply grunted, stepping to the side slowly so Malloy could squeeze on past which she was swift to do, still whispering apologies under her breath as she walked away and released a breath she hadn't known she was holding as he turned the opposite way, his back straight and hunched like a soldier being sent off to war, probably to go out and have some kind of life while she was extremely busy trying to avoid hers.

Frank something or other was his name she was sure, she really didn't know nor did she want to...but compared to the rest of her neighbours, he was the closest one that came to actually having a conversation with her that wasn't her just running away or just glaring at them until they gave up. And that was mainly because she found it hard to be rude to the man who'd buzzed her into the apartment building at least eight times already since she'd moved in because she kept losing her fucking keys and he was the only one with a conscience not to leave her out to rot in the cold.

Hell, sometimes they even nodded at each other on the rare occasion they walked past one another, usually when Mallory was heading off to work and he was heading off to do...well, whatever it was that he did, which was really alot more than she gave anyone else because the thought of embracing humanity set her blood to boil in her prison of flesh until it had evaporated any rational thought she had once had. She couldn't get close to anyone, she knew that, she'd learned that through blood, tears and grief...but that didn't stop that desire or the melancholy loneliness that wrapped around her like a disease.

Maybe she really should see a therapist, or maybe she should just throw herself down the garbage shoute...decisions, decisions.
_________________________________________________

Mallory hadn't thrown herself into the garbage shoute in the end, mainly because she'd actually seen what had been going in there and that was just her crap nevermind everyone else's, so she'd stuffed her junk on top and called it a night and then headed back to her apartment, deciding to do the rather disgusting dishes in the morning before she'd crawled into her bed and hoped for a full night of blissful sleep that constantly seemed out of reach from her stained hands that painfully grasped at good dreams that would just slip through her fingers like smoke in a breeze.

But that had been hours ago if the bright blinking red lights of her clock where any indication, glaring back at her like an accusation, searing into her minds eye until her head began to pound, an awful migraine starting to wreak havoc through her mortal corpse that was fucking desperate for a break that would never come as she tossed and turned and turned and tossed until she'd eventually gave up and just stared at the crumbling ceiling above her, begging for strength or death and more than happy to take fucking either at that present moment.

Crash!

She shot up suddenly, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open at the sound of shattering glass and a rather large thump of something hitting her floors with a deep grunt. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck, what the fuck was that? There was something in her apartment, no no, there was someone in her apartment, oh God, oh fuck, she wasn't prepared for this, she definitely wasn't prepared for this, what the hell was she meant to do? Call the police? She had a better chance of fucking Daredevil coming to actually help her because those bastards were useless. Motherfucker.

Her hands trembled as they grabbed at the heavy alarm clock by her bedside table, sweating through the gloves that she'd forgotten to take off and holding it like a life line as she slowly stood up from her tangled sheets, wincing with every movement, with every hitched breath that felt like a loud boisterous shout, the way her heart pounded, leaping up into her throat until it was all she could hear, a swift and steady thuh-thrump, thuh-thump, thuh-thump as she moved towards her bedroom door, the floorboards creaking slightly under her weight until she was a hair brerth distance away, closing her eyes tightly as she swallowed and waited.

Before she ripped the door open with a god awful scream that sounded more like a feral war cry, holding her alarm clock high above her head like it was a fucking katana, swinging wildly with her eyes still cold and yelling abuse to wherever she thought the intruder was with her voice shaking and filled with terror as she howled and shouted. "Get the fuck out of my house you Motherfucker! I'll shit in your eye, I'll fuck your mother in front of you! I'll fucking kill you-"

And so on and so forth, but when nothing, and she meant nothing answered her, she ever so hesitantly opened her eyes, scared out of her mind at what she thought was going to great her...only to find a huge lump of black lying on her living room floor, covered in the glass that was once her window, unmoving and still like they were just some kind of accessory to her rather shitty home, like some kind of small carpet or table or something...but last time she checked, carpets or tables didn't fucking breathe, and they definitely didn't bleed out all over her cream coloured floor the fucking bastard.

"Hey buddy, I don't know if you're drunk or what...but can you like, not bleed out on my floors? I've just had them cleaned?"

Of course, they didn't answer her, why would they answer her considering they looked half dead? And so, cursing and whimpering under her breath, Mallory walked towards the body slowly, gripping her alarm clock tightly, fully prepared to slap it across their forehead and hopefully kill them though she'd settle for a concussion, just something that would say she didn't just lie down and take her possible death, y'know? Give herself some dignity which she'd lacked for the vast majority of her life...however, when she finally reached them and gave them a little nudge with her foot, nothing happened, not even a groan, not even a breath which really didn't bode well.

So, running out of patience, she kneeled beside them, her bottom lip held between trembling teeth as she risked a gulp and after quite a bit of effort and strain, managed to flip the large lump over so slowly she could see just what she was dealing with...only to find a familar face staring back at her, stained in blood and cuts and bruises until she could barely recognise him but weirdly knowing that crooked nose when she saw it, even drenched in red sin, she knew that fucking face...because Frank was the only neighbour she attempted to interact with, and she was pretty sure he was dead on her bloody living room floor.

"Motherfucker."