Megaly stomped into her room and threw her fishing pole roughly into the corner. She splashed some water into the basin on the dresser and scrubbed vigorously at her face, trying to wash away the events of the evening. Wiping her face on a nearby towel, she looked around for a bottle, a flask, anything that contained something strong and alcoholic. Her flask sat on the bedside table and she snatched at it, drinking the liquid within down. It burned her throat and she coughed after a minute, gasping for air. It burned in her stomach and only intensified the sick feeling she had.
She wanted to run away. To hide and stay hidden until he was gone. In essence, that is exactly what she did but it didn’t seem far enough. She couldn’t go back to the orchard because she needed to keep working. With the crops so bad this year she’d had to take extra jobs to help keep it running.
Everything had been fine for most of the evening. A bit of fishing among friendly folks, some good booze, bawdy jokes. Then that fella showed up. Strong looking guy. She liked them strong. And could hold his booze pretty darn good. He wasn’t exactly bad looking either. She had just started taking an interest in him for an evening of fun when he started taking an interest in her.
Too bad it was more of an interest than she could handle.
She found another bottle of booze and took a long swallow of it before planting herself on the edge of the bed. She never drank at home anymore. She didn’t want her son to see. She drank on occasion in town. Enough to have fun. Tonight she planned on drinking until she couldn’t see straight and could barely remember her own name.
She’d never been keen on getting involved with anyone long term. Too much work, too much stress, too much chance of getting hurt. Of course there was also the fact that she had never been decent enough to catch the good fellas. The ones that wouldn’t get bored with her, decide she was a mistake and throw her away. Like Alistair had.
She wished a rotting fungus on his testicles, as she had done thousands of times before.
She smashed the bottle against the floor and watched the alcohol spread over the wood. She stared at the stain without seeing it, her mind chasing itself in circles. She had never been afraid of battle. She knew, someday, she would die with a sword in her hand. She feared no creature, alive or undead, she had met on Azeroth or in Outland.
Yet this man sent her running to her room like a frightened child. She had only survived the last one because of her son, Ralston. He was her reason for living, then and now. And she would never let anyone get close enough to hurt her that bad again.
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