Maybe, Juliet, the reason that you’re fine is because you know the place we’re taking you to is special.

-

She stands in the doorway of her new, albeit temporary, home. She leans back against the door, closing it gently. Breathes in the smell – it’s clean, polished, vacuumed. Perfect. Unsettlingly perfect. Her eyes travel over the walls, down to the floors. Shrugs at how open plan it all is. It’ll have to do. She isn’t really sure that this place is really the place for narcissistic renovations.

Her suitcase stands in the shadow cast by the cream sofa. She sighs, and wonders how she managed to pack a life into that case. A short life, six months, but a life nonetheless. She wonders if she will fit in here, whether she really will be needed. That man, Benjamin Linus. He seemed nice enough. Charming. Yes, definitely charming.

She steps away from the door, her hands lingering on the smooth paintwork. She doesn’t really want to step away from the door, to accept that she’ll be here, in this island bungalow, for six whole months. One hundred and eighty days. Approximately. Six months that she could spend with her sister. Her wonderful sister. Her pregnant sister. She smiles to herself. A small victory in an ocean of failure and heartache. She will allow herself this victory, just for a moment. But then comes the maintenance of that victory. To see it through to the very end. And yet, she is no longer able to see it through to the end. She will be able to see the very end, but not the journey. She wants to be there. She wants to be the care. She wants to hold her hand. Inside, she ashamedly wants the glory.

Runs her fingers across the draining board, feeling each trough and peak of the cold steel. Looks out the window. The sunlight is pouring through her window, highlighting the kitchen area with a glittering golden light. It’s an evening sunshine; early evening, late afternoon. She closes her eyes, letting the rays warm her face. Folds her arms across her chest. Holds herself for the tiniest moment before letting her elbows drop. Reassurance, really.

Should I unpack now, or later? The only clear thought she’s had all day. Everything’s been so jumbled. Probably that tranquilizer they’d given her. Her head is still slightly groggy, she still wants to lie down. Hell, it’s her own house (for now). She’s going to lie down. She looks over at the sofa. Shrugs to herself, walks over to the carpet and lies down on the floor. She carefully stretches her body out, acutely aware of every bone, every joint. Throws one arm carelessly behind her head, places the other hand gently on her abdomen, splaying her fingers. Shuffles her body slightly, clears her throat. Closes her eyes. Listens to her body. God, she aches. She’ll take a bath later. Soothe herself.

She opens her eyes. Frowns to herself. Wonders just what the hell it is that made her want to lie on the floor and stare at the smooth white ceiling.

Breathes in the smell. It’s clean. Polished. Vacuumed.

She’ll have to figure out how to keep it this way.