Manhattan was, you could say, was the wildest borough in New York City. With every waking step you took, there'd be a party on every block, yet tragedy in every step you took. You had to be an adult to really enjoy New York City, and its way of clubbing, wilderness of a society. Monsters broke out into the littered, trafficked streets every night, past midnight. There was always some bozo getting drunk, some prostitute lost on fifth avenue, and some horn dog of a guy cheating on his millionth relationship with a Staten Island whore. When the sun sighed and shrugged away from the reality sky, and the moon would conceive to the night, the strength of rules became as binding as gelatin. Everyone knew that. Especially Tam. And though she was an adult, she, unfortunately, was not part of the majority that learned how to really have a blast.

No, Tam was a quiet girl - she always was. She would pace the empty, motionless streets of midnight, followed only by the click of her pumps, her clothes constantly white, constantly pure, like the way she used to be. Light, stenchless air would kiss her gently as she briskly paced past every building, every street lamp tall and still towards the sky, pouring its bright vision onto the asphalt below. All was still to her, dead, their presences worthless as she walked back to the church. Yes, she went to church, even on a Friday night so good and drunk and distilled as this one. She found no need to go to wild parties; she found no need but to find faith in herself, no one else. She was independent. She was... Tam. No one could take that away from her.

Autumn leaves frolicked past in the swaying, lively air around her. Her breath rendered a cold chill from the frigid moonlit Manhattan, she approached the church, her fingers feeling cold beneath their concealment of leather gloves. Her long, untamed black hair showed that she didn't care how she looked. As long as she looked like what she really was. Her dark eyes were always serious, always acting as the doors seeping deep into her emotions. If you looked into them, they would be a pool of fragile serenity, bearing and barricading with extreme effort all the hurt inside she had to deal with, all the mother-flicking crap she had to deal with. Her lips stern, cold like the distant moon, and her eyes glinting with the reflection of accompanying stars, she listened to her heels click -

Click. Click. Click. Click. They were the only sounds, only guidance she had as she walked steadily towards the entrance of the large church. She need not know the name of it. A church... was a church. She wasted no moment to stand by in awe over its large exterior, no mouth-dropping for the perfect glint of stain glass window it held in its beauty. She didn't care for those material things. Nothing struck her surprised. Nothing mattered to her at all - she made sure of that a long time ago. It was a long story she was still looking to make short - a part of her continued to think about it as she entered through the large wooden doors and marked herself with the holy water before walking down the aisle. Now making low noises, trying to keep quiet and hushed as a mouse, she kept her arms at her side, her head hung high and looking over the large, wooden cross displayed behind the altar, majestic and godly, giving her some hope, some confidence in herself. She was a young woman who looked brave, but inside, she was nothing but a broken collage - a sea of shattered hopes, for herself, and everyone she loved.

It was just one thing. Her parents expected great of her. Her older siblings, too, Jack, her warrior of a brother, and Spike, that athletic hero. As a little kid, pressure can come out a lot worse. It was all the time, non-stop, "Your life is just beginning! You need to learn the basics of as much as you can so you can advance into the harder things earlier in life, so you have much more choices and become successful!" And being so small, she didn't know what it meant to be successful. She didn't know what it meant to her future. Hell, she was a kid! The only thing she should've known was how to play Barbie. God, such assholes her parents were. But no, she didn't blame them before. She only blamed them now, as a mature adult, able to see things for what they really were.

She knelt before the altar at the front of the aisle and folded her gloved hands tranquilly over her legs. Head bowed and eyes closed, she began to pray, for nothing in particular. Just pray. No, as a kid, she blamed herself. She thought everything was in its right except her. She thought she was a failure, constantly disappointing her parents by not getting things right away, and becoming expert at them. So much pressure, so much failure and so much hurt in that look of disappointment her parents had given her thousands of times as she sat there, hopeless, ready to cry just at the age of five. And so she made herself nothing. She made herself nothing and made herself worthless so they would no longer expect so much of her. That was Tam's plan. If they think, and they know you are nothing but a zero, then they won't expect you to be anything more than a zero. Yeah, that's what she made them believe. And that's how she grew up. Zero.

Now, eyes gracefully opening, she lifted herself from the ground and the darkened church room. The floor was wide, traditional wooden seats lined up behind each other, row after row, setting themselves comfortably in the house of God. Stain-glass windows breathed the mere percentile of moonlight in from outside, lighting up their respective pictures just as well. She walked down the aisle now, facing away from the cross, hoping that it really was behind her now, all the way, literally, metaphorically. She walked with a subtle click of her heels, waiting until she got outside to make more noise. Her walk was straightforward, not intending anything it shouldn't be, not intending anything more than it was - dull, yet straight to the point. Tam was like that. She didn't waste time.

She took off her right glove as she dipped her fingers once more into the pan of holy water and cast it upon herself, just for the subconscious hell of it, for the hope that things might actually change, things she didn't know she wanted changed. Slipping back on her glove, she exited the church, closed the door behind her. She set off home, her only other destination. You could be sad for her, because really, she was tired of being sad for herself.