Tears steadily drip into the basin, splashing against white ceramic with small noises that she can only hear because she's silent, somehow, a slight shake in her shoulders with every new thought that hits her.
She has nothing.
Not her memories, not her family, definitely not Rip, the man she once considered her mentor, partner... friend. And no Sara. Because of course she screwed that one up, too. She should have said something to her, anything instead of just leaving like an idiot. A coward. Wasn't she supposed to be perfect? Instead she allowed the woman she most cared about to open herself up unlike she ever had before, and abandoned her. Selfishly.
Through the tears, she looks up at the reflection in the mirror, gazing into blue eyes. Eyes that weren't hers. Eyes that eleven other AVAs had owned before they died. And were replaced.
She can't kill herself.
Well, she could. It would be a unique death, one that she's sure no other AVA would even dare attempt, but, again- she was a coward. She was too afraid of what might come next for someone like her. A clone. Is there an afterlife? Would she even get in, considering she isn't even human? They were questions she didn't want answered for her right now. But where does that leave her?
Where were the consequences, the impact of your decisions, when you could be killed and replaced in an instant?
A sharp, stabbing, instantaneous pain surges up in her knuckles and her eyes snap open. She wasn't even aware that they were closed, but when she looks, her clenched fist is retracting from splintered, shattered glass, blood dripping heavily from her hand into where her tears were, the sink, already slowly draining down the plughole. It hurt, but it felt good. An AVA wouldn't purposefully put herself through pain, so that's exactly what she did.
Yelling, anger seeping deep into her bones, she keeps punching the mirror. Once, twice, three times, four. Again and again until she's forced to stop because the mirror is too broken to break anymore. Kind of like her, she muses darkly. Tiny shards of the mirror uncomfortably stick into her knuckles as blood continues to run stark against the white of her shirt sleeve, the basin, even the ground tiles as she tiredly backs up and sits down on the floor. She would smile, if her soul, her very being didn’t feel so hollow.
She would take the glass out with tweezers or something, she should. But that's what an AVA would do, so she just sits, and stares blankly into the opposite wall, legs stretched in front of her. There aren't anymore tears left in her system.
An AVA would stand up, get herself cleaned up, and ask for help.
So she doesn't.