Chapter One

It was easier to run from her problems, Inara decides.

Running is safe, familiar. She barely needs to think anymore- just let one foot fall in front of the other, again and again. Inhale, exhale. No leather collar around her neck, no other person to race- just her, and her alone.

Turning the last corner to her building, she enters the doors, only slowing down in those final steps before the apartment complex. The woman at the front desk- a grey-haired lady with a friendly smile and warm brown eyes- gives her a cheerful wave, and Inara returns it breathlessly, panting, her skin slick with sweat as the two go through their normal exchange.

When she can breathe enough to walk again, Inara begins the slow journey upstairs, a headache threatening at the edge of her mind. She enters her apartment with a grimace, locking the door behind her- both locks, the one that had been there previously and the second she'd installed- and sits down on the floor, the cool laminate recently vacuumed during the cleaning spree she'd gone on yesterday, her back pressing somewhat uncomfortably to the door.

When several minutes have passed and she's no longer shaking, the young woman stands, stripping off her tank top and leggings to wear just her underclothes as she walks to her bedroom, tossing these on the floor and turning on the water of the shower. Her remaining clothing soon follows the first as Inara steps into the shower, having taken suitable time to let the bathroom fog up and cover the mirrors with a layer of condensation, hot water searing her lightly tanned skin and soaking her long brown hair. The scent of salty sweat is quickly replaced with that of sweet strawberry shampoo, then "Ocean Breeze" body wash. Inara isn't sure what an ocean breeze is supposed to smell like, but soap is soap, right?

Even when she's done erasing the traces of her run from her body, Inara remains under the hot water, mostly just because she can. Exhaustion has hit like a truck, and she sits on the tile floor of the shower, drawing shapes in the fogged-up glass with her finger. A butterfly, a bird. It's oddly peaceful.

After what seems like hours, though is really just a few minutes, the female finally stands and turns off the water regretfully, one hand reaching out of the shower to grab a fluffy blue towel and dry herself off with it. Wrapping it around her slim, athletic body, she takes a deep breath of the steamy air, the edge of the tattoo that covers a large section of her skin poking out at her collarbone, a friendly reminder of everything she hates.

It's a sweater day.

She slides on a greyish-brown sweater and old jeans, worn to a familiar softness, barely taking the time to hang up her now wet towel and dump her dirty running clothes into a laundry bin before catapulting herself directly onto her bed, not even getting under the covers prior to letting her eyes close, sleep just about immediately taking over.

In the back of her thoughts, the demon waits.