Post by Nightingale on Aug 12, 2006 11:02:47 GMT -5
There was a ringing in her ears and a funny feeling in her chest as Angie lay on her bed, still shaking violently. She was still clutching the mangled fork, the one that he'd hacked at the door with and threatened her with, and tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed at it. I won't cry over him! I won't! Throwing the fork away, hearing it land somewhere with a metallic clink, she scrubbed at her face and refused to let the tears come.
She wanted to cry for him, for them, the Brotherhood, who it seemed had lost their leader. She wanted to cry for herself, cry for her fear, for the life she'd lost when the damned cure had been invented, cry for the life she'd given up when she'd left her mother's hotel room. But she couldn't cry for all that, and she wouldn't cry over Pyro's actions - so she scrubbed at her face to rid herself of the tears, and she sat up.
The fork was sitting against the leg of the desk, catching the light from her lamp and shining up at her as if to mock her. "Fuck you." Yeah, cause talking to the cutlery means I'm totally less crazy than him. She leant over, picked it up, thought about throwing it out... But instead, Angie just placed it down on her bedside table and sighed. What am I... What am I going to do with myself? Her thoughts were all scattered, her head unable to focus on anything when images of John kept flashing through her head.
"You ever hear of 'Stockholm syndrome', Nightingale?
"It's all in my head, all in my head, all of it...everything...make it stop, I don't want it there any more..."
"Let me out of here NOW, or so help me, I'll kill her. I WILL!"
He was smiling at her, an extraordinary smile that she'd never imagined him capable of, happiness so great that he was practically beaming at the offer of pancakes. And then he was holding his fork like a weapon, and then he was speaking to her amiambly, only he thought he was an X-Man. She clutched at her head, her fingers twining into her hair, hands balling into fists and pulling at great chunks of it. The pain was enough to get her mind off it, if only for a moment, and she stood up and almost ran out of the room before she could look at the fork again.
She needed a distraction. Something that would let her zone out for hours and not have to think about him, something that she could use to connect with the people who did care about her - rather than the ones who were nice enough but then ended up threatening you with cutlery. She needed, more than anything, to speak to her best friend, but Read wouldn't be able to understand. None of them would be able to understand - what could she say? 'I'm falling for a guy who wanted to kill me this afternoon.' I have to be the biggest idiot ever to walk the face of the planet. No wonder I've got my mutation - Darwin, baby, survival of the fittest. Clearly don't fit into that category.
She punched a wall. It hurt. "God damn it!" Shaking her hand, which did nothing to help the pain, she watched the knuckles swell up. Nothing she could do about that - her pain, her injuries, were like most of the populations. Sometimes worse, if she was putting all her energy into helping other people. Rubbing her knuckles, Angie rounded a corner to hear a wet slapping sound. "Oy!" What am I, trying to be the Juggernaut? She increased her speed until she could see him. "Just the man I've been looking for."
She wanted to cry for him, for them, the Brotherhood, who it seemed had lost their leader. She wanted to cry for herself, cry for her fear, for the life she'd lost when the damned cure had been invented, cry for the life she'd given up when she'd left her mother's hotel room. But she couldn't cry for all that, and she wouldn't cry over Pyro's actions - so she scrubbed at her face to rid herself of the tears, and she sat up.
The fork was sitting against the leg of the desk, catching the light from her lamp and shining up at her as if to mock her. "Fuck you." Yeah, cause talking to the cutlery means I'm totally less crazy than him. She leant over, picked it up, thought about throwing it out... But instead, Angie just placed it down on her bedside table and sighed. What am I... What am I going to do with myself? Her thoughts were all scattered, her head unable to focus on anything when images of John kept flashing through her head.
"You ever hear of 'Stockholm syndrome', Nightingale?
"It's all in my head, all in my head, all of it...everything...make it stop, I don't want it there any more..."
"Let me out of here NOW, or so help me, I'll kill her. I WILL!"
He was smiling at her, an extraordinary smile that she'd never imagined him capable of, happiness so great that he was practically beaming at the offer of pancakes. And then he was holding his fork like a weapon, and then he was speaking to her amiambly, only he thought he was an X-Man. She clutched at her head, her fingers twining into her hair, hands balling into fists and pulling at great chunks of it. The pain was enough to get her mind off it, if only for a moment, and she stood up and almost ran out of the room before she could look at the fork again.
She needed a distraction. Something that would let her zone out for hours and not have to think about him, something that she could use to connect with the people who did care about her - rather than the ones who were nice enough but then ended up threatening you with cutlery. She needed, more than anything, to speak to her best friend, but Read wouldn't be able to understand. None of them would be able to understand - what could she say? 'I'm falling for a guy who wanted to kill me this afternoon.' I have to be the biggest idiot ever to walk the face of the planet. No wonder I've got my mutation - Darwin, baby, survival of the fittest. Clearly don't fit into that category.
She punched a wall. It hurt. "God damn it!" Shaking her hand, which did nothing to help the pain, she watched the knuckles swell up. Nothing she could do about that - her pain, her injuries, were like most of the populations. Sometimes worse, if she was putting all her energy into helping other people. Rubbing her knuckles, Angie rounded a corner to hear a wet slapping sound. "Oy!" What am I, trying to be the Juggernaut? She increased her speed until she could see him. "Just the man I've been looking for."