slow_burn: (g l a d)
[personal profile] slow_burn
Aiden wasn't seen for the rest of the session.

It was a few hours later he was finally released from the room in the house that was basically just a room with a lock on the outside, a quiet room of sorts. It might as well had been Aiden's second home.

He didn't kick the door or bang his head against the wall this time, though. Instead, he thought. And waited.

It was night when Aiden found her, gently knocking on her room. They had a lot more freedom here than they did a hospital, that was for sure--no nurses patrolling, anyway.

"Hey," He's opened the door somewhat ajar, peaking his head in but not looking directly at the bed (it's the same setup for all of them). Tracy's asleep, anyway. "Heather. Get up, I want to show you something."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 03:58 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (my son's a homosexual)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
When he speaks, she flinches.

She should leave. Slip back through the window and crawl into bed. Crawl into Tracy's, maybe, and warm away this chill. She should leave.

She should, and she doesn't. She lays back, twists onto her side and curls up, mirroring him. There's nobody around, nobody to hear, but she still speaks in a whisper.

"How do you know that?"

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 04:15 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (1)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
She lays silent for a while. There's just the night and the sound of their breathing and the smell of his cigarette while her eyes adjust until the curves and angles of his face swim out of the darkness.

"How?"

Quiet. So quiet.

"It's making me so tired."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 04:33 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (5)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
"It's not-"

No. She has the sense at least not to say it's not fair, because nothing is and whining about it has never changed that, ever. But it's all still so fresh, and in between the days when she thinks the best thing she can do is grow into someone her father would be proud of and the days when she wishes she just wouldn't wake up, there are days when she wants to burn the whole world down just to see if she feels it.

She reaches for his face, catches herself and drops her hand to the tile beneath them. Watches, watches, watches.

"Help me."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 04:54 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (8)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
Oh.

She rolls onto her back, eyes seeking the moon again. There are stars out here - clearer, bright away from the smoke and the light of the city. Out where they put the fuckups so they won't interfere too hard with the people whose masks haven't slipped yet. Maybe that's a metaphor. Or maybe she's grasping.

She wants to tell him that if he doesn't want to help he should just say so instead of making fun of her. Because she's not beautiful, she knows. She's a cracked vessel, tainted and broken.

But maybe that's why he thinks she is. Like why -- in spite of every instinct she has telling her to run as hard and as fast as she can -- she thinks he's beautiful, too.

"Beauty's overrated."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 05:26 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (5)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
How does he do that? Go from scaring her to seeming so warm, so kind so easily?

"You wanna be careful with those," she says. "I've never made a promise yet that didn't get me into trouble."

But she takes his hand, pulls herself up. Holds it for a moment, watching him closely.

"Thanks."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 06:39 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (7)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
"That's not-" she pauses, wonders if she should think better of this - "that's not why I'm here."

His smile is a knife edge, a sharp slice of silver in the dark. She wants to press her fingertips to it, feel the sharp cold of if, see if it'll cut her.

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 06:50 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (8)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
"They can't figure me out."

It's not said with pride, it's not gloating. It's flat, a statement of fact.

"There's a gap in their timeline they can't fill. I don't come up crazy on any of their tests, but they know there's something I'm not telling them."

They're close. Too close. She thinks she can feel his heartbeat, the shudder of his breath.

"They don't know if I'm dangerous but they can't prove I'm safe."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 07:14 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (Default)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
"Not to everybody."

That knife-edge smile is inches from her face, close enough to tear her apart, but she won't move. Won't back away.

"What about you, Aiden? Are you dangerous?"

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 07:38 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (real life sucks losers dry)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
"They are," she says, and it's quiet, whispered on a breath, an invitation to lean in closer. She can feel her pulse in her throat, hammer-loud and rabbit-quick.

"But sometimes they're right."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 08:14 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (so Heather gets the front page)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
Her eyes fall closed for a moment as his hand brushes her hair behind her ear, and she nods agreement. It's all you ever can do -- what you have to. One way or another, you find yourself there.

Her eyes open again and she looks up up to him, her gaze big and dark.

"Do? Not did?"

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 08:42 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (7)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
His lips touch hers, and it's both what she's been expecting and not that at all, so fast and so innocent it leaves her more confused than she started. But it breaks the tension, at least, and she rises when he does.

He moves closer to the edge, fearless, until he's right on the edge. Has much as she wants to write it off as posturing he's scaring her, and she grabs for his hand.

"It doesn't have to be."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 09:23 am (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (5)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
For a slow, terrible moment, she steps forward. Toes of her sneakers flush with the edge, peering over. Does it work like that? A moment of freefall, half a heartbeat to end it and then nothing?

She half expects his hand in her back, a quick drop for her foolishness. And who would blame him? Hell, who would even know? She finally gets that diagnosis - whoops, depressed, shame we didn't catch it earlier - and that would be an end to it. It doesn't come, and she takes a step back, shaking her head.

"Too easy. Cheap."

(no subject)

Date: 2012-08-12 09:45 pm (UTC)
sweetmotherofgod: (so Heather gets the front page)
From: [personal profile] sweetmotherofgod
"They won't."

The words are out of her mouth before she thinks to stop them, tumbling out when she knows she shouldn't.

"People never think of you the way you want when you die. They just make you into what they wanted you to be, turn you into a symbol. The second your heart stops it's like you don't exist anymore. You're just a myth, and it's never the one you would've wanted."

The eulogies they'd written for her dad that had almost nothing to do with the man he'd been. The letters left for her by kids at school, kids she hadn't even known but had been so keen to make gestures, to seize on grief and feel a part of it that they hadn't even waited for her to turn up dead.

(no subject)

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slow_burn: (Default)
Aiden Donahue

August 2012

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