Breaking
An entry for LJ Idol, season 8, week 10: "Sticks and stones." Third in a series. See the previous items in the series here: Perigee; Thoughtless.
~~~
So this is why they behave as they do.
She was surprised to find that she was enjoying herself. At least in this way. This Sam had proven to be not at all what she expected - not brash or vulgar, and while rather pleasing to the eye, not at all arrogant. At this, she was disappointed; she had not realized that she relied upon them to have such abhorrent traits, much less that she would pity one who did not have them.
There were words - in their world, as well as in hers - for the wrong sort, the rough sort. They tasted bitter and metallic on the tongue, lashed like branches against the skin.
They were not the right words for this one.
"Elara," he muttered into the dark hair, and despite herself, she shivered. With his touch, she found it much more challenging to remain focused. It was certainly part of her plan to be here, in this tidy, warm place where he lived, with his mouth against her lips, her ear, her shoulder...
No. These were not hers. She could not waver, could not take too much pleasure with him. She was here to draw him, to entice him into seeing what he needed to see. To lower his resistance.
Then to surprise him with why she'd truly come here.
She'd seen it, after all...a hand roamed over the small of the back, then lower...no. She had seen the spark of recognition, the repeated consternation in his eyes when he could not place the face. He was much more malleable, more suggestible than she could have hoped...yet a sting and a gasp as his teeth graze the lip painfully more difficult to resist now than she could have imagined.
And now the hum began again. Disoriented, she pushed back against Sam's chest, at which his fingers tracing lines down the arms stopped short. The buzzing was gaining strength and, unacceptably, threatening to take tone and form.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I really didn't mean to..."
"No, it's not that," she said, turning the head side to side, quickly. The noise peaked, then dropped off sharply. There. "I just got a little...dizzy."
He smiled, and she felt a throb in the chest. How odd. "I don't know whether to say I'm sorry or you're welcome," he said gently.
No. This would not do. She shook the head more slowly this time, and smiled as she brought the mouth against his once more.
"Don't say anything."
~~~
“No, that’s PERFECT, just don’t say ANYTHING. Crazy bastards.”
She was pissed off, and hoarse from yelling her frustrations. This shapeshifting cocoon was really starting to irritate her. For what seemed like hours, all she’d come to know about it had gone awry - the light source dimming and brightening at random, the semblance of seating letting her sink to the floor. She tried not to think of being thirsty, lest water begin dripping from above...again.
“You can hear me now, can’t you?” she hollered. “Why start this now? If you’re tired of me, just SEND ME THE HELL HOME!”
The light shifted from a bright blue to a deepening red, and with it, the temperature rose.
“Oh, COME ON! Are you going to roast me now?”
...and fell again, slightly.
“...for God’s sake. THANK you.” She looked around at a space that, while no smaller, had suddenly gone a bit concave. “Could I maybe...sit down without another ride on the Ferris wheel?”
Nothing for a moment, and then what she’d come to think of as a chair appeared several feet away. She sat gingerly, waiting for it to collapse - but her behind was merely greeted with a surface much harder and colder than she was used to.
“Gee, thanks,” she muttered sarcastically. No response, except that the light was still undulating, wavering between colors...and then she noticed something new about the silence.
It wasn’t quite silent anymore.
She stopped short, holding her breath, closing her eyes, and listened. Nothing so discernible as words or music. She decided it was a bit like being a kid in bed, straining to hear what your parents were saying way out in the living room.
Parents. A flicker of a round face, framed by long straight dark hair, wearing an impish smile. Mom.
Her eyes popped open. A memory, finally. Had it noticed? She looked around, but there were no new changes. Maybe if she just...asked. She let her eyes flutter closed again, breathed deeply, and brought the face back into focus. It quickly shifted into an exceptionally large orange cat, and she smiled. It was working.
Give me more, she thought. Give me more.
It quickly became a mantra, a chant, though she never moved her lips. Now there were rooms, faces, cars, restaurants.
Give me more. Give me more.
Names and places that made her smile. Teases and taunts that stung like rocks being thrown, from children she’d forgotten and men she wished she had. But then her skin prickled, and the room chilled. She shivered, and kept chanting.
More. More.
Her name.
Her NAME.
And suddenly she was hurtling out, landing hard. She snapped up...and now she could nearly touch every surface from where she sat.
It was closing in on her.
And she’d had enough.
“Screw THIS,” she yelled, and kicked whatever was beneath her. “LET ME OUT. NOW.”
It tensed, then held. She did the same. Counted to ten. Balled herself up tightly and gathered every memory.
Including the one that mattered most.
Chandra.
“This is OVER,” she shouted. “LET. ME. OUT.”
And her prison exploded into darkness.