- room 223 - wednesday afternoon - 12/09 -
As Fiona walked into her room and tossed her bag unceremoniously on the bed, she had to admit the truth to herself: she'd chickened out. Again.
It'd all seemed so simple, so easy as she was sitting at her desk on Tuesday. Go. Go out. Go out, go to Dite, go to Dinah, go to Max, go to Leto, go to anyone--
Go to Griff.
But no. She'd just followed her routine, hidden in her room, buried herself in the strange legal practices of pre-dynastic China, and pet her kitten. It was easier, after all. And was anything else really required of her? No. No, anything else was just the trimmings. After all, she was here to study, to learn, to get better at
What, exactly? What was the point? Why was she doing any of this? What was a goddess supposed to do with her life especially when it might end at any time?
She almost wished she was back to how she'd been. She wondered about her aunt; why couldn't Dallas have told her and then fixed her emotions after some of the pain would have worn away? But no, fresh shiny new emotional connection and the first thing down the pipes was the knowledge that one false step would mean what tenuous connection she still had with her mother would be severed. Cut.
She'd wanted to rage and scream, but without her mother actually in the vicinity and a distinct lack of Eliot to try and calm her down, she just hadn't been able to do it. Tara didn't deserve that. Tara couldn't do anything about it. She'd probably scare her roommate, and that would just be the icing on the cake because she liked Tara.
So it'd been easier to hide everything, hide and try and shut off her emotions the old fashioned way, which hadn't worked so well. Almost two months now... it really hadn't worked so well.
But Fiona liked to think she was smart. She also liked to think she wasn't a chicken. So that meant, well, she'd have to try again tomorrow. Just one more day. One more day, one more night, one last evening to sleep on it, and then she'd tell someone, be honest, be herself again.
She pulled up her camera and started fiddling with it to distract herself.
Just one. No going back on that again.
[for one, really]
It'd all seemed so simple, so easy as she was sitting at her desk on Tuesday. Go. Go out. Go out, go to Dite, go to Dinah, go to Max, go to Leto, go to anyone--
Go to Griff.
But no. She'd just followed her routine, hidden in her room, buried herself in the strange legal practices of pre-dynastic China, and pet her kitten. It was easier, after all. And was anything else really required of her? No. No, anything else was just the trimmings. After all, she was here to study, to learn, to get better at
What, exactly? What was the point? Why was she doing any of this? What was a goddess supposed to do with her life especially when it might end at any time?
She almost wished she was back to how she'd been. She wondered about her aunt; why couldn't Dallas have told her and then fixed her emotions after some of the pain would have worn away? But no, fresh shiny new emotional connection and the first thing down the pipes was the knowledge that one false step would mean what tenuous connection she still had with her mother would be severed. Cut.
She'd wanted to rage and scream, but without her mother actually in the vicinity and a distinct lack of Eliot to try and calm her down, she just hadn't been able to do it. Tara didn't deserve that. Tara couldn't do anything about it. She'd probably scare her roommate, and that would just be the icing on the cake because she liked Tara.
So it'd been easier to hide everything, hide and try and shut off her emotions the old fashioned way, which hadn't worked so well. Almost two months now... it really hadn't worked so well.
But Fiona liked to think she was smart. She also liked to think she wasn't a chicken. So that meant, well, she'd have to try again tomorrow. Just one more day. One more day, one more night, one last evening to sleep on it, and then she'd tell someone, be honest, be herself again.
She pulled up her camera and started fiddling with it to distract herself.
Just one. No going back on that again.
[for one, really]