NARRATIVE // It's Too Late [alex - the dragon/possibly future!au canon]
It's Too Late.
[[as part of the dragon, I am slowly getting to them]]
“This is a bad idea, you know,” he comment casually.
“What is?” the therapist asked him, pen on her notepad at the ready.
“Talking to me.”
She looked at him for a moment, studying the expression on his face as if that might give something about the boy away. But his expression was blank, completely void of the life it had held only days before had she been able to see it then. The part of Alex Summers that cared to show the world how he felt had died already, and there was no reviving it now.
“I’m not talking to you,” she finally insisted, “I’m listening.”
Alex scoffed, a sound that took her by surprise in the nearly empty room where acoustics were astoundingly intense. Even the smallest of sounds would be heard with an echo, and this open defiance bit at her ears the way a guard dog snaps through the fence as you’re walking by, not quite able to reach but still trying.
“Where would you like me to start then?” Alex asked, clearly humoring her and mocking her all at once by the tone of his voice.
“The beginning is a good place to start,” was her simple answer.
So of course, Alex started at the middle, and he started with the death that the therapist hadn't even asked him about--he started with Lorna's death. “The last thing she ever said to me was, ‘ Goodbye, Havok. Give 'em hell.’” He thought about that, staring down at the table he had his arms rested on. He could see Lorna’s face, drawn out with perfect detail on the metal of the table, in his own reflection even. Bits of himself that now, and would forever, belong to her. “Part of me knew she was saying goodbye forever,” he admitted, still showing no emotion as he spoke.
“You cared for her?”
“I fucking loved her!” he insisted, slamming his fist down on the table before he could even think not to. It was a natural reaction to what he was feeling, the need to lash out at the nearest physical object just to feel something more than loss. Alex glared at the therapist for what seemed like the longest time, his breathing heavy as he forced his anger away. Eventually he calmed, the hurricane hitting the shore and slowly coming to an end as it broke across the land. And all the while the eyes of his storm were clear, plain to read but only by the one person who would never look at them again.
“You know how people talk about love at first sight?” Alex asked, his voice as calm as his expression now, his fist loosening so that his hand rested on the table again. “It's bullshit. There is no love at first sight, only lust, pure animal attraction. It’s not that we’re monsters, we’re just...human.”
She listened, making some notes on her clipboard, and he didn’t seem to notice she was narrating his life to reread at a later time or that she raised an eyebrow when he referred to himself as human. As if his words could really even express what he was feeling. This went beyond words, beyond any human language or form of expression. It was almost metaphysical, an archaic emotion Alex was sure only few people ever really experienced. It was love and hate all in one, anger towards the happiness that it brought.
“When she walked into my life I should have turned and run,” Alex continued, now back to talking about Amara--the death the therapist had asked about. “Every part of me told me too, but I argued with that logic. Why? Because she was beautiful. She was a dangerous kind of beauty, and I chased that. She was...forbidden.”
“Where did you meet her?” the therapist asked quietly, looking up from her writing only long enough to listen to his answer.
“The training room of course,” he said, talking down to her like she was a child. “You don’t meet Helen of Troy at the mall after all. She likes to make her presence in the world known, even if it isn’t her world, and she does it without realizing. She walked into the room and everything else faded.”
“You mentioned in police reports that she claimed to be from…” she looked down at her paper, “an alternate universe?” she asked, and while she was very good at keep her expressions at bay, there was a hint of amusement in her tone.
“No. Not yet. That didn't happen for years, and it wasn't her, it was me. It’s complicated,” Alex assured her. “I’d hate to waste your time with my defensive fantasies,” he said mockingly. Yes, he knew they thought he was crazy, that he’d made that part of everything up to give himself an excuse to have let her suffer the way she had.
“I’ve got time,” she assured him.
“No you don’t,” Alex said quietly, looking down at the table where his hands rested again. “You really don’t. See,” he added, looking back up at her, “we’re all running towards our deaths. The moment we’re born we start dying, it’s just that we try so hard to avoid thinking on that, that we’ve almost come to believe that humanity is truly immortal.”
“It’s not humanity that’s immortal, darling,” Alex told her, “it’s the ideas behind it.” She looked puzzled, which made him grin a little bit. “People die,” he continued in explanation, “but emotion lives on, passes from person to person, generation after generation. We are what we pretend to be, and in the end that’s what makes us immortal.”
“So you don’t believe she’s really dead then?” the therapist asked.
Alex gave her a look like she was a complete idiot, because in his mind she was referring to Lorna--the body he'd actually seen, the death that had been proved. “Are you really that stupid?” he asked, no longer amused. He was more disgusted than anything. “She’s in the fucking ground,” Alex snapped, “I helped burry her, and you’re sitting here asking me if I think she’s still alive?”
“Sometimes it’s difficult to tell if what we pretend is true rather than the reality of it,” she said.
“You stupid bitch,” he hissed, glaring at her, getting a surprised look in response to his language. “You’ve no idea what I’m even talking about do you? Have you at least looked at a picture of her? Seen what she looked like?” She didn’t answer and Alex scoffed again. “Get out,” he snapped, pointing towards the door.
“I…”
“Get. Out.” He said darkly, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. It was clear there would be no more ‘talking’ for today at least. She’d angered him.
“I’ll be back,” she muttered, standing up and leaving the room.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he snapped sarcastically, watching the door swing shut behind her. God this place was Hell personified. How had he ever let himself get weak enough to be fucking arrested?
[[as part of the dragon, I am slowly getting to them]]
“This is a bad idea, you know,” he comment casually.
“What is?” the therapist asked him, pen on her notepad at the ready.
“Talking to me.”
She looked at him for a moment, studying the expression on his face as if that might give something about the boy away. But his expression was blank, completely void of the life it had held only days before had she been able to see it then. The part of Alex Summers that cared to show the world how he felt had died already, and there was no reviving it now.
“I’m not talking to you,” she finally insisted, “I’m listening.”
Alex scoffed, a sound that took her by surprise in the nearly empty room where acoustics were astoundingly intense. Even the smallest of sounds would be heard with an echo, and this open defiance bit at her ears the way a guard dog snaps through the fence as you’re walking by, not quite able to reach but still trying.
“Where would you like me to start then?” Alex asked, clearly humoring her and mocking her all at once by the tone of his voice.
“The beginning is a good place to start,” was her simple answer.
So of course, Alex started at the middle, and he started with the death that the therapist hadn't even asked him about--he started with Lorna's death. “The last thing she ever said to me was, ‘ Goodbye, Havok. Give 'em hell.’” He thought about that, staring down at the table he had his arms rested on. He could see Lorna’s face, drawn out with perfect detail on the metal of the table, in his own reflection even. Bits of himself that now, and would forever, belong to her. “Part of me knew she was saying goodbye forever,” he admitted, still showing no emotion as he spoke.
“You cared for her?”
“I fucking loved her!” he insisted, slamming his fist down on the table before he could even think not to. It was a natural reaction to what he was feeling, the need to lash out at the nearest physical object just to feel something more than loss. Alex glared at the therapist for what seemed like the longest time, his breathing heavy as he forced his anger away. Eventually he calmed, the hurricane hitting the shore and slowly coming to an end as it broke across the land. And all the while the eyes of his storm were clear, plain to read but only by the one person who would never look at them again.
“You know how people talk about love at first sight?” Alex asked, his voice as calm as his expression now, his fist loosening so that his hand rested on the table again. “It's bullshit. There is no love at first sight, only lust, pure animal attraction. It’s not that we’re monsters, we’re just...human.”
She listened, making some notes on her clipboard, and he didn’t seem to notice she was narrating his life to reread at a later time or that she raised an eyebrow when he referred to himself as human. As if his words could really even express what he was feeling. This went beyond words, beyond any human language or form of expression. It was almost metaphysical, an archaic emotion Alex was sure only few people ever really experienced. It was love and hate all in one, anger towards the happiness that it brought.
“When she walked into my life I should have turned and run,” Alex continued, now back to talking about Amara--the death the therapist had asked about. “Every part of me told me too, but I argued with that logic. Why? Because she was beautiful. She was a dangerous kind of beauty, and I chased that. She was...forbidden.”
“Where did you meet her?” the therapist asked quietly, looking up from her writing only long enough to listen to his answer.
“The training room of course,” he said, talking down to her like she was a child. “You don’t meet Helen of Troy at the mall after all. She likes to make her presence in the world known, even if it isn’t her world, and she does it without realizing. She walked into the room and everything else faded.”
“You mentioned in police reports that she claimed to be from…” she looked down at her paper, “an alternate universe?” she asked, and while she was very good at keep her expressions at bay, there was a hint of amusement in her tone.
“No. Not yet. That didn't happen for years, and it wasn't her, it was me. It’s complicated,” Alex assured her. “I’d hate to waste your time with my defensive fantasies,” he said mockingly. Yes, he knew they thought he was crazy, that he’d made that part of everything up to give himself an excuse to have let her suffer the way she had.
“I’ve got time,” she assured him.
“No you don’t,” Alex said quietly, looking down at the table where his hands rested again. “You really don’t. See,” he added, looking back up at her, “we’re all running towards our deaths. The moment we’re born we start dying, it’s just that we try so hard to avoid thinking on that, that we’ve almost come to believe that humanity is truly immortal.”
“It’s not humanity that’s immortal, darling,” Alex told her, “it’s the ideas behind it.” She looked puzzled, which made him grin a little bit. “People die,” he continued in explanation, “but emotion lives on, passes from person to person, generation after generation. We are what we pretend to be, and in the end that’s what makes us immortal.”
“So you don’t believe she’s really dead then?” the therapist asked.
Alex gave her a look like she was a complete idiot, because in his mind she was referring to Lorna--the body he'd actually seen, the death that had been proved. “Are you really that stupid?” he asked, no longer amused. He was more disgusted than anything. “She’s in the fucking ground,” Alex snapped, “I helped burry her, and you’re sitting here asking me if I think she’s still alive?”
“Sometimes it’s difficult to tell if what we pretend is true rather than the reality of it,” she said.
“You stupid bitch,” he hissed, glaring at her, getting a surprised look in response to his language. “You’ve no idea what I’m even talking about do you? Have you at least looked at a picture of her? Seen what she looked like?” She didn’t answer and Alex scoffed again. “Get out,” he snapped, pointing towards the door.
“I…”
“Get. Out.” He said darkly, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. It was clear there would be no more ‘talking’ for today at least. She’d angered him.
“I’ll be back,” she muttered, standing up and leaving the room.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he snapped sarcastically, watching the door swing shut behind her. God this place was Hell personified. How had he ever let himself get weak enough to be fucking arrested?