[Quet - TSW] Insecurity
She called it restlessness. That’s not true, exactly.
It’s a part of it, to be certain. She can’t sleep. She paces the roof of the sheriff’s office, watching the barricades, eyes searching out the pinprick glimmers in the darkness beyond that signify friend and foe. Her breath catches, her muscles tense, at each new chance of danger. It’s not fear, though. She knows this feeling far more intimately:
Excitement.
The tightness of her body, the slight ache in her limbs, the eagerness- like a dog straining at its leash. She wants to fight, but it’s not about the fighting. The power’s building again, rising up through her, a rush of warmth that hits her chest and spreads out, filling her up to her fingertips. Her palms itch for the hammer slung across her back.
Instead, she grumbles to herself and begins another circuit. It’s night, and there’s not much to be seen beyond the makeshift fort’s floodlights. It would be stupid to throw herself into the darkness now, just to blow off steam. Besides, there are other methods of release.
The feeling settles after a time, though it doesn’t diminish. She can hear it buzzing in her ears and feel it creeping along her spine on tiny feet. It worries her. Each time she expends that wild, restless energy, it comes back a little faster and a little stronger. Kingsmouth is already starting to feel nearly as confining as any classroom, and she doesn’t know-
She doesn’t know what to do about it, and she doesn’t know what she wants.
On one level, she’d like for it to just go away. It started with the bee, with the sickness, and that feverish feeling has never really left. It’s unpleasant at best, unbearable at worst, and it can’t be dealt with so easily as kicking her legs or chewing on a pencil or even, at this point, killing draug. But if it’s the bees, it’s a gift from Gaia, and she needs it. She can’t afford to give that up, even if it was possible. She wants to be here. This is where she belongs.
Is that even your head talking, Quet? she wonders. Or is it just that you want to belong here so badly?
Both, maybe. Neither.
You don’t know.
She scowls out over the piled cars and fencing, as if daring her fears to take shape and come barreling out of the night.
There’s only silence, punctuated by the occasional moan and gunshot.
Stupid.
Ko’s here. He needs me.
You need him.
It’s the same, isn’t it?
She already knows the answer to that one. It’s a question she’s asked herself many times before, and the answer she chooses is the one she wants to believe. Not tonight, though.
You try so hard to make them need you. To make them want you to stay, as if that changes a damn thing. Face it, Quet, you’re broken and stupid and you belong out here about as much as that kid out at the skate park does. You wanna be a hero? Straighten up and take things seriously for once, or at least get out of the fucking way.
I belong here. They like me-
Of course they do. And who’s left that you haven’t fucked?
It’s not that!
Isn’t it? Take a look at who actually ‘cares’ and say that again.
He cares…
Look. Not gonna argue with that. When a guy goes that far, there’s gotta be something there. But he’s just one guy. Are you really going to hang everything on him? You’re already falling behind there.
No, she admits. She knows it doesn’t work like that.
Get up, get your act together, move on. Onward, upward, bigger things, better things- that’s what this is for, right? Fight evil, smash demons? Be a big goddamn hero?
I don’t know.
You don’t want to. Stupid.
Shut up, we’re fine.
Whore.
To hell with it. She scowls and kicks bit of gravel off the edge, then turns toward the stairs. There’s a million better things she can do than walking circles in the dark, arguing with herself.
And at least when the hammer comes down, when the power flows, she can forget.
It’s a part of it, to be certain. She can’t sleep. She paces the roof of the sheriff’s office, watching the barricades, eyes searching out the pinprick glimmers in the darkness beyond that signify friend and foe. Her breath catches, her muscles tense, at each new chance of danger. It’s not fear, though. She knows this feeling far more intimately:
Excitement.
The tightness of her body, the slight ache in her limbs, the eagerness- like a dog straining at its leash. She wants to fight, but it’s not about the fighting. The power’s building again, rising up through her, a rush of warmth that hits her chest and spreads out, filling her up to her fingertips. Her palms itch for the hammer slung across her back.
Instead, she grumbles to herself and begins another circuit. It’s night, and there’s not much to be seen beyond the makeshift fort’s floodlights. It would be stupid to throw herself into the darkness now, just to blow off steam. Besides, there are other methods of release.
The feeling settles after a time, though it doesn’t diminish. She can hear it buzzing in her ears and feel it creeping along her spine on tiny feet. It worries her. Each time she expends that wild, restless energy, it comes back a little faster and a little stronger. Kingsmouth is already starting to feel nearly as confining as any classroom, and she doesn’t know-
She doesn’t know what to do about it, and she doesn’t know what she wants.
On one level, she’d like for it to just go away. It started with the bee, with the sickness, and that feverish feeling has never really left. It’s unpleasant at best, unbearable at worst, and it can’t be dealt with so easily as kicking her legs or chewing on a pencil or even, at this point, killing draug. But if it’s the bees, it’s a gift from Gaia, and she needs it. She can’t afford to give that up, even if it was possible. She wants to be here. This is where she belongs.
Is that even your head talking, Quet? she wonders. Or is it just that you want to belong here so badly?
Both, maybe. Neither.
You don’t know.
She scowls out over the piled cars and fencing, as if daring her fears to take shape and come barreling out of the night.
There’s only silence, punctuated by the occasional moan and gunshot.
Stupid.
Ko’s here. He needs me.
You need him.
It’s the same, isn’t it?
She already knows the answer to that one. It’s a question she’s asked herself many times before, and the answer she chooses is the one she wants to believe. Not tonight, though.
You try so hard to make them need you. To make them want you to stay, as if that changes a damn thing. Face it, Quet, you’re broken and stupid and you belong out here about as much as that kid out at the skate park does. You wanna be a hero? Straighten up and take things seriously for once, or at least get out of the fucking way.
I belong here. They like me-
Of course they do. And who’s left that you haven’t fucked?
It’s not that!
Isn’t it? Take a look at who actually ‘cares’ and say that again.
He cares…
Look. Not gonna argue with that. When a guy goes that far, there’s gotta be something there. But he’s just one guy. Are you really going to hang everything on him? You’re already falling behind there.
No, she admits. She knows it doesn’t work like that.
Get up, get your act together, move on. Onward, upward, bigger things, better things- that’s what this is for, right? Fight evil, smash demons? Be a big goddamn hero?
I don’t know.
You don’t want to. Stupid.
Shut up, we’re fine.
Whore.
To hell with it. She scowls and kicks bit of gravel off the edge, then turns toward the stairs. There’s a million better things she can do than walking circles in the dark, arguing with herself.
And at least when the hammer comes down, when the power flows, she can forget.