[DDD | RL] Insomnia - Open to the Dorm
Asuka had a strange sense of deja vu as she padded down the stairs to the kitchen. As if she'd done this before, in another time, another life. It wasn't an altogether uncommon feeling, she knew. She'd read up on the condition once when she was bored. It just seemed... odd. She couldn't sleep. She was tempted to throw an "as usual" in there, but she didn't have the heart. She just wanted tea or coffee or something warm to drink and hold, so she could clear her head, stave off sleep for a another half-hour, wait for the darkness to turn to gray dawn-light. She wanted this to be over with. She was averaging less then three or four hours of sleep a night. She usually got one or two or three at the beginning of the night and snatched one or two more right before dawn broke. She didn't like the dreaming. The dreams always came.
They tended to be the same, night after night after night. It was ingrained into her memory already, something she tried to forget. Her death. Her first death. Her only death. She kept herself distracted during the daylight hours - music, reading, video games, conversation, the community - anything and everything to keep her mind from drifting back to that day. She succeeded most of the time. Where she could not succeed, was inside her own head, when she slept. This dream, this nightmare, now intermixed itself with blurry, half-remembered visions of her real mother. Of the horror that she'd found on that day when she'd discovered her mother. Of that beautiful moment of pure joy and realization when she had finally reached out and found her mother within her Eva. That was the only goodness to come out of it.
The kitchen. She quietly began to brew herself some tea, staring at the ceiling while the water began to bubble in the kettle. Thoughts. Shinji. She missed him, hadn't seen him enough, had hardly heard from him it seemed sometimes. It still twinged, that hurt from those months ago when he'd told her (told him) that he didn't want things to change. And she'd listened for once, she'd withdrawn. But it had still hurt. And it still made her think of what could have been, what might been, what should have been. How things could've ended. She still remembered the beach, Shiniji's hands around her throat. She didn't know why he'd wanted to strangle her. She'd never asked. She didn't want to know. She just knew that they had survived and that was good enough for her. Of course, the only, constant reminder of her own world in this place was him. The Angel.
He was strange. He wasn't human. She had to tell herself this again and again, because he seemed so human. She didn't like him. Tolerated him, barely. Gave him curt nods in the hallway, but avoided him when she could. She didn't want to face him and see how human he could be. It was easier - it was better, she told herself - that he remained near-faceless. Someone she could destroy if she had to. Because he would turn on them, because he was an Angel.
But that hadn't happened yet. He'd simply blended in and become a person.
She hated it.
So, she moved back to her tea, all of these thoughts swirling in her head, around and around, mixing in with half-remembered facts from university, with music notes, with training mantras. All coming together in one jumbled mess which she didn't want (or dare) to sort out. She simply left it to hang over her own head. When it, dropped, she would deal with it.
Asuka was not someone who planned in advance.
She settled into a chair, staring down at her steaming cup, waiting. Morning would come. Eventually.
They tended to be the same, night after night after night. It was ingrained into her memory already, something she tried to forget. Her death. Her first death. Her only death. She kept herself distracted during the daylight hours - music, reading, video games, conversation, the community - anything and everything to keep her mind from drifting back to that day. She succeeded most of the time. Where she could not succeed, was inside her own head, when she slept. This dream, this nightmare, now intermixed itself with blurry, half-remembered visions of her real mother. Of the horror that she'd found on that day when she'd discovered her mother. Of that beautiful moment of pure joy and realization when she had finally reached out and found her mother within her Eva. That was the only goodness to come out of it.
The kitchen. She quietly began to brew herself some tea, staring at the ceiling while the water began to bubble in the kettle. Thoughts. Shinji. She missed him, hadn't seen him enough, had hardly heard from him it seemed sometimes. It still twinged, that hurt from those months ago when he'd told her (told him) that he didn't want things to change. And she'd listened for once, she'd withdrawn. But it had still hurt. And it still made her think of what could have been, what might been, what should have been. How things could've ended. She still remembered the beach, Shiniji's hands around her throat. She didn't know why he'd wanted to strangle her. She'd never asked. She didn't want to know. She just knew that they had survived and that was good enough for her. Of course, the only, constant reminder of her own world in this place was him. The Angel.
He was strange. He wasn't human. She had to tell herself this again and again, because he seemed so human. She didn't like him. Tolerated him, barely. Gave him curt nods in the hallway, but avoided him when she could. She didn't want to face him and see how human he could be. It was easier - it was better, she told herself - that he remained near-faceless. Someone she could destroy if she had to. Because he would turn on them, because he was an Angel.
But that hadn't happened yet. He'd simply blended in and become a person.
She hated it.
So, she moved back to her tea, all of these thoughts swirling in her head, around and around, mixing in with half-remembered facts from university, with music notes, with training mantras. All coming together in one jumbled mess which she didn't want (or dare) to sort out. She simply left it to hang over her own head. When it, dropped, she would deal with it.
Asuka was not someone who planned in advance.
She settled into a chair, staring down at her steaming cup, waiting. Morning would come. Eventually.