(no subject)
Dylan Sanders had never been the sort of woman given to depression. By nature, she wasn't a moper -- When life threw her a downer, she took it out physically. With her fists, typically, but sex worked well, too. This time, however, it was just a bit too much. For the second time, the fucking whims of the island had taken one of her best friends from her, and it wasn't the sort of feeling that could be dislodged by bloodying her knuckles.
The helplessness was the worst part about it, in knowing that there was absolutely nothing she could do to change it. The frustration was palpable, and while last time she had very nearly torn apart the trampoline in a rage, this time she instead fell into a stoic silence, and had been that way since Rodney's disappearance.
Sitting in the bottom car of the stilled ferris wheel, Dylan felt as if she were waiting for something, but she didn't know what. For John to disappear? For herself to? Caring about people suddenly felt wholly overrated.
The helplessness was the worst part about it, in knowing that there was absolutely nothing she could do to change it. The frustration was palpable, and while last time she had very nearly torn apart the trampoline in a rage, this time she instead fell into a stoic silence, and had been that way since Rodney's disappearance.
Sitting in the bottom car of the stilled ferris wheel, Dylan felt as if she were waiting for something, but she didn't know what. For John to disappear? For herself to? Caring about people suddenly felt wholly overrated.