down where the river bends, nobody's waiting
For a little while after I wake up, I figure I'm imagining most of this stuff, so it doesn't bother me the way showing up in that supply closet on the island did. The room - the entire little apartment - isn't too different from the place I had yesterday, except that the bathroom is worse and there's a kitchen I don't know how to use and it's an actual apartment and not a hut standing on its own. It's snowing outside, and that would be a lot more comforting if I recognized the view any. I don't, but I'm not as worried about that as I probably should be. Instead I just head back into the kitchen and have something to eat, cold but enough to quiet my stomach. There are some cans and shit in there, and the stuff in it's pretty basic, but it all looks old-fashioned, like I somehow woke up on a movie set or inside a textbook, where everything's been crafted to look like the real deal but new.
It's not until I decide I ought to get dressed and go out to see where I am and all that I start to panic.
The clothes I woke up in weren't the ones I wore to bed, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I pulled open the cabinet to find a lot of shit I'd never wear, but still a fear boils up in my stomach. I pull everything out, piece by piece, throwing it to the floor until everything's out and the proof is in the empty closet. My dad's hunting jacket is gone. And suddenly everything feels way too real, hate and anger tearing through me so sharp I almost forget and go outside in pants and nothing else. I pull myself together long enough to dress in the least stupid shirt and pants I can find, and I'd be grateful for the boots if I weren't angry at them, too, and at the coat I pull on because I have to, because it's snowing and I'm mad but I'm not a fucking idiot. I don't know how cold it is out there yet, I'm not getting myself hurt.
Except that nothing seems like a better idea than finding whoever's in charge of this newest change and getting in a fight, my fists buried deep in my pockets as I trudge through the new snow, more clinging to my hair as it falls. There's a key in my pocket for the apartment, and it digs into my palm as I push down hard on the metal. I shouldn't have worried so much about the cold, because my anger keeps me warm as anything once I'm out and I nearly throw it off in frustration. There's a lot I'll put up with, because sometimes you've got to just bear with whatever shit gets thrown your way if you want to make it through, but somehow it feels like a bigger affront to fuck with my stuff than it is send me tumbling from one world to the next, maybe because at least my stuff belongs to me. Or it's supposed to.
It was just a stupid jacket anyway. I only kept it because there wasn't anything else left and I needed a new one, which we couldn't afford after the funeral costs and all. I had to worry about getting a new one on Jody before school started, not what I was going to put on my own back. It's not like it matters here, when whatever's tossing me around saw fit to give me clothes. But then, I never liked having things given to me. It feels too much like pity, and the thought makes me angrier still.
There aren't a lot of people out, and it isn't until I actually look at a few of the ones who are that I realize I know their faces. I don't know where we are or what year it is, but this is still something to do with the island, and I don't know if that's a relief or it just makes me sicker. Either way, I lose track of where I'm going and where I've been, walking through the first city I've ever really been in without seeing much of it. Then my feet don't want to anymore and I just stop and sit in the nearest convenient spot. My hands, when I pull them out to wrap my arms around me, carry the warm scent of metal, and I don't know if it's blood and the key cut me or if it's just the smell of metal from holding the key, and I don't really care either. I can barely sit still and I don't want to move either, something sharp pulling at me. I don't give a damn who's running all this, his jacket wasn't theirs to take.
By the time I hear footsteps on the snow coming my way, I'm not sure how long I've been there, and for a moment, as I look up, I'm not even sure it's someone I know.
[Find Harley, disoriented and pissed off, anywhere you like. He may not be in the mood to meet new people, but I'm totally open to it if you are. Throw someone his way. 8D I'll be going to bed shortly, but I wanted to get this up for the 1st.]
It's not until I decide I ought to get dressed and go out to see where I am and all that I start to panic.
The clothes I woke up in weren't the ones I wore to bed, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I pulled open the cabinet to find a lot of shit I'd never wear, but still a fear boils up in my stomach. I pull everything out, piece by piece, throwing it to the floor until everything's out and the proof is in the empty closet. My dad's hunting jacket is gone. And suddenly everything feels way too real, hate and anger tearing through me so sharp I almost forget and go outside in pants and nothing else. I pull myself together long enough to dress in the least stupid shirt and pants I can find, and I'd be grateful for the boots if I weren't angry at them, too, and at the coat I pull on because I have to, because it's snowing and I'm mad but I'm not a fucking idiot. I don't know how cold it is out there yet, I'm not getting myself hurt.
Except that nothing seems like a better idea than finding whoever's in charge of this newest change and getting in a fight, my fists buried deep in my pockets as I trudge through the new snow, more clinging to my hair as it falls. There's a key in my pocket for the apartment, and it digs into my palm as I push down hard on the metal. I shouldn't have worried so much about the cold, because my anger keeps me warm as anything once I'm out and I nearly throw it off in frustration. There's a lot I'll put up with, because sometimes you've got to just bear with whatever shit gets thrown your way if you want to make it through, but somehow it feels like a bigger affront to fuck with my stuff than it is send me tumbling from one world to the next, maybe because at least my stuff belongs to me. Or it's supposed to.
It was just a stupid jacket anyway. I only kept it because there wasn't anything else left and I needed a new one, which we couldn't afford after the funeral costs and all. I had to worry about getting a new one on Jody before school started, not what I was going to put on my own back. It's not like it matters here, when whatever's tossing me around saw fit to give me clothes. But then, I never liked having things given to me. It feels too much like pity, and the thought makes me angrier still.
There aren't a lot of people out, and it isn't until I actually look at a few of the ones who are that I realize I know their faces. I don't know where we are or what year it is, but this is still something to do with the island, and I don't know if that's a relief or it just makes me sicker. Either way, I lose track of where I'm going and where I've been, walking through the first city I've ever really been in without seeing much of it. Then my feet don't want to anymore and I just stop and sit in the nearest convenient spot. My hands, when I pull them out to wrap my arms around me, carry the warm scent of metal, and I don't know if it's blood and the key cut me or if it's just the smell of metal from holding the key, and I don't really care either. I can barely sit still and I don't want to move either, something sharp pulling at me. I don't give a damn who's running all this, his jacket wasn't theirs to take.
By the time I hear footsteps on the snow coming my way, I'm not sure how long I've been there, and for a moment, as I look up, I'm not even sure it's someone I know.
[Find Harley, disoriented and pissed off, anywhere you like. He may not be in the mood to meet new people, but I'm totally open to it if you are. Throw someone his way. 8D I'll be going to bed shortly, but I wanted to get this up for the 1st.]