A Different Way to Be: Chapter 6
Title: A Different Way to Be
Author: Zippy88
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Spoilers: A little from season 3
Chapter 6: You Will Ignore, I Will Pretend
The distant rusted brown colour only serves to make the large cage appear even uglier and obtrusive. There’s no doubt in your mind that this is the very reason why you are deemed the enemy. It’s almost as if Ben is purposely going out of his way to make them hate you all, as if he feels the need to play into their warped ideas that you are to be feared and despised. If only he would treat them with a little more dignity and respect, they would be more likely to respond to his questions much easier than the backwards method he insists on using.
It’s not much that sits neatly on the white place that’s currently in your hands, but you have stuck to your promise, you made it all yourself. You’re sure that it will help to win at least a little trust from the brunette, after all, you have helped ease the pain that’s probably itching at her wrists. You can see her before she sees you. She’s sat carefully tucked up inside herself into one of the corners away from the door of the demoralising cage, with her head firmly fixed in the opposite direction.
You don’t understand why Ben has moved her here into the open breeze of the outdoors, locked tightly behind the cage bars. She had been perfectly fine in the holding room inside the station. At least there she was out of the cruel elements that the island forces upon its occupants, one moment it’s burning through your pores, before ripping up your skin with a vigorous bout of chilling rain.
You’re well aware that someone else from her camp is occupying her former holding cell; Shepherd. It’s beyond your comprehension to appreciate why Ben has bothered to make such a fuss about moving the prisoners around. Like it makes a difference where they are held, they’re still prisoners no matter what type of handcuffs they wear.
You stop before the cage door, bending down to place the white plate and bottle of water on the floor in preparation to open the offending bars of the door. You pause when you see where she’s looking, how focused her eyes are on the line beyond the trees, which marks the end of the station’s territory. Her eyes are unwavering, almost not blinking away from that same spot, and it finally dawns on you the very malicious reason why Ben has put her here out of all the other places. She can see her freedom, she can probably even taste the sweet droplets teasing at her tongue. It’s there, just beyond those trees where she longs to run to, and Ben knows it. It’s one of his many vindictive tricks, a clear advantage that he’s seen and has exploited for maximum effect. Out here in the wide openness of the island’s inviting arms, she’s stuck inside the forbidding space teasing her into believing that she’s so close to her freedom.
You give a heavy sigh for her, unable to imagine what harsh turmoil is creating an unpleasant chaos inside her from knowing such sickening taunts. Ben really is the ruthless demon who demands everything and gets more. The door squeaks open, and her eyes finally drift over to you casually, making no sign to even stand at your presence. You leave the food and the bottle of water just inside, and you know you’re supposed to lock the door now. You’re supposed to leave, but you linger for a longer moment than you should.
“I hope you like it this time,” you say to her softly, making her look at you again, and causing an unknowing smile to creep onto your face. “Thanks,” she offers back weakly. It’s the first time she’s thoroughly polite, without any hidden bitterness biting at her words, and you can tell that it’s a struggle for her to do, especially to you. To her you’re still on the wrong side, you’re still very much one of them, you’re just the nicer version who mops up after their brutalities, the antidote to their vicious mind games.
“How’re the wrists?” you ask, gesturing with a nod to the filth that has stained the white material already. She glances down and inadvertently touches one of her bandages with her soft fingertips, before she screws up her face to tell you that it’s nothing, there’s no pain at all. She’s lying. You can see the subtle grimace that picks at the corners of her mouth when she thinks you’re not looking. It’s stinging her more than she cares to let you know, and the rough texture of the bandages will probably not help her cause, but at least they’ll minimise her chances of infection.
“Juliet,” you spin around at the loud rattle of your voice across the far end of the yard. It’s Ben standing with a narrow glare shadowing across his eyes. You turn back to the brunette with a solemn sigh fighting its way out of your mouth. “I guess I’m not the only one in trouble,” a small murmur comes from not so far away. Your eyes shift over to her, realising it’s her that’s dared to speak eventually.
She’s got a suspecting smirk toying with her top lip, naively damping down her silence to let you know that she’s seen right through you. It frightens you a little to unwillingly give so much away in a simple motion, or maybe you’re just anxious at how easily she can read your actions. You squint at her in a threatening gaze, how ironic it is that you’re the one who hates people being able to read you, thinking that they know you, that they know who you are, yet she’s not once voiced her outrage at every detail of her life being known by anyone who’s read her file.
The heavy clang of the padlock sounds through out the yard, and you take no pleasure in walking away from her sullen pose in the corner of her locked prison. Her words still echo in your ears as you make your way to Ben’s feet, wondering what you’re going to be challenged for now. “I need you over at the work site,” he informs you simply, his tone is more assertive than ever with you, and you can only assume he hasn’t taken too kindly to your sympathies for the brunette. Good. You smirk inwardly at him, pleased with yourself that you’ve managed to win something over on him.
You glance backwards over your shoulder to see the brunette staring back at you with her rosy cheeks swollen slightly, as her jaw moves rhythmically against the food. The heavy tinge seeps away from your guilt ridden shoulders, silently thanking her for giving into the food you’ve prepared for her. “I see she’s gained herself a personal doctor,” you hear the low voice ripple across the short space to your ears, “that’ll come in handy.”
Inwardly you flinch at the reality of his threat. You know how positively real Ben’s threats are, you’ve tasted their richest poison before. You narrow your eyes at him. He knows you’re not scared of him, only of what he can do. It’s a baited line, hanging with patience to see if you will catch it and respond with a venomous reply yourself. But that’s what he wants, that’s what he thrives on. You don’t want to spare him the time, he’s not worth it.
The dazzling glare shimmers across the dusty earth of the work site, and the intense sharpness stabs spitefully at your eyes. Even under the small tin canopy there’s no escape from the ferociousness of the sun’s constant stare. The wild heat romances with the dryness of the ground, kicking up its cruel fervour on the heightening temperature. Simple droplets of sweat are already forming along the familiar tracks of previously broken drips. It feels like the island’s untamed breeze has deserted you here for the time being as punishment of some kind. The only short lived salvation is the tepid water sealed inside the flask that lays amongst the scattered sheets of paper bearing various drawings and plan details that you’re only supposed to read and instruct from, not understand what they’re for.
Pausing for a moment from the heavy markings on the white pages, you look around at all the quiet, solemn faces that litter the work site, each one casually carrying out their work with their minds deep in concentration about home time. You mutely wonder what reasons have come to bring them here to this gruelling chastisement. You know that Ben only uses this exercise as way to reprimand anyone who’s dared to fall from his powerful control; it’s a simple method to bring them closer back under his watchful wing. Even though you’re only conducting the work, managing the steady progress of the unknown project, you can only feel you’ve been placed here out of punishment also. You know the only reason that has saved you from shovelling the dirt like most of these other unfortunate people is because you’re of some value still. You’re still a useful medic, the only decent medic around since the lost of Ethan, who had been the only fully qualified surgeon. So you’re safe for the time being, until Ben finds another substitute.
“Work’s going slowly,” a heavy sigh echoes from beside you. You turn to see Danny standing with his hands on his hips, busily scattering his eyes across the slow moving workers. “I thought we’d have finished this section already,” he adds, dropping his eyes to the carefully drawn plans lying untouched on the makeshift table. “So what’s new on the drawing board?” he asks, leaning over the table and tracing his finger across the various straight lines over one of the pages. “We need more rocks to make the foundations,” you reply turning your attention to where he’s pointing on the plans, “then we can push forward and start laying this section.” He just simply nods his head a few times in response, already seemingly knowing the answer before you’d said it.
The sudden bout of hurried shuffling sounds and angry taunts catches in the web of your ears, forcing your attention to the struggling figures in the distance. You recognise the long waves of darkened brown straight away, it’s her and your sinking heart slips further from your reach. You swallow at the sour taste the guilt leaves inside your mouth, consuming every little bit of your tongue. It’s not like you didn’t see it coming, you always knew she would end up here eventually, you’re just disheartened to see it this soon.
You can see that her hands are bound with the familiar shinning glint of metal cuffs again, and it only worsens the sickly feeling building itself around the dams of your stomach. The rough blistering that scarred her wrists would only decay into more horrid bruising and painful sores. You watch as she fights against the man who’s trying to drag her into the direction of a huge pile of unbroken rocks. Doesn’t she realise that the more she fights against the strength of him, the more she’s allowing the handcuffs to cut deeply into her already fragile skin? Her determination is something of a plague for her, always seemingly causing her more harm than good, yet she still wills herself to try.
She’s still in the same floral dress as before, the thin material barely touches the tops of her knees, and the simple straps leave most of her shoulders open to the casting heat from the sun’s burning glare. Her hands move quickly to wrap themselves around her bandaged wrists, tenderly rubbing at them as she’s finally freed from the offending shackles. She growls at the man who hurriedly steps away from her in visible fear. He points forcefully at the pickaxe that waits for her at the pile of dirt covered rocks, and you feel yourself sigh at the pitiful act that unravels before you. It tugs violently at your patience, knowing full well that Ben is behind all of this, that he’s most likely enjoying his smug little self over all of it in the cooling shade of his own home.
There’s an unnerving laughter echoing from beside you and when you turn to see Danny, his face is shadowed in a satisfied arrogance while he watches Kate from a distance. “Well at least she comes in handy for something,” he mutters through his laughter. You narrow your eyes at his blatant ignorance, turning back to watch her struggle with the heavy pickaxe. The sight blinds you with a tormenting vividness, teasingly carving uneasiness into your eyes. “Can’t she be given some decent clothes to work in?” you spit with a little too much venom than you want, making him turn to look at you sharply. “What do you care about what she works in?” he asks back, and you can see his frown from the corner of your eye, “she’s one of them, they don’t deserve anything decent.”
Your squinting glare shifts to him, disbelief at his chosen words written clearly in your threatening eyes. “She’s just better to deal with if she thinks she has a little more respect from us,” you tell him forcefully, and you have to admit to yourself it was rapidly good thinking that saves yourself again from the long awaiting questions. He nods his head in a slow fashion, exaggerating the fact that he’s understood your seemingly clever motives. “Well, maybe you’re right,” he sighs finally in his agreement, “do you mind sorting that out?” You smile softly at him before shaking your head at him and slipping out from under the overly hot cover of the tin roof taking the water flask with you.
The sun’s frightful glare is pounding down upon you now, unprotected by the tinned shield that hangs above the table. There’s a familiar crunching sound beneath the soles of your hardy trainers, as the loose gravel slips in between the treads. The closer you get the more stressed her little grunts become with every swing of her pickaxe. A deep casted frown appears on the rim of your brow, unsettled by the mixture of feelings she’s inducing inside you.
She turns to glance over her shoulder, catching your longing stare. You’ve been caught. You can feel your cheeks burning with a dampened redness, and this time you can’t blame it on the sun. You give a little cough, trying to clear whatever is scratching the inside of your throat. You’re completely thrown off balance by the intimidating coldness that grips her eyes, dragging her head back to face the rocks before her. All that work that you had achieved, the small ounces of trust you had earned from her is all in ruins.
“Do you want some water?” you ask softly, holding out the water flask naively. She doesn’t even acknowledge you this time. She’s angry at you. You can’t blame her really, not when she’s here being forced to work in the boiling temperatures, but still there’s a twinge of sadness that strikes you from within.
“Please take the water,” you plead with her this time. You want her to know that this isn’t because of you, she isn’t here because of you. It’s Ben that she should be directing her bottled rage at, this is all of his doing. Yet you’re the one who has to face the snide glares, and the frosted words of feverish anger. You feel doused in dirt ridden shame, its guilty filth sticks under your fingernails while the shameful grime colours the rest of your skin.
She’s reverting back to the thickly silence that she understands how to use so well. Her arms stretch out with the pickaxe swinging through the air down upon the rocks in a relentless motion. You know now that she’s not going to budge from her dedication to act out through not speaking, but you’re oddly surprised that she’s quietly getting on with the task she’s been instructed to do. You suppose you’re expecting another outburst display much like the one she threw out against the food in her holding cell. Maybe she’s steadying herself, leading you into a false sense of security before she strikes again.
“This wasn’t my decision,” you tell her quietly, as you bend down and leave the water bottle next to the pile of rocks she’s ruthlessly breaking up. Her arms sway unsteadily with the heaviness of the pickaxe, pausing slowly before she slams it hard into one of the reddened rocks. You give a little sigh before walking away. You know there’s no use trying to convince her at this moment in time. Her anger is too pure and too awakened to start believing what you want to say. She needs time to calm herself down, then you’ll be able to approach her with a softness that might help to gain yourself some trust. For now though you’re prepared to let her play the childish game that she likes to play so often. You’ll let her explore the possibilities of her immature ignorance, and give her the space to self-indulge in her maddened arrogance, while you’ll feign your hardened pretence to all of this. That way she’ll think she’s won a little self pride, she’ll think she’s gained herself some authority from you, and so she won’t feel as threatened when she finally agrees to talk to you again. Yes, Kate, you think to yourself, you’ll let her ignore, while you’ll pretend.
Author: Zippy88
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Spoilers: A little from season 3
Chapter 6: You Will Ignore, I Will Pretend
The distant rusted brown colour only serves to make the large cage appear even uglier and obtrusive. There’s no doubt in your mind that this is the very reason why you are deemed the enemy. It’s almost as if Ben is purposely going out of his way to make them hate you all, as if he feels the need to play into their warped ideas that you are to be feared and despised. If only he would treat them with a little more dignity and respect, they would be more likely to respond to his questions much easier than the backwards method he insists on using.
It’s not much that sits neatly on the white place that’s currently in your hands, but you have stuck to your promise, you made it all yourself. You’re sure that it will help to win at least a little trust from the brunette, after all, you have helped ease the pain that’s probably itching at her wrists. You can see her before she sees you. She’s sat carefully tucked up inside herself into one of the corners away from the door of the demoralising cage, with her head firmly fixed in the opposite direction.
You don’t understand why Ben has moved her here into the open breeze of the outdoors, locked tightly behind the cage bars. She had been perfectly fine in the holding room inside the station. At least there she was out of the cruel elements that the island forces upon its occupants, one moment it’s burning through your pores, before ripping up your skin with a vigorous bout of chilling rain.
You’re well aware that someone else from her camp is occupying her former holding cell; Shepherd. It’s beyond your comprehension to appreciate why Ben has bothered to make such a fuss about moving the prisoners around. Like it makes a difference where they are held, they’re still prisoners no matter what type of handcuffs they wear.
You stop before the cage door, bending down to place the white plate and bottle of water on the floor in preparation to open the offending bars of the door. You pause when you see where she’s looking, how focused her eyes are on the line beyond the trees, which marks the end of the station’s territory. Her eyes are unwavering, almost not blinking away from that same spot, and it finally dawns on you the very malicious reason why Ben has put her here out of all the other places. She can see her freedom, she can probably even taste the sweet droplets teasing at her tongue. It’s there, just beyond those trees where she longs to run to, and Ben knows it. It’s one of his many vindictive tricks, a clear advantage that he’s seen and has exploited for maximum effect. Out here in the wide openness of the island’s inviting arms, she’s stuck inside the forbidding space teasing her into believing that she’s so close to her freedom.
You give a heavy sigh for her, unable to imagine what harsh turmoil is creating an unpleasant chaos inside her from knowing such sickening taunts. Ben really is the ruthless demon who demands everything and gets more. The door squeaks open, and her eyes finally drift over to you casually, making no sign to even stand at your presence. You leave the food and the bottle of water just inside, and you know you’re supposed to lock the door now. You’re supposed to leave, but you linger for a longer moment than you should.
“I hope you like it this time,” you say to her softly, making her look at you again, and causing an unknowing smile to creep onto your face. “Thanks,” she offers back weakly. It’s the first time she’s thoroughly polite, without any hidden bitterness biting at her words, and you can tell that it’s a struggle for her to do, especially to you. To her you’re still on the wrong side, you’re still very much one of them, you’re just the nicer version who mops up after their brutalities, the antidote to their vicious mind games.
“How’re the wrists?” you ask, gesturing with a nod to the filth that has stained the white material already. She glances down and inadvertently touches one of her bandages with her soft fingertips, before she screws up her face to tell you that it’s nothing, there’s no pain at all. She’s lying. You can see the subtle grimace that picks at the corners of her mouth when she thinks you’re not looking. It’s stinging her more than she cares to let you know, and the rough texture of the bandages will probably not help her cause, but at least they’ll minimise her chances of infection.
“Juliet,” you spin around at the loud rattle of your voice across the far end of the yard. It’s Ben standing with a narrow glare shadowing across his eyes. You turn back to the brunette with a solemn sigh fighting its way out of your mouth. “I guess I’m not the only one in trouble,” a small murmur comes from not so far away. Your eyes shift over to her, realising it’s her that’s dared to speak eventually.
She’s got a suspecting smirk toying with her top lip, naively damping down her silence to let you know that she’s seen right through you. It frightens you a little to unwillingly give so much away in a simple motion, or maybe you’re just anxious at how easily she can read your actions. You squint at her in a threatening gaze, how ironic it is that you’re the one who hates people being able to read you, thinking that they know you, that they know who you are, yet she’s not once voiced her outrage at every detail of her life being known by anyone who’s read her file.
The heavy clang of the padlock sounds through out the yard, and you take no pleasure in walking away from her sullen pose in the corner of her locked prison. Her words still echo in your ears as you make your way to Ben’s feet, wondering what you’re going to be challenged for now. “I need you over at the work site,” he informs you simply, his tone is more assertive than ever with you, and you can only assume he hasn’t taken too kindly to your sympathies for the brunette. Good. You smirk inwardly at him, pleased with yourself that you’ve managed to win something over on him.
You glance backwards over your shoulder to see the brunette staring back at you with her rosy cheeks swollen slightly, as her jaw moves rhythmically against the food. The heavy tinge seeps away from your guilt ridden shoulders, silently thanking her for giving into the food you’ve prepared for her. “I see she’s gained herself a personal doctor,” you hear the low voice ripple across the short space to your ears, “that’ll come in handy.”
Inwardly you flinch at the reality of his threat. You know how positively real Ben’s threats are, you’ve tasted their richest poison before. You narrow your eyes at him. He knows you’re not scared of him, only of what he can do. It’s a baited line, hanging with patience to see if you will catch it and respond with a venomous reply yourself. But that’s what he wants, that’s what he thrives on. You don’t want to spare him the time, he’s not worth it.
The dazzling glare shimmers across the dusty earth of the work site, and the intense sharpness stabs spitefully at your eyes. Even under the small tin canopy there’s no escape from the ferociousness of the sun’s constant stare. The wild heat romances with the dryness of the ground, kicking up its cruel fervour on the heightening temperature. Simple droplets of sweat are already forming along the familiar tracks of previously broken drips. It feels like the island’s untamed breeze has deserted you here for the time being as punishment of some kind. The only short lived salvation is the tepid water sealed inside the flask that lays amongst the scattered sheets of paper bearing various drawings and plan details that you’re only supposed to read and instruct from, not understand what they’re for.
Pausing for a moment from the heavy markings on the white pages, you look around at all the quiet, solemn faces that litter the work site, each one casually carrying out their work with their minds deep in concentration about home time. You mutely wonder what reasons have come to bring them here to this gruelling chastisement. You know that Ben only uses this exercise as way to reprimand anyone who’s dared to fall from his powerful control; it’s a simple method to bring them closer back under his watchful wing. Even though you’re only conducting the work, managing the steady progress of the unknown project, you can only feel you’ve been placed here out of punishment also. You know the only reason that has saved you from shovelling the dirt like most of these other unfortunate people is because you’re of some value still. You’re still a useful medic, the only decent medic around since the lost of Ethan, who had been the only fully qualified surgeon. So you’re safe for the time being, until Ben finds another substitute.
“Work’s going slowly,” a heavy sigh echoes from beside you. You turn to see Danny standing with his hands on his hips, busily scattering his eyes across the slow moving workers. “I thought we’d have finished this section already,” he adds, dropping his eyes to the carefully drawn plans lying untouched on the makeshift table. “So what’s new on the drawing board?” he asks, leaning over the table and tracing his finger across the various straight lines over one of the pages. “We need more rocks to make the foundations,” you reply turning your attention to where he’s pointing on the plans, “then we can push forward and start laying this section.” He just simply nods his head a few times in response, already seemingly knowing the answer before you’d said it.
The sudden bout of hurried shuffling sounds and angry taunts catches in the web of your ears, forcing your attention to the struggling figures in the distance. You recognise the long waves of darkened brown straight away, it’s her and your sinking heart slips further from your reach. You swallow at the sour taste the guilt leaves inside your mouth, consuming every little bit of your tongue. It’s not like you didn’t see it coming, you always knew she would end up here eventually, you’re just disheartened to see it this soon.
You can see that her hands are bound with the familiar shinning glint of metal cuffs again, and it only worsens the sickly feeling building itself around the dams of your stomach. The rough blistering that scarred her wrists would only decay into more horrid bruising and painful sores. You watch as she fights against the man who’s trying to drag her into the direction of a huge pile of unbroken rocks. Doesn’t she realise that the more she fights against the strength of him, the more she’s allowing the handcuffs to cut deeply into her already fragile skin? Her determination is something of a plague for her, always seemingly causing her more harm than good, yet she still wills herself to try.
She’s still in the same floral dress as before, the thin material barely touches the tops of her knees, and the simple straps leave most of her shoulders open to the casting heat from the sun’s burning glare. Her hands move quickly to wrap themselves around her bandaged wrists, tenderly rubbing at them as she’s finally freed from the offending shackles. She growls at the man who hurriedly steps away from her in visible fear. He points forcefully at the pickaxe that waits for her at the pile of dirt covered rocks, and you feel yourself sigh at the pitiful act that unravels before you. It tugs violently at your patience, knowing full well that Ben is behind all of this, that he’s most likely enjoying his smug little self over all of it in the cooling shade of his own home.
There’s an unnerving laughter echoing from beside you and when you turn to see Danny, his face is shadowed in a satisfied arrogance while he watches Kate from a distance. “Well at least she comes in handy for something,” he mutters through his laughter. You narrow your eyes at his blatant ignorance, turning back to watch her struggle with the heavy pickaxe. The sight blinds you with a tormenting vividness, teasingly carving uneasiness into your eyes. “Can’t she be given some decent clothes to work in?” you spit with a little too much venom than you want, making him turn to look at you sharply. “What do you care about what she works in?” he asks back, and you can see his frown from the corner of your eye, “she’s one of them, they don’t deserve anything decent.”
Your squinting glare shifts to him, disbelief at his chosen words written clearly in your threatening eyes. “She’s just better to deal with if she thinks she has a little more respect from us,” you tell him forcefully, and you have to admit to yourself it was rapidly good thinking that saves yourself again from the long awaiting questions. He nods his head in a slow fashion, exaggerating the fact that he’s understood your seemingly clever motives. “Well, maybe you’re right,” he sighs finally in his agreement, “do you mind sorting that out?” You smile softly at him before shaking your head at him and slipping out from under the overly hot cover of the tin roof taking the water flask with you.
The sun’s frightful glare is pounding down upon you now, unprotected by the tinned shield that hangs above the table. There’s a familiar crunching sound beneath the soles of your hardy trainers, as the loose gravel slips in between the treads. The closer you get the more stressed her little grunts become with every swing of her pickaxe. A deep casted frown appears on the rim of your brow, unsettled by the mixture of feelings she’s inducing inside you.
She turns to glance over her shoulder, catching your longing stare. You’ve been caught. You can feel your cheeks burning with a dampened redness, and this time you can’t blame it on the sun. You give a little cough, trying to clear whatever is scratching the inside of your throat. You’re completely thrown off balance by the intimidating coldness that grips her eyes, dragging her head back to face the rocks before her. All that work that you had achieved, the small ounces of trust you had earned from her is all in ruins.
“Do you want some water?” you ask softly, holding out the water flask naively. She doesn’t even acknowledge you this time. She’s angry at you. You can’t blame her really, not when she’s here being forced to work in the boiling temperatures, but still there’s a twinge of sadness that strikes you from within.
“Please take the water,” you plead with her this time. You want her to know that this isn’t because of you, she isn’t here because of you. It’s Ben that she should be directing her bottled rage at, this is all of his doing. Yet you’re the one who has to face the snide glares, and the frosted words of feverish anger. You feel doused in dirt ridden shame, its guilty filth sticks under your fingernails while the shameful grime colours the rest of your skin.
She’s reverting back to the thickly silence that she understands how to use so well. Her arms stretch out with the pickaxe swinging through the air down upon the rocks in a relentless motion. You know now that she’s not going to budge from her dedication to act out through not speaking, but you’re oddly surprised that she’s quietly getting on with the task she’s been instructed to do. You suppose you’re expecting another outburst display much like the one she threw out against the food in her holding cell. Maybe she’s steadying herself, leading you into a false sense of security before she strikes again.
“This wasn’t my decision,” you tell her quietly, as you bend down and leave the water bottle next to the pile of rocks she’s ruthlessly breaking up. Her arms sway unsteadily with the heaviness of the pickaxe, pausing slowly before she slams it hard into one of the reddened rocks. You give a little sigh before walking away. You know there’s no use trying to convince her at this moment in time. Her anger is too pure and too awakened to start believing what you want to say. She needs time to calm herself down, then you’ll be able to approach her with a softness that might help to gain yourself some trust. For now though you’re prepared to let her play the childish game that she likes to play so often. You’ll let her explore the possibilities of her immature ignorance, and give her the space to self-indulge in her maddened arrogance, while you’ll feign your hardened pretence to all of this. That way she’ll think she’s won a little self pride, she’ll think she’s gained herself some authority from you, and so she won’t feel as threatened when she finally agrees to talk to you again. Yes, Kate, you think to yourself, you’ll let her ignore, while you’ll pretend.