(no subject)
Thursday, April 1st: Fucking Milliways. Fucking, fucking Milliways.
Sunday, April 4th: Is not any better.
Monday, April 5th:
She wakes up in the morning still in Jack's body, and at this point she can't stand how gross she is, and takes her (his?) shirt off to wash up some. At which point it's impossible not to look at the scars Jack has acquired, just as it's been impossible to ignore the aches and pains and arrhythmias that come with his body.
(And it's equally impossible to ignore the thought of Jack doing this in her body -- examining scars and washing up -- and she hates it. It feels incredibly violating, and try as she might, she can't keep it out of her head for too long.
Whoever or whatever did this to them, she'd like to punch it in the face, even if it sped up entropy.)
She spends the day in her room, yet again, working with increasing frustration to figure out how to access her power. Eventually, she falls asleep, exhausted.
When she wakes up, sometime in the middle of the night, she notices a few things:
1. She's not in her room.
2. Her shoulder doesn't hurt.
3. There's hair lying over her face and shoulders.
She sits bolt upright, patting herself as if she's going to discover she's missing something -- but no, she's all there, she's herself again, her own scars and her own sex and her own face. Her body.
She could just about cry.
But no. Freaking out with relief can wait. First she needs to go find Jack and make sure he's back in his body safely, and then she needs to go shower.
. . . Fuck it. First she needs to go shower.
And then, when she's back in the dorm trying to scrub away four days of grime (and the thought of someone not her touching her stomach or arms or legs), she's so busy trying to come up with a way to explain to her friends and teachers why she missed class on Friday and Monday that she completely forgets that she was going to check on Jack.
Sunday, April 4th: Is not any better.
Monday, April 5th:
She wakes up in the morning still in Jack's body, and at this point she can't stand how gross she is, and takes her (his?) shirt off to wash up some. At which point it's impossible not to look at the scars Jack has acquired, just as it's been impossible to ignore the aches and pains and arrhythmias that come with his body.
(And it's equally impossible to ignore the thought of Jack doing this in her body -- examining scars and washing up -- and she hates it. It feels incredibly violating, and try as she might, she can't keep it out of her head for too long.
Whoever or whatever did this to them, she'd like to punch it in the face, even if it sped up entropy.)
She spends the day in her room, yet again, working with increasing frustration to figure out how to access her power. Eventually, she falls asleep, exhausted.
When she wakes up, sometime in the middle of the night, she notices a few things:
1. She's not in her room.
2. Her shoulder doesn't hurt.
3. There's hair lying over her face and shoulders.
She sits bolt upright, patting herself as if she's going to discover she's missing something -- but no, she's all there, she's herself again, her own scars and her own sex and her own face. Her body.
She could just about cry.
But no. Freaking out with relief can wait. First she needs to go find Jack and make sure he's back in his body safely, and then she needs to go shower.
. . . Fuck it. First she needs to go shower.
And then, when she's back in the dorm trying to scrub away four days of grime (and the thought of someone not her touching her stomach or arms or legs), she's so busy trying to come up with a way to explain to her friends and teachers why she missed class on Friday and Monday that she completely forgets that she was going to check on Jack.