She felt lost. She didn't know who she was anymore. She looked at Tenzin's black eyes but didn't really see her, instead staring past her. What she had known to be true, had fully trusted had, little by little, cracked and fissured, splintering her world until she had nothing.
She was drifting in an ocean, its floor was miles below, prey to the waves that tossed about, washing over her head, lungs sputtering as she coughed, toes seeming to sometimes brush against something below.
Regan. Regus. Atharim. Jacinda...Cross. The name she took for herself. Jacinda Nolan had been a scared little girl, angry and heart broken. Jacinda Cross had refused to break, even if she hid what had happened even from herself. Had been her refuge at the time.
She realized her fingers were toying with the charm Ten had given her, the sharp end of the tooth pressing into her thumb deeply, the now realized pain bringing her back to herself.
Her eyes focused again and she moved to the table and sat, fingers of one hand now gently touching the charm, for reassurance.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She clenched her teeth and forced herself. She had no idea where to begin. "My name is not Jacinda Cross. It is Jacinda Nolan, the name of my parents." She looked out the window above the sink, open, the scent of a summer breeze flowing in, fluttering the curtains. A curious feature on a safehouse, but then again, there were steel walls that would slam down over the window, if necessary.
She looked back at Tenzin. Well, she might as well go on. And so she did. Her parents. Regan. Their death. Her becoming his...girl was the word she used. At the time, that word had made her proud. His girl. 32 years later, the word meant something else. Terrible. She had been 12. Not meant to be used by a man like him.
She felt the rage in her heart. At him certainly. But at herself. How could she have been so stupid not to see it, to have kept idolizing him all these years, craving to be owned once again. Her lip curled in disgust. "He owned me and I loved it." And she remembered not long ago telling Tenzin she had felt drawn to the Regus for the same reason, shame filling her. "God, he fucked me up," she whispered.
But she didn't shy away from the end. "And then he decided to get rid of me. I was too old. He had another girl in his sights." Julie. "He gave me to a nest of rougarou," she said weakly. That realization should have filled her with rage.
Instead, she put her head down, the silence filling the room, her eyes hot and stinging as tears dropped, a tearing in her chest she struggled to contain. How could he have done that to me? He'd said he loved her. It was that thought that killed her. And then gave her to rougs to be raped and bred and used until she got too old. He knew what they would do to her.
His screams into the night as the flames licked around him, haloing him in red and orange and yellow echoed in her mind. She had watched, refusing to look away.
She lifted her head. She had told Tenzin how he died. She knew she looked a fright, grounds in her hair, eyes red and puffy.
The charm was still there, in her fingers. She was all over the place. Anger and sorrow. Terrible loss and joy at his death. Deep guilt over the cavalier way she had carried out her work, as if she could be like Regan. Longing for a life like the one Tenzin described. "I don't know who I am anymore." Her hand moved to lightly touch the Atharim tattoo. "Or what this means for me anymore."
She was drifting in an ocean, its floor was miles below, prey to the waves that tossed about, washing over her head, lungs sputtering as she coughed, toes seeming to sometimes brush against something below.
Regan. Regus. Atharim. Jacinda...Cross. The name she took for herself. Jacinda Nolan had been a scared little girl, angry and heart broken. Jacinda Cross had refused to break, even if she hid what had happened even from herself. Had been her refuge at the time.
She realized her fingers were toying with the charm Ten had given her, the sharp end of the tooth pressing into her thumb deeply, the now realized pain bringing her back to herself.
Her eyes focused again and she moved to the table and sat, fingers of one hand now gently touching the charm, for reassurance.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She clenched her teeth and forced herself. She had no idea where to begin. "My name is not Jacinda Cross. It is Jacinda Nolan, the name of my parents." She looked out the window above the sink, open, the scent of a summer breeze flowing in, fluttering the curtains. A curious feature on a safehouse, but then again, there were steel walls that would slam down over the window, if necessary.
She looked back at Tenzin. Well, she might as well go on. And so she did. Her parents. Regan. Their death. Her becoming his...girl was the word she used. At the time, that word had made her proud. His girl. 32 years later, the word meant something else. Terrible. She had been 12. Not meant to be used by a man like him.
She felt the rage in her heart. At him certainly. But at herself. How could she have been so stupid not to see it, to have kept idolizing him all these years, craving to be owned once again. Her lip curled in disgust. "He owned me and I loved it." And she remembered not long ago telling Tenzin she had felt drawn to the Regus for the same reason, shame filling her. "God, he fucked me up," she whispered.
But she didn't shy away from the end. "And then he decided to get rid of me. I was too old. He had another girl in his sights." Julie. "He gave me to a nest of rougarou," she said weakly. That realization should have filled her with rage.
Instead, she put her head down, the silence filling the room, her eyes hot and stinging as tears dropped, a tearing in her chest she struggled to contain. How could he have done that to me? He'd said he loved her. It was that thought that killed her. And then gave her to rougs to be raped and bred and used until she got too old. He knew what they would do to her.
His screams into the night as the flames licked around him, haloing him in red and orange and yellow echoed in her mind. She had watched, refusing to look away.
She lifted her head. She had told Tenzin how he died. She knew she looked a fright, grounds in her hair, eyes red and puffy.
The charm was still there, in her fingers. She was all over the place. Anger and sorrow. Terrible loss and joy at his death. Deep guilt over the cavalier way she had carried out her work, as if she could be like Regan. Longing for a life like the one Tenzin described. "I don't know who I am anymore." Her hand moved to lightly touch the Atharim tattoo. "Or what this means for me anymore."