She listened quietly, knowing Tenzin meant well, yet...She supposed it was cultural. Or maybe just personality. People were different. Or she was. Probably the latter.
She heard. And it was all true. Even locked in that room, she never questioned what she knew. Or what she thought she knew, anyway. A lie, as she had finally realized. Regan would not have saved her, if he had known where she was. But at the time...she hadn't questioned. Now, she knew the truth. It had always been just her.
In that ocean she floated, untethered and unsure. She felt exposed in a way she couldn't have imagined, not in her darkest memories.
The shutter on the lantern opened, the tiny flame exposed. And she felt herself sink. The flame guttered and flickered and went out.
She ran a hand through her hair and coffee grounds rained down. Forcing a smile, she stood. "Yep. Still kicking. That's something " She touched Tenzin's shoulder, looking into her black eyes. "I'll think about it." She nodded to the mess. "I'll clean that up after I shower."
Once in the bathroom, she stepped into the tub before stripping off her clothes, shaking them out and then dumping them on the floor.
The water was hot as it rained on her, brown swirling down the drain to take away her frustration and shame. She thought she was past this. She had learned her lesson. At least she thought she had. Despite the heat, she felt a gust of icy air. Just her memory.
She wasn't really sure why she felt as she did. Or what it even was. Loneliness choked her but strangely, here, now, she refused to cry. She was done with that.
Streams of water flowed down her arms and she watched it, studied the patterns of ink she'd had needled onto her arm. All of them were visible. She needed to see them. Aside from the dragon on her back, anyway. She loved that one but regretted that it took a mirror to remind her it was there. But her arms...yeah, she saw them every time she looked at them. They meant something. Her journey.
The one on her wrist, a broken chain, was woven into a long white scar. The one from that night, the tearing and enough blood to slip the cuffs over her hand. She raised her other arm and saw the jagged lines under her arm from the broken glass as she opened the door of her prison.
She had thought she was not alone. But it was she who broke free. She who had killed the rougs. She who had let Regan die. Tenzin was right.
You can't change the past. You accept it and move on. Accept who you are and move on. She learned that, that day. And again, 15 years ago, as she drove off, heart broken, rejected.
A sort of peace came to her. She was Jacinda. Not Cross. Not Nolan. Just Jacinda. She defined herself. You couldn't let others define you. Or need them. People came and went. Such was life.
Water stopped, she stepped out and dried herself off. She stretched, noticing that her shoulder and back no longer twinged. She smiled at her reflection, suddenly feeling the need to be physical.
She putting on a sports bra, a top, yoga pants, and running shoes. She hadn't been to the gym since she'd come to this house. She'd have to look one up.
First, she needed to clean up the mess she'd made, though.
She heard. And it was all true. Even locked in that room, she never questioned what she knew. Or what she thought she knew, anyway. A lie, as she had finally realized. Regan would not have saved her, if he had known where she was. But at the time...she hadn't questioned. Now, she knew the truth. It had always been just her.
In that ocean she floated, untethered and unsure. She felt exposed in a way she couldn't have imagined, not in her darkest memories.
The shutter on the lantern opened, the tiny flame exposed. And she felt herself sink. The flame guttered and flickered and went out.
She ran a hand through her hair and coffee grounds rained down. Forcing a smile, she stood. "Yep. Still kicking. That's something " She touched Tenzin's shoulder, looking into her black eyes. "I'll think about it." She nodded to the mess. "I'll clean that up after I shower."
Once in the bathroom, she stepped into the tub before stripping off her clothes, shaking them out and then dumping them on the floor.
The water was hot as it rained on her, brown swirling down the drain to take away her frustration and shame. She thought she was past this. She had learned her lesson. At least she thought she had. Despite the heat, she felt a gust of icy air. Just her memory.
She wasn't really sure why she felt as she did. Or what it even was. Loneliness choked her but strangely, here, now, she refused to cry. She was done with that.
Streams of water flowed down her arms and she watched it, studied the patterns of ink she'd had needled onto her arm. All of them were visible. She needed to see them. Aside from the dragon on her back, anyway. She loved that one but regretted that it took a mirror to remind her it was there. But her arms...yeah, she saw them every time she looked at them. They meant something. Her journey.
The one on her wrist, a broken chain, was woven into a long white scar. The one from that night, the tearing and enough blood to slip the cuffs over her hand. She raised her other arm and saw the jagged lines under her arm from the broken glass as she opened the door of her prison.
She had thought she was not alone. But it was she who broke free. She who had killed the rougs. She who had let Regan die. Tenzin was right.
You can't change the past. You accept it and move on. Accept who you are and move on. She learned that, that day. And again, 15 years ago, as she drove off, heart broken, rejected.
A sort of peace came to her. She was Jacinda. Not Cross. Not Nolan. Just Jacinda. She defined herself. You couldn't let others define you. Or need them. People came and went. Such was life.
Water stopped, she stepped out and dried herself off. She stretched, noticing that her shoulder and back no longer twinged. She smiled at her reflection, suddenly feeling the need to be physical.
She putting on a sports bra, a top, yoga pants, and running shoes. She hadn't been to the gym since she'd come to this house. She'd have to look one up.
First, she needed to clean up the mess she'd made, though.