Dog Eat Dog [South]

[Deleted]

“Excuse me?! My name is Morrigan, not Trogon. How can you even mistake me for that prude? And of course I know what I’m doing! Are you saying I’m a bad kisser?”

Wait… Morrigan? Where had I heard that name before? Oh shit. Shit. So this is what’s been up with Trogon this whole time. She’s got some sort of freaky multiple-personality thing going on, and she obviously can’t remember what’s happening whenever this strange, morally-questionable person takes over her body. This explains everything, the creepy guys calling her by a different name, her confusion after the scuffle on the path. This is not good, not good at all. I’m trying to get my head wrapped around the situation, but she just keeps pawing at me and babbling.

“Are you nervous? Is this your first time?” The blood flies to my face and I awkwardly bring a hand up to my hair, trying to stutter out anything just to keep this new girl busy until Trogon can come back to her senses. "W-what? Well, no, b-but… I mean… We can’t just… "

And that’s when she does it. It’s kind of like watching a car wreck or a particularly bloody Hunger Games battle, you want to look away, but you can’t. You just stand there, transfixed by the horror of it all. Eyes wide as saucers and face on fire, my thoughts explode in a panicked scream inside my head. She didn’t just do that what the fuck look away look away look away oh God if Lauren walks in right now we’re both dead especially me this is horrible whatisthisIdon’teven…

There’s a second’s pause and then with a surprised squeak the fabric jerks suddenly back down over her skin, her eyes as wide and frightened as my own. Thank God, Trogon’s back. I slump against the wall in relief, surveying her hesitantly, like she might snap back into some other person that’ll try to jump me again. But she doesn’t, she just slumps against the far wall, her voice scared and far-away. ”What happened?"

The way she’s looking at me breaks my heart a little, and I can tell without a doubt that she’s got no idea what’s happened. I don’t know whether I should go to her or not (she just looks so fragile and I’m afraid if I touch her she’ll break), so I close the distance between us by only a few feet, shuffling over and sitting down on top of the table that holds my photography supplies. "Well… a lot happened, so I’ll do my best to bring you up to speed.

"I just happened to find out who Morrigan is,” I continue, still nervously pushing my hair out of my eyes (I am getting a haircut. Tomorrow. This shit is annoying). "She’s you. Well, not really you exactly, but she’s in your head. You - well, Morrigan, I guess – basically came down here with some less-than-innocent ideas and very persuasive techniques. You, erm, woke up in the middle of the whole situation. I think you might have some sort of weird schizophrenia or something. Alternate people that stay in your mind and take over from time to time and you can’t remember the stretches of time when you’re not yourself. At least, that’s my theory. If I’m right, it sure explains a lot."

It’s a lot to handle, even for me, and I’m not the one dealing with having people I don’t know taking over my body arbitrarily. Exhaling heavily, I place my hands behind me and lean back on the table, shaking my head numbly. "This is fucked up."

Trogon looks positively shell-shocked, leaned shakily up against the wall. I want to do something to make her feel better, but really, what can someone do in a situation like this. Just sitting here looking at her really isn’t an option, so I hop down off the table and walk over to her. Now that she’s back in her own body, Trogon looks like some sort of weird caricature of herself in the overdone mascara and skimpy clothes. This isn’t her, not at all, and I want to kick myself for even thinking that it could be.

"If it makes all of this any better, I liked you more without all the makeup. Pretty people don’t need makeup."

[/blockquote]

[Eastern Orange]

Alina; The Shield
Freighter; The Protector
Morrigan; The Floozy
Trigger; The Bitch

Oh bloody fucking hell. He told her. How could he tell her? Is he stupid? Morrigan this is all yer fault!

Shut up! I didn’t know he’d tell her! She never found out before!

And why was that? Oh yea, because you only went after strangers! He lives with her! How could you not think he’d tell her?!

I’m sorry! He is just so yummy…I couldn’t resist!

Guys…I don’t think Trogon is handling this well…

What did he just say? What was that? I’m Morrigan? No that is impossible. No. He is lying. It’s a vicious lie. Yes, a lie. Because if he was telling the truth, and I was Morrigan, then all those times that men came up to me...No! It’s a lie. It has to be. I can’t even consider it!

“What are you talking about?!” I screech, hysteric. “Why are you spouting of such terrible lies!” I whimper, my hands fly to my mouth and I look at him in utter terror. “What you are saying can’t be true...because if it is…If it is, I—” I can’t finish. My words get stuck in the back of my throat, and I’m left emitting this choking noise, my mouth opening and closing uselessly.

As the seconds tick by, terrifying thoughts trickle into my head, despite my adamant belief that he is lying. What if what he is saying is true? What if I am Morrigan? My mind flashes through all the occasions I have woken up in filthy hotel rooms, or been stopped in the street by a toothy-grinned stranger babbling about a ‘nice tumble between the sheets’. I had always written if off—thinking about it was too painful. But the explanation Denver was offering me…it made sense.

My mind fractures into a million pieces, and all coherency I had been able to maintain goes out the window.

I’ve had sex. I’ve been touched by a male. I’m a promiscuous whore. I’m unclean. I’m impure. I'm ruined. How many times have I had sex and not even known it? How long have I not been I virgin? How many diseases have I picked up? Who was this Morrigan? Where do I go, when she is out, because I am certainly not her. Dimly I remember something Denver said. “…came down here with some less-than-innocent ideas and very persuasive techniques.” Does that mean I…Morrigan tried something with him.

I didn’t think I could have been anymore embarrassed than when I had flashed him…I was wrong.

“I tried something with you?!” I wail, aghast. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please! This isn’t me. I’m not this person!” Tears flow freely down my cheeks, and drip from my chin. I slide down the wall slowly, and clutch my head like its going to explode, which is what if feels like it is going to do. Now the sound that is escaping my throat is akin to a cat that is being tortured. I curl into the fetal position, my mind swirling around in dark imagines of myself in cheap motels having sex with nasty men like the one who attacked me a few hours ago.

She is going catatonic. Someone do something.

It’s been awhile since I’ve taken over. Trogon doesn’t need me often. It’s mostly Morrigan and Trigger who take care of Trogon (Or not take care of, in Morrigan’s case).
I uncurl my body and brush my long hair of my tear stained checks. I rub my eyes, and I can feel the mascara and eyeliner smear, but I don’t really care.

I look up sleepily at the man and yawn widely. Wow, I feel so heavy. I’m so tired I think I might just curl up right here in this spot and go to sleep. “That was a silly thing to do.” I say simply, Trogon’s voice is high and girly when I speak. “There is a reason we have to protect Trogon, you know. She is like glass, easily broken.” I hold my arms toward the man. He looks strong. Maybe he can take me to my room. “Will you carry me to my room?” I ask softly, my eyes wide and still shining with Trogon’s tears.

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[Deleted]

I can’t say I blame Trogon for having a complete meltdown. I probably wouldn’t handle news like that much better than what she’s doing now, curled up in the fetal position and whimpering in a way that’s positively heart-wrenching. I stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, trying to figure out the best course of action. Well, step one, it would probably be good to refasten my belt. After doing that, I just stand and wring my hands nervously. There has to be something I can do. I tentatively reach out a hand to pat her on the back (it’s the best gesture of comfort I can think of besides hugging her, which I’m sure she doesn’t want), but just as I’m almost making contact, Trogon suddenly sits up, all wide-eyed and innocent-looking. "That was a silly thing to do. There is a reason we have to protect Trogon, you know. She is like glass, easily broken.”

Oh dear God, another one? Trogon’s newest alter-ego seems to be a small child, maybe six or seven, with a sweet voice and sleepy smile. She reaches out her arms to me with a tiny yawn, and it’s bizarre because even though this girl is very young it’s still Trogon that I’m looking at, and the whole affair just thoroughly freaks me out. “Will you carry me to my room?”

“Um, yeah, sure.” Her arms latch around my neck, and I’m surprised by how light she is - not that Trogon’s anything but skinny, but I’m no Hulk myself. I find some way to turn the red light off, plunging the darkroom into inky blackness after we’ve ascended the stairs to the main level. I’m not all that sure where Trogon’s room actually is to tell the truth, but I think the girls’ wing would be a pretty good place to start. The hallway at the top of the stairs is dead silent, and I can easily spot the only door standing ajar among the other tightly closed ones.

Even though I’ve got a million other things to be preoccupied with, I can’t stop my mouth from gaping open when I see all the drawings tacked up to Trogon’s wall. The various pieces of work, birds, trees, flowers, are so detailed that for a moment I actually think that a few of them are photographs. She’s good. Really good. And I have to compete against her in the art fair? Yeah, I’m screwed. But I have better things to think about right now, for example, the multi-personalitied girl (who I was definitely making out with five minutes ago and has now reverted to a little kid. Creepy.) who is still cradled against me. Tearing my eyes from the numerous charcoal sketches, I walk over and set Trogon’s body (because it isn’t really Trogon. At least not right now) down on the bed that’s wedged into the corner, taking care to pick up the few loose drawings lying on top of the covers. She must have been asleep when Morrigan took over.

Sighing, I sit down on the edge of the bed, running fingers through my already hopelessly messy hair. I’ve got to get a new nervous habit, one that doesn’t make me look so unkempt. I look over at where the new girl is curled up on the bed, and I raise an eyebrow at her. “So, enlighten me. How many of you are there? Right now we’re up to two, you and Morrigan. By the way, what’s your name?”

I feel like I’m being kind of harsh, analyzing this weird projection of Trogon’s mind, especially because she seems like such a little kid. Can I really expect her to answer me intelligently when I’m being all demanding? I let out a huff of air, closing my eyes and rubbing gentle circles over the lids with my fingers. All this confusion is giving me a headache. One Trogon was complicated enough, but how many can I expect to deal with now? “Sorry, let me rephrase that. Can you tell me what’s going on in Trogon’s head right now? I’m Denver, by the way, if you didn’t know already.”

[Eastern Orange]

Alina; The Shield
Freighter; The Protector
Morrigan; The Floozy
Trigger; The Bitch

I fall asleep in his arms instantly, and the next thing I know he is setting my down in my bed. “Thank you.” I whisper. I sit up and crawl to the side of the bed that is pushed up against the wall. There was a small space between the mattress in the bed, and I shove my arm down to my shoulder, and pull it back clutching a ratty walrus stuffed animal. I snuggle it and crawl back over to Denver. I reach around him and grab the foot blanket, and wrap it around myself. I then move his arms out of my way, and crawl onto his lap, tucking my head under his chin.

“I know your name.” I whisper into my walrus. “We all do.” I pause. “Can I call you big brother?” I burst out, my words tumbling over each other. I’ve always wanted brother, and Freighter hates it when I call him that. “I’m Alina and this is Wilkins.” I hold up my walrus in front of his face. “There are four of us, you have met three. Freighter beat up those guys for Trogon. The one you haven’t met is Trigger, she is the oldest. She is like our mother.” I giggle. Trigger is always yelling at us all, and keeping us in check. “We are aware of everything Trogon does, but she doesn’t remember us…or her childhood. Freighter took that away. He might even take away tonight if he can.” Learning about us is not a good thing, and Trogon didn’t seem very happy about it anyway.

I yawn again and snuggle into Denver. “You won’t hurt Trogon will you? Freighter doesn’t like males hanging around with her, but he can’t stop Morrigan from being pro-promis-promiskittens.” I didn’t know what that word meant, but I had heard Trigger say it before. “You won’t be like Alice, will you? I don’t think you will.” I state confidently. “You are being very nonchillent about this.” I was really trying to impress him with my vocabulary skills. Trigger always uses such big words, and I always ask her what they mean, so I can be smart like her.

“Big brother?” I whine, and move my head so I can look at him. “If Trogon does forget about tonight…will you watch her? Y’know, like if you see her looking promiskittens? You’ll stop her? Stop Morrigan? Trogon was very sad when she found out that Morrigan was her. She thought things like ‘I’m dirty’ and ‘I’m impure’. That’s why I took over.” I say pridefully. “I protect Trogon from bullying, even it it’s from herself.” I turn thoughtful. “Why would she think those things? Trogon is so sweet and nice.”

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[Deleted]

“Can I call you big brother?” Trogon’s little-girl personality, who goes on to introduce herself as Alina, is curled up against me and babbling freely, her innocent musing evoking a definite “awwww” moment. I’ve always loved little kids, and in the week I’ve been here Lauren’s sensed that little kids tend to like me too. I’ve generally been put on babysitting duty for the couple of little ones who are still too young for school. Really, I should be in school with the others, but I don’t really see the point in going, so I’ve only showed up for half of one day this week before I snuck out during lunch and came back to take some pictures. I don’t know why I haven’t just given up and dropped out yet since the time I’ve spent recovering from the burns added to all the classes I’ve been cutting have resulted in grades far too low for me to graduate this Spring, maybe because deep down I know that dropping out would disappoint Mom and I don’t want that.

I’m blown away when Alina starts telling me about the other inhabitants of Trogon’s consciousness. Four alter-egos, plus Trogon herself. Five personalities to juggle in addition to having huge memory blanks that defy explanation. No wonder the poor girl’s a mess. Again, I start wondering just what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. Even though I’m not at all obligated to stick around, I feel emotionally invested in this girl, and I know there isn’t any going back when Alina snuggles more firmly under my chin, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You won’t hurt Trogon will you? Freighter doesn’t like males hanging around with her, but he can’t stop Morrigan from being pro-promis-promiskittens. You won’t be like Alice, will you? I don’t think you will.”

“No,” I mumble back, patting her gently one the head. “No, I won’t hurt her. I don’t know who Alice is, but I promise that I’m not ever going to hurt Trogon. One, because I like her and I don’t hurt my own friends. Two, because I’m absolutely terrified of Freighter.” I say the last sentence jokingly, but I’m actually deadly serious. If Trogon’s protective alter-ego can beat the living daylights out of two good-sized guys, I’d hate to see what would happen to me.

“Big brother? If Trogon does forget about tonight…will you watch her? Y’know, like if you see her looking promiskittens? You’ll stop her? Stop Morrigan? Trogon was very sad when she found out that Morrigan was her. She thought things like ‘I’m dirty’ and ‘I’m impure’. That’s why I took over. I protect Trogon from bullying, even if it’s from herself. Why would she think those things? Trogon is so sweet and nice.”

I’m at a loss for words. Explaining everything to Alina in a way her childish mind can process is going to be difficult, but I take a deep breath and make an effort anyway. “Well, Alina… Morrigan acts in ways that Trogon doesn’t like. She does some things with Trogon’s body that she shouldn’t be doing, and it makes Trogon sad because that isn’t what she wants for herself, but Morrigan doesn’t give her a choice. You’re right, she’s a very sweet girl, and that’s why she’s so upset that Morrigan is running around doing things to her body without permission. But to answer your question, yes, I’ll definitely keep an eye on her. Morrigan seems to like me, so I think I can keep her busy and keep Trogon’s body off the street if she takes over. That sound good?”

It’s a little easier to see the child within Trogon’s mannerisms than it is to process the fact that there’s a cold, calculating nymphomaniac somewhere behind those pretty chocolate-colored eyes. I smile softly, ruffling Alina’s hair.“You know, out of everyone I’ve met so far, I think you’re my favorite.”

My leg is starting to fall asleep from where her weight is settled on it, so I shift around and lay her head back on the pillow, pulling the blankets up over her skinny frame and tucking the tattered stuffed walrus in beside her. "“If you’re tired, you can go ahead and sleep. I think I’m going to stay here just in case Morrigan decides to make another appearance and I have to stop her.”

“Do you need anything?” I ask, settling down next to her on the bed, lying down on top of the covers and smoothing her hair back from her face. “Do you want a light on or something? When I was a kid I was terrified of the dark.”

My mind is still reeling from everything that’s going on, but I’m determined to keep up the big-brother front. Maybe if I can keep Alina’s consciousness occupied I can stop some scarier part of Trogon from rearing its head. As much as I want to stay awake, all of today's events have thoroughly worn me out and before I know it my head hits the pillow and I'm out.

[Eastern Orange]

Alina; The Shield
Freighter; The Protector
Morrigan; The Floozy
Trigger; The Bitch

I feel comforted that big brother promises to watch over Trogon, and well, Morrigan. Although, I don’t really understand what Denver is saying, or even why Trogon was so upset, but I find that I’m not as worried anymore. “I probably wont be around in the morning, so I’ll say bye now, ‘kay?” I yawn widely. “Night, big brother.” I whisper, burrowing down into the blankets. “See you when I see you…” And that’s when I finally slip into a dreamless sleep.

What the hell did I do last night? I feel like I got hit by a train. My mouth is dry, and my head is bounding, there is crusty stuff all around my eyes, and my hair was a greasy rat’s nest. Did I sleep at all? I’m still so tired. I want to cry at how exhausted I feel. I roll over and snuggle into the wall. It’s so warm and comfortable…Wait. Walls are warm, and they certainly aren’t comfortable. My eyes snap open in I’m faced with the sleeping face of Denver. I jerk backwards, and fall of the bed in a heap of blankets. Oh my God! What happened last night! Why is the new kid in my bed! Last night is a gaping hole in my memory, the last think I can recall is dumping water on Denver’s head. What is this? Some sort of joke?

Down the hall I can hear Aunt Lauren making her rounds, getting all the girls up. Shit! Shit! Shit! No amount of explaining would save us if she found Denver in here. I jump to my feet, and lean over to shake Denver awake. “Denver.” I hiss. “Get the hell up!” I decide to not worry why he is my bed, and just worry about getting him to the closet. I yank on his arm until I get him up, and push him toward the closet. I unceremoniously shove him in, not being gentle at all, and slam the door shut, and not a moment to soon, because I can hear Lauren right outside my door. I launch myself onto my bed, and throw the blankets over me. I don’t get the chance to lay down though, she is already opening my door.

“Good morning Trogon!” She sings, but then catches sight of me, and gives a small scream. “What happened to you?” I look turn my head and look at myself in the mirror and grimace. I look exactly like a feel. Black eye makeup is smeared down my cheeks, and around my eyes which are red and puffy, my skin is splotchy, and my hair looks worst then I first imagined. “Uh, bad night?” I say unconvincingly. Lauren just shakes her head. “Just take a shower before you come down, you’ll scare the children.” She shuts my door with a snap, and I throw a withering look at it. She wasn’t saying that to be funny, she truly meant it, which is why I felt to hurt.

I slump back on the bed with a sigh. “You can come out now.” I call to Denver. “You have some explaining to do.” I try to force myself to remember last night. I dumped the water on his head and then…what? I went out. Yes that’s it. I went out to get more paper and charcoal because that art fair is coming up, and I saw Denver at the store. What happened after?

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[Deleted]

Main
"Speech"
Thoughts
"Others' Speech"

For once in my life, I'm having a good dream. I'm walking through the orchards with Lydia, occasionally stopping to take a picture or two. We're talking, just leisurely making conversation, finishing each others' sentences with that weird twin telepathy we've always had. It's summer, so the sun is warm on my skin as I reach up and grab an apple from a low-hanging branch and toss it at her without warning. Laughing, Lydia catches the fruit and takes a bite, blue eyes that match mine glinting mischievously as she playfully punches me in the shoulder. "Denver, get the hell up!"

"Wh-what?" I stutter confusedly both in my dream and in the waking world. When I'm fully conscious, it's not Lydia but a very scary-looking Trogon that's looking at me, face bruised and makeup all over the damn place. I'm only able to give a faint yelp of horror before she's yanking me to my feet and shoving me none-too-gently in the closet, slamming the door behind me. It's pitch black once the door's closed, and I can't see a thing, not to mention that it's a small space so all six feet five inches of me is left to contort around piles of clothes in an attempt to stay upright. I can hear muffled action from where I am, what sounds like Trogon throwing herself back into bed before her door creaks open and a terrified shriek that can only belong to Lauren splits the air.

My heart shoots up into my throat, and I'm left in the darkness silently thanking Trogon for having the forethought to shove me into the closet. If Lauren had walked in a second sooner... Well, I'd be looking for a new place to live. She kicked some guy out right before I got here for being caught in the girls' wing, that's how the spot opened up for me to stay in the community home. I listen to them talking for a minute or so, hardly daring to breathe until the door snaps shut and I hear Trogon's irritated snarl outside the closet. "You can come out now. "

I fumble blindly for the door, but my arm gets tangled in the arm of what feels like a sweater. I turn the handle and try to take a step forward, but there are clothes around my feet as well and I tumble unceremoniously out of the closet and onto the floor, the impact making the fresh scrapes on my back from last night sting like nobody's business. Trogon is sitting in the middle of her bed, her scowl sending little slivers of ice shooting unmercifully into me. "You have some explaining to do."

"You don't remember?" I ask confusedly, quirking an eyebrow at her as I try to disentangle myself from the messy nest of clothing that traps me. How can she not remember all the chaos that went down yesterday? But then I recall what Alina said right before I fell asleep last night, something about Freighter wiping Trogon's memory if he could, erasing all the trauma that had affected her that evening. Great. I'm going to have fun explaining exactly why I was in Trogon's bed if I couldn't tell her about anything that had happened.

I decide to be as vague as possible. "Well, I'll make a long story short. Some crazy shit went down last night. You sort of had a meltdown, so I brought you up here and you asked me to stay with you. I fell asleep, and now here we are."

It's the best I can do without coming out and telling her exactly what happened, and I have a feeling that if I did that I'd be getting a very unpleasant visit from Freighter. Finally extricating myself from the mass of sweaters and jeans, I manage to pull myself to my feet, gangly limbs cramped up viciously from my oddly-contorted time in the closet. My stomach gives a painful grumble, screaming for food. I realize that breakfast must have been hours ago, and a glance at her clock confirms that it is almost ten o'clock in the morning. Well, Trogon's going to have to get a shower before she goes anywhere, and I'm hungry as hell, might as well head down now.

I go to head out the door, but the confused look on Trogon's face nearly breaks my heart. I know I'm not allowed to tell her what's going on, but I can't help but feel that her alter-egos are doing her a huge disservice by blanking out her memories like this. Yes, what happened isn't pleasant, but she deserves to know. And just because I can't specifically tell her anything doesn't mean that she can't possibly break down those walls within her mind on her own. Exhaling heavily, I rest a hand the un-bruised side of her face, brushing my thumb lightly against the ridge of her high cheekbone. "Try to remember, okay?"

For some reason, the action only makes the pain in my chest intensify, so I open the door and slide out into the hallway without another word. I don't know why it's suddenly fallen upon me to help Trogon fight the inhabitants of her own mind, but I'm not quite sure that it's a responsibility I want to bear.

[Eastern Orange]

Alina; The Shield
Freighter; The Protector
Morrigan; The Floozy
Trigger; The Bitch

Bewilderment is the only way to describe my feelings right now. What kind of crazy shit would make me want to have Denver sleep with me? I suck in a breath as he reaches over and strokes the side of my face, my stomach twisting in knots at his touch. Wait, what is this!? My stomach should not be in knots! What the crap stomach, you can go be in knots somewhere else, because I refuse to put up with that kind of behavior! Denver should not, and will not make me feel that way towards him. I refuse!

He leaves me staring after him, with questions still swirling about in my mind. How the hell am I supposed to remember? I’ve had missing memory since…well, ever since I could remember. I have never been able to break down that black wall that surrounds my memory, and he is stupid if he thinks I can just remember things because he wants me to. Who the hell is he, anyway? I don’t even know him, and he is bossing me around! Ugh. Fuck it. I’m just going to get a shower.

I roll out of bed, and kneel down to drag out my bathroom bag out from under my bed. It comes sliding out, bringing with it a stuffed walrus. I grab the stuffed animal, my eyes widening with surprise. I hadn’t seen Wilkins in years; I thought Lauren had given him away, but apparently not. I smile and hug him to my chest; he was the only thing from my pervious life, before the group home. Well, that I know of. But how did he get under my bed?

You are a child and a dark figure is standing over you smiling he didn’t let you play with the other little kids at the park but that’s okay because he bought you the walrus you are holding in your tiny arms he whispers words in your ear telling you that it is all okay and you don’t need others because you have him and he will never leave you and he will always love you and you will always belong to him and he will never hurt you and you believe him because you are just a child…

I jerk back to my senses. I’m clutching the stuffed animal to my chest like my life depends on it. I loosen my vice grip on the poor thing, and let my arms hang limply at my sides. What the fuck was that? Who was that boy? It was the first thing I had ever remembered from when I was a child and it left me shaken. That boy didn’t seem loving to my younger self…he seemed menacing. I want to talk about this to someone one, but who can I turn to? No one. I’m all alone in this house full of kids.

In the shower, I let cold water run over my face, and it felt so good. My face was oddly swollen, and again I’m left wondering what the hell happened last night. But I guess it doesn’t matter; it’s just another lost night, right? I’ve lost many, so many nights in the past, what is one more? I was beyond caring anymore, and I just deicide to live with it. There isn’t much I can do about it. I just stand in the shower with my face upturned towards the spray water, letting it run over me.

After awhile, I finally work up the willpower to turn around and wash my hair. Next I bump a big glob of soap on my hand and I start to wash my body. That’s when I first notice the big blue splotches on my arms. Okay. Maybe it wouldn’t be wise to just let myself forget about last night. What the fuck happened. I look down, and there a various bruises all over my body. Panic makes tears spring to my eyes. Did Denver beat the fuck out of me or something? No, I don’t think he’d do that. And plus he said that I had asked him to stay with me...He could have been lying. Why would I suddenly just trust everything Denver said?

I place my hand over the biggest bruise on my upper arm…it fits almost perfectly. It’s a hand print. It’s a goddamn hand print! Okay, now I’m seriously freaked out…

You are being kissed roughly and he smells like whores and booze and you are crying and he is grabbing your ass and there is nothing you can do because you are too weak and his tongue is in your mouth and you want to bite down but you don’t have the courage and your knees give way but he is holding you up and his hands are everywhere and they are everywhere and they are EVERYWHERE and then you aren’t you anymore but you are you but it still isn’t you and you are punching him and beating him and you are enjoying this yes you are and he punches the you that isn’t you and he is scared and he is gone and you are you again and you are crying and Denver is there and he is comforting you…

I’m shaking. I’m shaking so hard that I have to collapse in a heap. By now the water is no longer that nice soothing cold, but the harsh cold that is jarring and feels like daggers. My teeth are chattering, but I think it has more to do with that vision. Was that last night? My sore face and body tell me that it was. How did I manage to attack that guy? I’m not violent in the least.

I finally lift a shaky hand up and shut of the water. I lay shivering in the bathtub for a few minutes, staring at the chipped porcelain not thinking about anything. Eventually I pick myself up and throw on some sweatpants and a tank top, not bothering to dry myself off. I wonder out of the bathroom, throw my shit in my bedroom and practically stumble down the stairs. I push open the door to the dinning room and see that Denver is the only one there, shoving his face full of cereal. All the other kids were presumably doing their chores or outside playing the beautiful spring weather.

I shuffled over to a seat across from Denver and plop down. I drag over a bowl and dump some cereal and milk into it and force myself to swallow the dry cardboard-tasting shit. I shove spoonful after spoonful in my mouth, trying not to taste it, and chew at the same time. I finally drop my spoon and fix Denver with a flat look. “Was I sexually assaulted last night by some guy?” I ask flatly. I was numb. I couldn’t even work up the proper emotion of embarrassment. I was so done with this whole ‘feeling’ thing.

“Tell me what happened last night.” I snap. “And no lame answers like you gave me in my room. I want to know what happened.” I cross my arms, and raise an eyebrow expectantly. I refuse to let him leave this room until he tells me exactly what happened.

[/color][/size][/justify][/blockquote]

[Deleted]

It's eerie, eating alone in the cavernous dining room, but my viciously rumbling stomach doesn't let me dwell on the odd feeling too much. I fold myself into a chair and pour my first bowl of cereal... followed by a second, third, fourth, and fifth one before Trogon finally makes an appearance. She storms into the dining room, hair still dripping, and sits down across from my, yanking a bowl and the large box of cereal over towards her before she glances up at me, chocolate-colored eyes narrowed in what could be suspicion, irritation, or an odd mix of both.“Was I sexually assaulted last night by some guy?”

I choke on a mouthful of cereal in shock, a lump of soggy cornflakes lodging itself firmly in my throat and making me cough and sputter for a solid minute. I'm finally able to beat a fist against my chest and make the food go down with a painful swallow, and I'm left staring at Trogon through watery eyes."Um... Yeah. Yeah, you were. Did you remember?"

“Tell me what happened last night,” she demands snappishly, a solitary blondish eyebrow quirking up in a gesture of impatient expectation. “And no lame answers like you gave me in my room. I want to know what happened.”

[/i]

Of course she had to ask that. Of fucking course she had to demand that I tell her specific details, something that's going to make Freighter come out and seriously whoop my ass if I open my mouth. I prop my elbows on the table and bury my face in my hands, letting out a groan of frustration. Life is never easy, is it? "This is gonna sound like such a load of bullshit... But I can't tell you the specifics, Trogon."

My voice is tired and muffled against my hands, and I can already feel the shitstorm coming. I'm caught between a rock and a hard place with this situation. If Freighter doesn't kill me, then Trogon probably will. I glance up at her, wincing in anticipation of another glass of water in my face, but finding only that same terrifying glare. Shit, this girl can be really fucking scary even without a big bad alter-ego to protect her. "Just hear me out, okay? You can ask me questions, and I will answer them truthfully. I just can't tell you about what happened last night. This sounds so stupid, but I'm not allowed. There are... people. People who will make my life very difficult if I give you the specifics. But if you figure things out for yourself, that's not my fault. So you can ask me all the questions you want, and I'll give you a yes or a no. But remembering is up to you this time, Trogon. I can't help you out beyond that, I'm sorry."

I'm sitting here, rooted to my chair even though my instinct is screaming at me to run like hell before she launches her bowl of cereal at my head. I feel horrible for not just caving in and telling her everything, but the looming threat of getting the shit kicked out of me is enough to keep my lips sealed for now. I look at her apologetically, running a hand through my hair and giving a bashful, halfhearted grin. "By the way, you look pretty."

Wait... What?! Where the hell did that come from?! God, I'm stupid, I'm so stupid. Why would I say that right now? I mean, it's true, because she is a pretty girl and she does look way better without that creepy raccoon makeup smeared all over her face, but what's up with the word vomit? I had absolutely no reason to say that, especially given the circumstances.

"So!" I say loudly, standing up so fast that I knock my chair over. I'm babbling at a rapid pace, my nerves on edge because of the verbal slip I've just made. I pick up my camera from the table and sling the strap over my neck, forcing a smile that looks somewhat derranged in its forced chipperness. "I think we should take a walk. Doesn't a walk sound great? Let's go for a walk!"[/color][/blockquote][/size]

[Eastern Orange]

Alina; The Shield
Freighter; The Protector
Morrigan; The Floozy
Trigger; The Bitch

My jaw drops, the embarrassment that I couldn't muster before washes through me, and blood rushes to my cheeks. "Shut up!" I hiss. "I am not beautiful, and don't think your weak attempt at flattery is going to get you out of explaining what happened!" What the hell? Why would he say such a viscous lie? I know I'm not beautiful; I'm just plain, and drab. I know for a fact, because the other kids were constantly making fun of my ‘horse face’ when I was younger. "Next time you want to create a diversion, use something believable, like...You're a good artist!" I make a disgusted sound in my throat, and turn away from him. Why can't he just tell me what happened? What is the big deal? Oh yeah, there are people who will get mad. Bull fucking shit. What kind of crappy excuse is that?

"I think we should take a walk. Doesn't a walk sound great? Let's go for a walk!"

I must admit that caught me of guard. Was he asking me out on a date? What is this? No fucking way! This must be another trick to get me off of his back about last night. Yes that has to be it, otherwise, why else would he do it? We have barely even talked, why out of no where is he showing interest in me? Unless, something scandalous happened last night and he doesn’t want to tell me because he is afraid I’ll be mad? Oh lord. I can feel my face burn just thinking that.

But, what is really freaking me out right now is how my body reacted to his invitation. My stomach resumed it’s knotting, and my heart practically thrummed with pleasure, accelerating to a speed that was actually quite worrisome. I gulp, confused as to why I was so affected by this boy. I had never shown any interest in the opposite sex, but after one forgotten night, I’m practically panting at the thought of going on a walk with him. Something did happen last night. Oh my God, did we have sex?

I will not be attracted to this boy. I need to nip this thing in the bud. And how will I do this exactly? It’s obvious. I just learn to hate him, and make it easy for him to hate me. But I digress. Which is exactly what he wanted me to do, jerk! Well! I won’t let it happened again! I need to figure out what the fuck happened last night, and then start Operation Hateration!

"Go for a walk, seriously? No!" I'm the verge of tears—tears of frustration—and I'm trying my hardest not to let them fall. I rake a hand through my hair. “I just want to know what happened, okay?” I say, may voice strained. “Who the hell are these 'people'? How do they have anything to do with me?" Why would a bunch of random people care if Denver told me what happened or not? Did we witness a murder or something?! I almost have to laugh at that thought, but then I realize that it could have very possibly happened.

"I'm not going anywhere until you just tell me!" I slam a fist on the table to emphasize my point. Just then I hear Lauren bustling about in the kitchen. Shit. I wonder how much has already heard, probably nothing because she is currently humming and banging around pots. So, maybe we should take this somewhere else…“Maybe we really should go for a walk.” I mutter and stand up abruptly. I’m over to the door in a second, and am disappearing down the hallway in the next second. I open the coat closest by the door and extract a random gray hoodie. I shrug it on as I slip on my boots. Without bothering to look behind me, I toss open the front door, clomp down the front steps, and head toward the woods in the back of the house.

The day is warm, but also a bit chilly because of the wind. I bury my hands in the front pocket of my sweater, and trudge through the dead foliage. I drag my feet through the layer of dead leaves, and step on every branch I can, sometimes lengthening my stride and shortening it to reach them all. I like making as much ruckus as possible. As a result, all the forest critters had fallen silent, and found a safe place to hide. I continue to blaze a trail through the woods, stomping around randomly, searching.

It had been awhile since I had come back here, so I couldn’t remember exactly how to find it. I don’t know how I had even found it the first time; I had been really upset, so I had just stormed out of the house and straight into the woods and, bam, there it was. Something inside me knew that it was mine, probably from a time much simpler, before whatever happened to me, happened.

Finally I see it, and my mood instantly improves. Hanging from a branch at least sixteen feet up was a wooden swing. It was such a simple creation, but it’s beautiful in its simplicity. The ropes were faded and frayed, blanketed with soft, vibrant green moss. The seat was a just a plank of wood, with a hole in it from a knot, and the grain standing up in ridges. I grin at it, and run over to it. I plop down on the seat and wrap both hands around the ropes, and push myself off the ground. And I’m flying.

You are little and you are bouncing up and down in anticipation because a boy is making a swing for you behind your Aunt’s house so you would have something to do while you visited her in the summers and he is smiling at you because he is done now and he wants to push you and you rush forward eagerly and you are so short he has to pick you up and place you on the swing and your feet don’t touch the ground so he pushes you higher and higher and higher and soon the air is filled with your giggles and mockingjays everywhere are picking up the notes of your laughter and repeating it back to you and you love the boy and this is the happiest day of your life...

I had stopped pumping my legs, so when the past finally dissolves away, I’ve come to a stop and am just sitting on the swing. I blink a few times, and shake my head. “I think…” I pause, not sure of what I was about to say. But who else could it be? “I think I had a brother…” I whisper, clutching the ropes so tight, my fingers were white. I wasn’t really saying out loud for Denver, it was really just for my benefit. “A brother…” tears well up in my eyes.

You are scared and you don’t know what is going on and you don’t know were the boy is and you don’t want to know because as of late he has been yelling and getting mad and you don’t like that so you didn’t come out after school and you are hiding in the supply closet and you can hear him stopping around and calling your name in a harsh voice and you don’t want to come out you don’t want to you don’t want to and you can hear his voice fading away and then it is silent and you breathe a sigh of relief and then the door above you flies open and you scream…

And I’m screaming. I realize this almost immediately and the scream dies away in my throat, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. What is going on today? Why out of nowhere am I just getting all these flashes of memory! And…was that the same boy who built a swing for me? It couldn’t be…maybe I had two brothers? I couldn’t really see his face in either of those memories, in fact everything was blurred and jerky and sometimes it cut to black for a second. I feel tears run down my cheeks, and pool on my hands. I slowly bring my hands away from my mouth, but they are shaking so hard that I clench them in fists.

I'm finding it rather difficult to block out her memories...I'm shifting all my attention on keeping those weeks hidden.

Why is this happening?

I think it is because genius told her about us.

Hey! Denver didn't know better...It's Morrigan's fualt for jumping him!

Hey! Shut it brat!

It seems we will no longer go unnoticed by Trogon...

I glare over at Denver, daring him to say something insulting. What a freak he must think I am. I wouldn’t blame him if he just left right now, and never looked back. Although I had wanted to distance myself from him, and had even planed to make him hate me, I didn’t want that to happened. I didn’t want to make him freaked out by me…I don’t know what I wanted, but I feel my heart sink at the thought of him just leaving me here in the woods. Gah! No. I do want this. Yes, it’s better this way.

“Listen.” I sigh. “Just tell me what happened last night, and then you can leave. I wont ever bother you again, just do this for me okay?” I wasn’t even going to bother to address what just happened. What was I going to say?

I want to know now more then ever what happened last night. It has to be connected to why I keep getting flashes of memory. I mean…what else can explain it? But the irony of it all is that I can’t remember what happened, and thus can’t figure out what to do to get my memory back. It all comes back to Denver! He needs to just tell me what happened! What could have happened?!


ooc: xD Little note about 'Hateration' my APUSH teacher was talking about the cold war and she was like "What is a cold war?...It is tension, and hateration. And hateration is hate....that radiates." xD She is awesome.

[/justify][/blockquote]

[Deleted]

I can't help but wince a little when Trogon brings her fist down on the table, the dull thud making the dishes clatter sharply against the wooden surface. Girls aren't fun when they're angry, mainly because they tend to stay angry. Forever. Well, maybe not forever, but a long-ass time. Guys, we're way easier to deal with. We get pissed, beat the hell out of each other, and walk away with a black eye and a renewed sense of camraderie. I can't recall how many times I've slugged Trace in the past week for doing stupid shit in his typical Trace way, getting me up to go to school when her knows damn well I'm going to skip or messing with my camera when the one rule I expect him to follow is not to touch it. Seriously, we punch each other all the time, and the guy's the closest thing I have to a best friend. Why can't girls be like that? Especially Trogon, because the way she's snapping at me right now is somehow much more painful than if she'd just haul off and hit me.

"Maybe we should go for a walk."

All of a sudden she's marginally calmer (thank all the powers of the universe, I can't deal with this moody bullshit, not at all), walking briskly down the hall and grabbing a sweatshirt from the coat closet before storming out the front door. Shrugging to myself, I follow her, not too concerned that she's a good twenty feet ahead of me already. My legs are so much longer than hers that I catch up pretty quickly, able to walk at a leisurely pace even though she's still moving more quickly than usual, her feet churning up all kinds of mayhem as she stomps through the woods. Moving through the wooded area slows me down a bit, low-hanging branches seemingly taking every opportunity to tangle themselves in my hair and protruding roots making me trip every few steps, but I still manage to keep up.

Trogon doesn't seem to notice my presence at all; we spend our journey in silence before she finally comes to a halt in a large clearing occupied by a large tree with an ancient swing dangling from the branches. I want to caution her to stay off the thing, because it looks like those ropes could snap any minute, but I keep my mouth shut, leaning up against the trunk of a nearby tree and watching her fly through the air. For some reason, I'm shocked at how graceful she manages to look as she swings, hair flying and dark eyes fixed on some point far, far away. For a moment, I wonder whether one of her other personalities has taken over, but then Trogon's eyes refocus and she gradually comes back to earth, limbs dangling limply from the swing. "I think… I think I had a brother."

"What?" I ask, my head jerking sharply towards her. Does she not remember her family? Has her entire childhood been blocked out? What could have possibly happened that would make Freighter take away everything in such a long period of time? "You remembered something, didn’t you?"

Before I can get an answer out of her, the unfocused look returns to her eyes for the briefest few seconds, and then she jumps and gives a small scream, like she’s just seen something terrifying. Trogon quickly clamps a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound but still looking completely horrified. But then she’s glaring at me again, that now-familiar expression of distrust and irritation making me hurt much more than it should. “Listen. Just tell me what happened last night, and then you can leave. I won’t ever bother you again, just do this for me okay?”

Again with the demands I can’t meet. I’m bombarded with a wave of conflicting emotions that I really don’t want to deal with, frustration, sympathy, guilt, and worst of all, fear. Oh, and then there’s the disgust I feel for myself because of the fact that I’m afraid. I guess that’s the worst, really. Trogon’s left in the dark about a huge chunk of her life because I don’t have the balls to tell her what’s going on for fear of getting my ass kicked by some rabid, raging alternate personality of hers that’s apparently withholding her childhood memories for reasons that no one but him can explain. When the thought hits me, a horrible sensation of utter terror makes me feel like my stomach is doing gymnastics. I want to help Trogon, I really do. But in order to help her, I have to know exactly what’s going on, why her memories are being blocked out. And to do that, I’m going to have to have a little chat with the person responsible for the removal of said memories.

"Trogon, I’m almost as confused as you are," I say with a sigh, raking fingers through my hair. "But just because all of this shit is really freaky doesn’t mean I’m going to just run off and leave you to fight this alone. I’d be a horrible person if I did that. I may be an arrogant prick, but I like to think that other than that I’m a decent human being.”

I push off from my tree and walk over to join her in the middle of the clearing, desperately wanting to do something, anything to comfort her because she just looks so confused and lost and alone that it makes me physically ache to look at her. Hesitant, not really sure what to do, I awkwardly wrap my arms around her and then pull back, leaving my hands resting listlessly on her shoulders, a quick hug that probably only lasts a few seconds but still makes my heart thrum pleasantly. "If the plan I’ve got in mind doesn’t work, I’ll tell you everything, and screw the consequences. You deserve to know. But there are some things that I need to know as well, and I need to find them out before I’ll be okay with telling you what happened."

Taking a deep breath and steeling myself, I tighten my grip on her shoulders ever so slightly, looking intently into the dark eyes several inches below my own, trying to find evidence of someone else behind them other than the fragile girl I can see now. "I understand that this is probably going to mean me getting my ass kicked, but I want to talk to Freighter… You know… If you guys can make that happen.”

[Eastern Orange]

Alina; The Shield
Freighter; The Protector
Morrigan; The Floozy
Trigger; The Bitch

And he is hugging me. What is this? I find myself instinctively lean in towards him, resting against him for a split second before he is pulling away. I try to ignore the pleasantly painful sensations occurring my stomach, and the displeasure of him pulling away.

I stare up at him and I feel hope creep through me. His words make me feel happy and...I don't know, safe. He said that he wouldn't leave me to fight this alone. I'm assuming he means my random memory loss, because what else can it be. I smile slowly at him, only slightly confused by what he meant by 'consequences'.

"I understand that this is probably going to mean me getting my ass kicked, but I want to talk to Freighter… You know… If you guys can make that happen.”

My euphoric feeling vanishes and is replaced entirely with confusion. What is he talking about? Freighter? What the hell is that? What does he mean by ‘you guys’? I try to make sense of his words, but fail. Then it hits me. He is just messing with me. A myriad of feelings surge through me before I settle on hurt and bewilderment. My shoulders slump forward in defeat. I didn’t really know Denver, but I never would have thought that he was that kind of person; the kind to make fun of me so heartlessly. I find that under the crushing weight of disappointment, I can't bring up the proper emotion of anger.

I stand up abruptly, and duck backwards underneath the swing, getting away from him. I feel a tear spill down my cheek. "You don't have to be so cruel." I whisper at him, reaching up to brush away the tears. "You must think I am some sort of freak.” I shake my head, and cross my arms, trying to protect myself against his malice. “I know I’m a little weird, but no one deserves…” I trail off, my voice breaking. “I'm sorry to drag you out here. Let's just forget this whole thing." I realize what I said and smile bitterly. "That won't be so hard for me, will it?"

I’m such a pathetic loser. How could I believe that Denver would help me? Nothing happened last night. He probably got drunk with the rest of the kids and accidentally crawled into my bed. Or the others put him up to it, knowing that I have trouble with my memory. This entire thing is probably just some big cruel joke orchestrated by Mindy. Maybe she and the rest of them are hiding out in the woods, right now laughing their asses of at the stupid gullible girl. "Did someone put you up to this, or are you always this conniving?"

[/justify][/blockquote]

[Deleted]

Well, that didn't work.

The next thing I know, Trogon's having a complete hemorrhage, flipping out on me and still completely herself. Of course she has no idea what I just said, but does she really have to jump straight to the conclusion that I'm going out of my way to be an asshole to her? Is that really how I come across to people? Insecurity holds me in an iron grip for a moment, crushing the air from my lungs and keeping me from speaking. I'm used to being liked. In fact, I thrive on it. If I can't be the lovable guy that everyone adores, what do I have left? And for some reason, the fact that Trogon seems to think I'm a heartless bastard hurts more than it would coming from anyone else.

"Did someone put you up to this, or are you always this conniving?"

"Conniving?" I ask, my voice dull and unaffected. Irritation has finally won over my doubtfulness, an extremely rare spark of anger flaring up in the center of my chest. I mean, really? I've bent over backwards to help this girl out over the past couple of days, and here she is hurling insults at me. Fuck that.

When most guys get angry, they get all testosterone-charged and throw stuff. That's not me. I don't yell or punch walls or toss things out of windows. When I'm angry I get quiet, some would even say sulky, only throwing out an occasional biting remark but otherwise just fixing the object of my disdain with an unwavering glare until they eventually crumble. It's a very effective way of dealing with such a rampant emotion. I slip into this phase now, snorting derisively and shaking my head in disbelief. "Conniving? Really, Trogon? I'm conniving? Because last time I checked I was busting my ass to help you out. I was going out of my way to be nice to you because..."

I pause here, my motives for being kind to Trogon colliding in a piled-up mess within my mind. There are several different reasons I pulled up my chair next to hers last night at dinner. Originally it was just because she was a pretty girl with no food and I was in a knight-in-shining-armor kind of mood, but the more complex things got, the more emotionally invested in her happiness I became. Yes, she was pretty and I tend to be especially nice to pretty girls, but then there was the fact that she's an artist like me, and the fact that she doesn't have anyone else, and the fact that something weird happens to my stomach when she looks at me, even if it's an icy glare like she's giving me right now. Or maybe it's because when the sun hits her hair like that it makes me think of better times with another golden-haired girl, walks through the orchards, baseball games in the sandlot down the road from our house. "I wanted to get close to you because you kind of reminded me of my dead twin sister, okay? You happy now? I gave you a reason, even if it is a freaky, wrong-on-so-many-levels one."

There I go again, spouting off about Lydia. Every time I think I'm healing from the loss of my sister and my mother, that horrible pain rips through me, fresh and new as the day I woke up to find they were gone, that I hadn't saved them...

Everything hurts. That's the only thing I can process. My entire body is hot and raw and it won't stop hurting, but I can't open my eyes no matter how hard I try. An agonized groan escapes my throat without me initiating it, and I'm aware of other murmurs in the room, frantic voices saying something like "He's waking up, he's waking up."

My eyes shoot open then, breaths coming in sharp gasps that only seem to compound the raw sensation wrapping my torso in a fiery embrace. Through the haze of pained tears clouding my eyes, I'm able to make out that familiar form of Mrs. Stevens hovering in my field of vision. I try to speak, but there's a few minutes where all I can do is cough, the remnants of the smoke I inhaled leaving my body in thick clumps of blackish sludge that stain the pristine white of the sheets I'm laying on. Finally, the words make their way past my lips, ragged and weak as I look imploringly at my grandmother figure, begging her to tell me what I want so desperately to hear. "Lydia? Mom?"

Her face falls, and she brings up a wrinkled hand to brush my sweat-soaked hair away from my forehead. "I'm so sorry, dear. You got them both out of the house but the burns were so bad, and the smoke they inhaled... Neither of them made it."

As much as I want to man up and stop myself, the tears from both the pain of the burns and the agony I'm feeling inside spill over and trace down my cheeks, the saltiness irritating the mild burns there and making everything hurt even worse. I lay back down and try to curl in on myself, but the pain is so horrific that I can only lay there on my back, sobbing and staring at the ceiling. "I tried. I tried so hard."

"I know, honey. I know."

"What difference does it make?" I normally wouldn't rebuke this statement of comfort, but the fact that is breaking its way into my head with a rationality that sends a chill up my spine even through the horrible burns.

I couldn't save them. And it will haunt me for the rest of my life.

The irritation is building now, a feeling that is something like betrayal thrumming unpleasantly through my veins. I was raised to never speak to a girl disrespectfully, but as I stand here and match Trogon glare for glare I can't stop myself. I'm hurt, and like a wounded animal, I'm lashing out. "I guess I was completely wrong, though. You're nothing like Lydia. She wasn't an ungrateful, cold, self-centered bitch who refused to accept friendship or help from people."

My eyes widen in shock at the words that have just left my mouth, and a hand comes up to my lips as if to suppress the statement that has already been launched irretrievably into the Springtime air. I've never called someone a bitch before, not to their face, and my sense of chivalry finally rears its head, screaming at me what a terrible excuse for a man I am. Even though I'm still pissed beyond belief at Trogon, I'm ashamed of myself for stooping so low.

"I am so sorry. That was completely out of line."

But the damage is done.

[Eastern Orange]

Alina; The Shield
Freighter; The Protector
Morrigan; The Floozy
Trigger; The Bitch

I flinch at Denver’s nasty words, and put up my hands as if to physically ward them off. I turn my head away from him, my hands are shacking and still up to block my face from his view, and to block him from mine. I can’t look at him. He has just confirmed my worst fears. He is one of them. Else, why would he say those things? I know I’m cold, but to just throw it in my face like that...I really hate myself right now. It doesn’t help that he said he ‘wanted to get close’ to me because I reminded him of his dead sister. Yea, that makes me feel like shit. But, what else was I supposed to do? Believe that Denver was a legitimately nice guy, helping me out of the kindness of his heart? No. I couldn’t believe that, and I certainly can’t now, not when he lashed out like that.

No one is good. No one. Everyone is out for themselves. It’s a dog eat dog world. I just need to keep telling myself that.

His words open an old wound in my chest, and all the memories that I have not been fortunate to forget come rushing at me like a wave. They crash down over my head, and I’m drowning in them. Memories flash before my eyes, a montage of my pathetic life: Sexual assaults, mental abuse, physical abuse, by random men, by the kids at the house, by Alice. Denver wonders why I don’t trust people. He calls it being cold and self-centered I call it surviving and protecting what little sanity I have left. He has no right to judge me. No fucking right at all.

I suck in a shaky breath, steadying myself. “You’re not sorry.” I whisper harshly. “You said what you truly thought. And…you're right.” The self-pity I feel nearly crushes me. I’m having trouble breathing, and my entire body is shaking. I drop my arms and turn my head and look him straight in the eye unflinchingly. For the first time, I don’t get embarrassed and drop my eyes, I don’t blush, and I don’t even feel that annoying fluttering in my heart. I’m just an unfeeling little harpy that will never trust or even love anyone again. Not after Alice. I can’t let myself feel that way ever again. “Just…Just go away. Leave me alone.” I say dully, finally dropping my eyes to the ground. I turn around, and plant myself on the swing heavily, my back to him.

Damn, this bitch needs to end the pity party. It is highly depressing. I mean, she has every right, but shit, she needs to get her act together. Not that Denver is helping. That was just some messed up shit right there. I jump off the swing and turn around to face him. First things first, I slap him. Hard. "I know you did not just say that to my girl." I shake my finger at him, like he is a puppy that has piddled on the carpet. “You are some stupid little boy, you know that?” I put my hands on my hips, and cock an eyebrow. “Or maybe you are just tactless. Either way, wrong move.” I sigh and bring a hand up to examine my nails, the picture nonchalance. “Ever occur to you that Trogon has a reason to be suspicious? A reason to not be jumping for joy when a prefect stranger holds out a helping hand? It’s nothing personal, babydoll. Trogon didn’t mean to wound your little ego.” I shake my head, and give a laugh. "Damn boy, you really fucked the pooch this time. You should have been in her thoughts when you called her cold."

I mean, really? Really? He really asked her to see Freighter? This boy is about as subtle as a toddler throwing a fit. What did he think would happen? Freighter would just pop out and be like 'oh hey, man whats up?' Mhm. This boy is not the glossiest lip gloss in the pack. I don't know why Alina believed he could help us.

[/justify][/blockquote]

[Deleted]

Even though she’s basically told me to get out of her life, I can’t bring myself to walk away. Not only am I feeling intense spasms of guilt as a result of the poison that’s just spurted from my own mouth, but there’s just that odd little something about Trogon that keeps me tethered to my spot on the crunchy carpet of dead leaves. My hands want desperately to rake through my hair as an expression of confusion and frustration and this, but the gravity of the situation makes me feel so heavy that moving just isn’t an option. Emotionally exhausted (because I don’t like complex things and this shit is far from simple), I can only stand and look expectantly at the unmoving form on the old swing, hoping that by some miracle she might forgive me one day.

When the slap hits, it’s with much more force than I would’ve imagined Trogon being capable of, sending my head snapping to the side so harshly that I can hear the vertebrae in my neck crackling in protest. "I know you did not just say that to my girl. You are some stupid little boy, you know that?"

"Trigger, I presume?"I ask after she finishes her tirade (fraught with sassiness and head-bobbing and “mmmmhmm’s” that are the very contradiction of Trogon’s personality), gingerly touching the flaming patch of skin that bore the brunt of her assault. I can only assume that I am facing off with the last of Trogon’s alter-egos, the mother figure that Alina told me about last night. While I expected her to be fierce and protective (they all seem to be here for her protection, all of them except Morrigan), I didn’t expect her to be so… well, ethnic. My imagined idea of Trigger had been a tight-lipped librarian type with an impressive vocabulary and a quietly acidic voice. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

When my face stops hurting enough to allow me to look up at her, I’m again weirded out by the Trogon-that-isn’t-Trogon that I see before me. An brows are quirked up at a condescending angle, arms crossed and dark eyes all but screaming “Please, just please,” in my direction. I met someone with an attitude like this once upon a time, and I vaguely remember that her name was something along the lines of Shamika or Shamyra or something like that. And it’s just wrong seeing Trogon like this, because despite the fact that in the past twenty-four hours she’s dumped water on me and now slapped me, I still hold onto an irrational belief that she’s actually demure and sweet and everything Trigger is not.

"I apologized, didn’t I? Jeez," I say petulantly, still rubbing my sore cheek. "I really do want to help her. You guys don’t seem to get that."

I’m not a hostile person by nature, but I find myself glaring in Trigger’s direction accusingly. "The four of you aren’t doing her any favors, leaving gaping holes in her memory like that. It’s screwing her up. Life sucks, but people have to learn how to deal with it. My mom and sister died as a result of my own ineptitude and you don’t see random people popping up out of my consciousness to take care of my problems for me."

It sounds so easy, how all the negativity of Trogon’s life is borne by others, but after meeting her, I know that’s not the case at all. Her life is only more complicated as a result of her alter-egos’ presence, not to mention that she’s not prepared in any way to deal with her own issues should the suddenly disappear. Seriously, if they all decide to pack up and never return, Trogon is royally fucked. She doesn’t know any other coping mechanisms other than letting a different person take over and handle whatever’s posing a problem to her life.

This realization makes her appearance change, at least in my eyes. Even though Trigger’s in control and still glaring angrily at me, I can’t help but notice how vulnerable the girl I see in front of me looks. How fragile. And despite my better judgment, my protective instinct takes over and my lips are moving against my will. "She needs you when she doesn’t have anyone else. I understand that. But she’s got me now, despite the fact that she kind of hates my guts. And she should, because what I said was mean and out of line and not true at all. But no matter what any of you think, I don’t want to see her hurt any more than you do."

My piece said, I run frustrated fingers through my hair and sigh, glancing wearily up into her unforgiving dark gaze. "I’ve invested myself in this mess, and I’m not backing out. So maybe you could tell me why Trogon’s like this, help me out a little? I won’t be much assistance unless I know what prompts you… you people to make an appearance."

((ooc – It’s too short! D:<))