It's a straight shot. Focus. Let the chills build up from the bottom up and…

Shit!

Ah, crap. Dad's gonna kill me if I keep performing like this! Ok, try again, girl. It's alright. Just breathe. Oxygen's important. For…breathing. Oh what the hell am I thinking? Just shoot the damn bottle, Elle!

She held her arm out slow and steady with her palm in the shape of a make shift 'hand gun'. Piercing her eyes on her target and sucking on her teeth with her chin tucked in she set aim and closed her eyes. She felt the shock tug her back for a moment causing pin straight blonde hair to ricochet slightly making her bangs flirt with her eyelashes. A slow smile crawled over her face as her electric blue eyes slowly opened fearing for the worst, but seeing the best.

Yes…woo!

She thrust a tired arm into the air for a lame power punch and hunched over, resting her hands on her knees and inhaling deeply. Finally she'd given that dumb bottle what it had deserved. She was beginning to become too frustrated for her health.

"Yeah, Mr. Root beer! You just let all your little bottle friends know what's up!" Elle gloated triumphantly. She giggled to herself as she wiped her forehead for sweat with the back of her arm. She hummed a song she was pretty sure she was making up as she went along as she gathered her things from the corner of the cement 600x350 ft room. As her heels clopped along the floor she hummed a little louder—the echo in that room was enough to mock her heart. Like the empty grayness somehow knew that it resembled her emotions 99% of the time, just waiting for someone to come in and paint her world, fill it up with everything void of alone. She frowned at the thought. I mean, sure, she has her playthings on the upper level that hung on her every shock, but did they really love her? Because deep down she knew she didn't really love them; that just because she wanted something to be didn't mean it was, especially now that she had really been thinking hard about that topic. Something was even more different about her, but she just couldn't completely place her finger on it yet…

She shook her head with the thought and laughed it off. Maybe a quick chat with some of her boys on level 5 would make her feel better. Throwing her hair over her shoulder and taking a deep breath in, she placed a determined hand on the ice cold latch opening the door and not-so-confidently strutting out.

*

As Elle stood in the window of one of the cells at a new man she crossed her arms wondering why he was so different. Most of the men thrown in here were criminals—people who would throw a fit if you touched them and puff out their chest when a hot woman walked by. But this one…he was Mexican American, huddled in the corner with his back turned towards Elle, shaking a bit and muttering to himself and, she was pretty sure, crying. Weakness. She despised weakness. Uncrossing her arms for a second as a scowl crossed her face she leaned forward to rap her knuckles on the thick glass.

"Excuse me!" The man jumped and turned slightly, frightened. Elle's eyebrows shot up in recognition. "You! Yeah, hey! Hey, wait! Dude!" The man turned back around as the muttering got louder and now Elle could tell he was saying a prayer. Ok, she's had her share of praying felons, but this guy was different. He seemed like he actually meant what he was saying. She huffed again and pounded hard on the glass in short, forceful punches. "YOU! LITTLE! MAN! TURN! A! ROUND! AND! TALK! TO! ME!" She left the last one with her palm flat against the glass, leaning all of her weight onto it and panting in frustration. The man rolled his eyes nervously and turned his body full swing.

"What, lady?" He whispered franticly, revealing his tear stained self. Her anger then dissipated and turned into curiosity.

"We-Well…" she stammered. She didn't really know what she wanted now that she thought about it.

"Well I mean…what's…what's wrong?" He stared at her too honestly for Elle's liking. She crossed her arms tighter around her body and shuffled uncomfortably from side to side, avoiding eye contact entirely. "Or whatever you don't have to tell me it's fine. It's probably really stupid anyways…" She mumbled as she ran an embarrassed hand through her thin platinum hair, turning to leave. She only made it a few shuffled steps before hearing him call her back.

"W-wait!" She stopped and huffed, rolling her eyes. Don't people know the shrinks on level 2 have been diagnosing her as psychopathic for years? Patience and nurture aren't really her 'thing's. She turned on a dime slowly eyeing him through the thin blonde sheet of her bangs. "Yes?" she drawled out through tight teeth. He turned to face her completely, still with his knees to his chest in the bright orange jumper, his hand suspended in midair from when he had held it out calling for her to turn back around.

"I know you're scared right now. And lonely. And I am too! I-I think we can help each other. What I mean is, I'm pretty positive we can." With that Elle froze with her mouth slightly agape, intrigue written all over her deadly beautiful features. Sparks seemed to light behind her eyes. The man smiled slightly at the scene. Elle had always had that happen to her—whenever she became excited or nervous her eyes would storm. She had heard it was a beauty to watch. That's one of the reason she wasn't sent on missions; her eyes gave her away.

"Are you," she pointed to the man stepping back to her original place, "trying to tell me," she pointed to herself while grabbing a stool under a near by escape alarm, "that I'm lonely?" She ended, sitting unlady-like on the stool: her legs apart, elbows resting on them, head jutted forward and tilted slightly as she chewed on the inside of her cheek in wonder. The nerve of this guy!

He sighed and scooted to the other side of his bed in the center of his room so they could face each other. He lowered his legs and simply sat criss-cross, nodding at her timidly. She gave a short cackle.

"Look here, my new little toy, nobody tells me how I feel! If anything I should be shocking your ass right now!" He shook his head and looked down in fear.

"No, no! That's not what I'm saying. I'm not trying to be rude, ma'am, I promise! I just…I know how to help people. I know how to help you." Elle's heart clenched in her chest. What if this guy was for real? He seemed honest. What if he really held the secret to her emptiness? She stared blankly at his face making sure that he couldn't read her for a second—just like daddy taught her. The man was getting unnerved by her staring so he took it as his cue to continue rambling.

"I can help you, ma'am. All I'm asking for is your help in return."

"Would you just stop calling me 'ma'am'!?" Elle scoffed as she held up her hands for him to halt. He immediately shut up and waited for her response. She stared at the white linoleum floor in thought. White. The colour of pain, the colour of purity.

Elle was never one for facing fears.

She stood with a big sigh raising the stool up and placing it back in its place. "Well, 'sir'," she said sarcastically, "it's been nice getting to know that you'll do just about anything to get out of this place, but,"

"No! No, you've got me wrong ma'a…miss!" he corrected. Elle narrowly watched him. He had stood now, a defensive hand to his chest over his heart and the other out stretched to her as if preaching. Was this guy for real? She paused a moment longer then straightened herself out, smoothing her clothes out with her palms and looking everywhere but in the man's eyes.

"I can't believe I'm doing this…" she muttered disbelievingly. She sighed sharply as she closed her eyes and shook her head, opening them again with sharp eyes on the man's hopeful brown ones.

"Elle." She stated simply. She made to turn around before being interrupted again. "Wait!" She stopped and turned around with one eyebrow cocked impatiently. He smiled a very small smile afraid she would snap at him. "I'm Josh. It's nice to meet you Elle." She just nodded and turned away. "Right." She responded in an awkward whisper as she sauntered down the hallway confused and a little more than anxious.

***

His tongue is weird. Is this supposed to feel good? Because it's not feeling so good. Let's see, umm…on a comfortable make out spot? Check. Mood music? Check. Attraction?...ugh, not check. What the hell, why aren't I into this? He obviously is. Oh, oh God.

Claire immediately sat up coughing and sputtering. West rubbed his eyes as he placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to remove the lust from them so he could focus on her sudden black lung.

"Claire? What's wrong? Are you ok?" He asked sweetly, rubbing his hand on her back and lightly tapping it sometimes to help her get it all out. Refusing to meet his eyes, she tried her best to force a smile. "Yeah! Everything's, ahem, everything's fine. I just think I'm coming down with something…" Right, that's it! You're sick! From the 'West's tongue is too intrusive and likes to wrestle girl's tonsils' virus. Sounds like a winner.

"Aww, Claire…" He kissed her cheek a few times tenderly, but all she could do was watch from her make up mirror in front of her. This isn't right.

"Hey!" She jumped from the bed and clapped her hands together in true subconscious cheerleader form. "I just remember I have this killer English test tomorrow over umm…over umm the uh…" Damn, what was that book called again? West rose his eyebrows. "The Scarlet Letter?" Claire's face brightened. "That's right! The Scarlet Letter! Ha, see, I couldn't even remember the book title. Now, how bad do I have to study, huh?" West sensed a bit of discomfort in Claire and shrugged disappointedly. Clearly he felt he had stepped over a boundary. He made to stand as Claire's eyes grew annoyed and fearful. Please don't be too nice, please don't be too clingy. West sighed and looked her in the eyes, taking her hands and raising them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "I'm sorry if this has made you uncomfortable, Claire. Was it too soon? Was I out of line? Just tell me, it won't happen again, I promise." Too nice. Too clingy. She squeezed his hands and pursed her lips together thinking of something not-so-crushing to say.

"You know, West? You're a sweet, sweet guy, but…" Well great, genius, what now?! West felt it coming on and waited for it anxiously. His face fell with those words and Claire knew she had to think of something quick. "But…but it's just that, it's just that you're a flyer and my biological Dad is a flyer so it's…it's kind of weird having two flying men in my life, you know? Never knowing where they're going to…umm, fly to next?..." Claire mentally slapped herself upside the head. That was the worst break up in the history of stupid break ups. West inhaled and looked past her trying to hold on to any shred of dignity he could find in this conversation. "Claire, if you're not into me, just tell me." Claire watched him hesitatingly and froze, her arms were shaking from being held in his hands for too long. He locked eyes with her waiting for her to speak. She winced as she echoed him, "I'm not into you…" she trailed off in a whisper. Sure, she really was scared of how not into him she was and his disastrous make out methods, but it hurt her so much to see someone else in pain—especially when it was because of her. He nodded solemnly as he slowly released her hands. She let them fall daintily between the two of them as he again refused to meet her eyes. Stiffly he nodded and looked down, kicking his shoe aimlessly at the carpet thinking of something to say or do. Finally he came in to hug her and held her for a while as she teared up a bit. Why didn't she feel anything?! He backed up slowly and kissed her forehead for a few seconds before sniffling a bit and wiping his face of all emotion.

"I guess I'll, uh, see you at school then." He said backing up while stuffing his hands in his pockets. Claire crossed her arms and nodded softly. "Guess so." He stared at her for a few more seconds and then turned, exiting out her bedroom. She stood there in the tense silence, hearing her mom call for him and then soft mutterings of sorrys until finally the front door closed. She exhaled a breath she didn't even realize she was holding and flumped onto her bed. Mr. Muggles came rushing into her room, jumped on her lap, and began licking her face clean of should-be-there tears.

"Why didn't I feel anything, Mr. Muggles? Hmm?" He just continued his attacked on her skin as she managed a small smile.

"Claire?" Mrs. Bennet stuck her head in and knocked, letting herself in when Claire looked back and smiled at her. She walked toward her daughter with a frown like any mother would after their little girl had a break up, with open arms and a knowing glance. "Come here, Claire bear." Claire leaned into her mother's embrace as they both sat with Mr. Muggles on their laps on her queen sized bed. As Sandra kissed her daughters head she brushed back her hair soothingly. "He didn't push you to do something you didn't want to, did he?" Claire sighed at the irony. West wouldn't even push play on her stereo system to the sexual mix her friend had made her once. "For your first REAL make out!"

"No, Mom. West would never do something like that." Sandra tilted her head to the side seeing the two of them in the mirror, trying to read her daughter's face. Claire's eyes were fixed to the floor, completely oblivious. "I…I don't know Mom it just wasn't right, you know? It was like my body was there, but my heart was somewhere else, WITH someone else, even. I…I can't explain it any better than that. It was like I was giving something away to someone that it didn't belong to." Sandra nodded and stroked Claire's back lovingly. "That a girl, sweetie. You follow that strong heart of yours. I don't care if you're invincible, that's something you've got to protect no matter how special you are." Claire smiled up at her mother, silently agreeing.

"Thanks, Mom."

How right she was.