Title: Through the Looking Glass
Summary: Ian's journey to acceptance of Wanda and all she is and represents. In the beginning, Ian hated her. What changed within him? Takes place throughout the beginning of the novel. [A oneshot.]
Rating: T, for mature concepts
Disclaimer: "The Host" and its appropriate characters and scenes do not belong to me.
In the beginning, he hated her.
It seemed as though his were just like everyone else's feelings – an anger for this creature that represented humanity's destruction. The ferocity he showed toward her was nothing other than his own fear of the unknown; his violence was him lashing out and taking control of what little he could. She was an alien. A worm. A filthy thief of human life – and that was why he hated her.
That's what it seemed like, anyway.
When things began to change, even he didn't understand it. His thoughts were in turmoil, and his emotions were shaking him. He didn't like being unsteady. Instead of facing his raging feelings, he shoved them deeper. Farther. Down, inside himself, until he felt no more. He told himself that he would never, not for a second, have doubt. There was right and wrong, and this creature was the blackest part of evil. He would never again question that.
He knew what to believe. He was strong – and he would prove it.
He couldn't sleep after. Every time he lay down, pictures of its eyes flashed through his mind. He had expected fear, anger, even. But all he saw was sorrow. Sorrow and resignation.
He couldn't eat. Every time he reached out to pick up a plate to fill with food, he saw his hands. They'd twitch and throb and tingle, and this was a whole new kind of pain. This was the pain of regret.
He saw it a few days later. The bruises on its neck were fading, but the purple marks were still a ruler of how far, exactly, his fingers could spread. They were a measure of how tightly he could squeeze. They were a clear crystal glass, and he could see right through those marks, through its neck, and into his own core, where those doubts bubbled and boiled like hot, churning magma.
He'd always thought of it as giving up. Once it was treated like a human, like something that deserved love and compassion, the battle was lost. And he was a fighter. No matter whom with or what over, he'd give everything he had. When he was a kid, he'd wrestle with Kyle as only brothers could, and they'd tumble around until bones were broken. Someone would always pull them apart, scolding, but he never heard. All that mattered was that he hadn't lost, because he hadn't given up. He was an O'Shea, and he would never give up.
But the guilt ate at him. With Kyle and the others gone on a raid, he was left with his own whispering thoughts. He witnessed its irrational tenderness toward Jamie, the boy it didn't know but unequivocally loved. And his doubts reared their head, yearning to be heard.
He sat by himself, in his room, his head in his hands and his heart in shreds. He didn't know what to believe. He didn't know what to think about it – he barely knew what to think about himself!
But something was changing in him. It always had been. He wasn't like Kyle, or Jared, and he knew it. He knew that he couldn't go on hating this creature that stared at him with eyes that accepted death. This being that lived inside a stranger's body – this soul – it was there, whether he liked it or not. It wasn't a mindless, emotionless robot like he had let himself trust.
It wasn't a murderer of Melanie Stryder; it wasn't a worm; it wasn't just an alien.
She was Wanda, and she, too, deserved to live.
He accepted that now. It wasn't a defeat – no, O'Shea's never gave up. He finally understood, and instead of giving up, he was just going to fight even harder.
But this time, he was going to fight for her.
Hello. If you liked this, or even read it, a quick word would be a blessing to me. I'd love any form of review - even a smiley face or a "this is boring" would be great.
Thanks!