I figured I should get off my Lucy addiction. I've found myself getting less and less intrigued by her once I found out she's a Templar. There was also a journal challenge on dA to "Write a story about a canon character from Assassin's Creed whom you've never written about before. It can be any character, major or minor, Assassin or Templar, who has been in at least one of the games or the books." I have little interest in writing a story about the ancient Assassins (still not sure why), so I went with Rebecca.
PLEASE NOTE: Lucy will always be referred to as Lucy. She will never be called "she". If you see "she" or "her", it's referring to Rebecca, never Lucy. This is done to avoid confusion, as Rebecca is not once referred to by her name.
No one liked her. She didn't even like herself.
Sure, they might've pretended to be happy to see her, pretended to want to talk to her. But she knew they were just doing it out of pity. Even Shaun, sad, lonely Shaun, had mocked her behind her back. She knew it.
So she sat on her computer, losing herself in the depressing songs she listened to over and over again. The lyrics felt perfect for her. They didn't make her feel any better, though. Just made her forget, if only for three minutes.
Desmond came to talk to her once. She jumped at the opportunity, but he just asked about the Animus. Her face didn't change, but inside her heart had collapsed in on itself. No one ever asked her how she was doing.
And she was so lonely. She watched Lucy and Desmond shamelessly flirting, and she wanted that. She wanted someone to love her, someone to be attracted to her. So she kept dropping hints to Shaun, because if she closed her eyes she could imagine she'd be happy soon.
Lucy was beautiful. Lucy was perfect. She was not. She looked at Lucy, comparing Lucy to herself. She kept telling herself it was the clothes she was wearing - the ones she couldn't get rid of - that made her figure look worse than Lucy's.
But even with the clothes off, she could barely look at herself. Lucy had everything that she didn't. Lucy had blue eyes, beautiful blonde hair, and a face to match. Every time she looked at herself, all she saw were dull green eyes, dark hair that always looked the same, and an equally boring face.
So she started putting on makeup. It helped a little; Shaun, unable to make Lucy like him, began flirting with her, if only a little. But it made her feel fantastic for a few minutes each day. Soon she got so nervous around Shaun, scared she'd screw something up, that she could barely talk to him. She just smiled and nodded.
Slowly, Shaun drifted away. He just stayed at his computer. Apparently it wasn't worth his effort to talk to someone that never responded. She withdrew within herself, only talking when it was necessary. But she still managed to input a snarky comment when none of them were even talking to her. She never could keep her mouth shut.
Time and time again, she glared at Lucy. She wanted Lucy to know how much she was hurting. She acted normal enough around Lucy, sure, but she had always wanted to tell Lucy how she really felt. Not just about Lucy, but about everything: her aching loneliness, her burning desire to be loved, the pain in her chest when she looked in a mirror.
She'd masturbate every night now. In the shower, right in between washing her hair and rubbing soap on her body. She'd go slow at first, using one finger, but that wasn't enough. She got used to her finger, then she used two to thrust inside herself until she felt just the right spot. Leaning against the wall, she'd throw her head back, biting her tongue to stop herself from screaming a name, any name.
And she'd stand under the warm water, hating herself for what she'd just done. She'd wash herself off, then step out of the shower. Still dripping wet, she looked at herself in the mirror that showed just about up to her upper thighs. Though her legs weren't visible, she could still see her imperfections through the steam on the mirror.
The next day someone offered her some food. She couldn't remember who or what they offered. She just refused, saying she was a vegan and that she had a very strict diet. She offered to go get herself some lunch, and she left the building, quiet as she always was.
She sat in the truck, never turning it on. Instead she dug inside the glove compartment until she found the Swiss Army knife. And, rolling up her sleeve, she dragged that blade back and forth across the inside of her elbow, hoping to release some of the pain and emptiness she felt inside. She ripped some tissues out of the box in the glove compartment to press on her wound. Then she started to sob and just couldn't stop because oh God she was just a walking fucking cliché wasn't she?
The self-pity and -hate continued for close to fifteen minutes, then she gathered up all the evidence, cleaned and returned the knife and the tissue box, and exited the vehicle, tossing the tissues in a garbage can. If anyone found them she'd say she got a bloody nose or something.
She returned and Lucy - of course it had been Lucy - asked her if she'd gotten anything. She said that she had, but that she'd eaten it on the way back because of how positively starving she'd been. Her stomach yawned hungrily, and she wrapped her arms casually around her midsection, applying pressure to stop the noise. She smiled convincingly. Lucy seemed satisfied enough with this and turned back to the computer.
Shaun was watching her as she returned to her seat. He didn't buy her story for one second. She tried to ignore it, though, and sat in front of her computer, trying to make herself look busy. A few minutes later, she glanced over and he had turned back around again. She sighed.
Out of habit, she glanced down. There was red on her inner arm. She must not've cleaned herself up well enough. She prayed no one had seen. If they had, she reassured herself, they surely would've said something.
She dreamt that night. A faceless man was following her around. She was nowhere, but he was still behind her. She knew he was there. Turning around, she tried to tell him off. He hugged her. Stunned, she stood there stiffly, feeling the fabric of his shirt on her cheek. It smelled fantastic.
She woke, face turned sideways against her pillow. She moved her face up and down its fabric, remembering the feel of his shirt.
She rolled over until she could stare at the ceiling. Like it always did, her hand found its way inside her underwear. She masturbated with the scent of the faceless man still in her nose.
As she came, a thought suddenly entered her mind. What is wrong with me? She stared at her fingers, still glistening wet. She turned her hand, watching as the wet caught light coming in from her window. Her hand dropped. Then her right thumb found its way to her inner elbow, feeling the cut that had barely started to scab over. As if on cue, her stomach growled.
Tears welled in her eyes. What have I become? She was so obsessed with being pretty, so desperate for someone to like her, she had turned into a different person entirely.
And nobody even noticed.
A lot of this was inspired by "Rebecca" by ~Anatopist on dA (just search Rebecca and you'll find it), mostly the line that says, "Rebecca, the girl who skipped lunch today to strap anchors to the bones in her hips and jump into the ocean." I sat and thought for a while about Rebecca and her character. I recalled the cutscenes that she was a part of, and realized that she's mostly there to balance the male-female. Yeah, she's awesome and a fucking badass, but she's less attractive than Lucy on purpose. It's so that it's clear who Desmond is supposed to be attracted to (the same also applies for Shaun; sure, he's sexy, but to anyone who's seen him for the first time, Desmond is more attractive than him). The two more minor Assassins are just there so Lucy and Desmond aren't awkwardly sitting there by themselves, Animus support, and, of course, comic relief.
So I thought about it some more, and I decided to make Rebecca all angsty on the inside. Sure, she acts totally fine with everything that's going on around her, but so do most people. I would know what it's like, which is why I based her on myself a little (not really what she does, just her thought process).
My exact words on the journal challenge: "Hmm, Hmm, maybe Rebecca needs a little love..." And this is what she gets. Not that I have anything against Rebecca nor her character, I just had a lot of angst in my brain I needed to get out.