Ripping Ribbons

"And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the things that feeds their fury."

-William Shakespeare

She hated grocery shopping. Not because she had to stand on her feet for what seemed what hours, nor because there was snotty nosed brats running about screaming at their parents to buy them this and that. No, it was because of the crowds.

It wasn't a secret that healers were rare. It wasn't a secret that she herself was among the best of the best. A purebred. There wasn't many people that didn't know her name. And when the adults in the grocery store figured out who she was they'd begin to demand, they weren't asking, they were demanding, that she heal them. And to make it snappy at that.

And it was then she wanted to show them that she didn't only heal, but hurt as well. They didn't seem to get that part through their stupid little skulls.

Don't be mistaken, Holly was a people persons, a social butterfly, but she hated the stuck up snobs and assholes who seemed to actually believe that the world revolved around them and that life was theirs to control.

Yeah-fucking-right.

So she always wore hats and glasses in the store, preferred Pj's and a comfortable tee with some flats to match. So different from her everyday style.

None of the humans noticed though a few of the Gifted swiveled their heads her way to wave a respected hello. It helped, Holly supposed, that she stayed on her side of town where there were few humans and more of the Gifted lazing around.

So she geared up, hat in place, glasses perched, and slipped into her silver mustang. The ride to the store was fine, quiet without music and empty besides her. It was lonely, she realized. And the odd thing was-it had never bothered her before. Just stop thinking about it, she told herself. The thought will get old and die and you'll be left with peace again. Just give it a little longer.

Holly stalked around the grocery store, peeved as all the human eyes within a ten mile radius bore into her as if trying to send an intense telepathic message. Her disguise, which had obviously failed her, sat innocently in the top of the basket where a little kid would usually go, she tried to pretend she didn't get a small jolt of longing every time she glanced at the seat.

And speaking of kids, it was two little human brats that had been streaking down the isle, one screaming for their Mother, the other laughing and holding a large plane above his head. A bully. Then they ran into her, the spur of the moment causing them to suddenly change directions and, not seeing her, made a pile of limbs.

The littlest one began to cry harder and he clutched his knee that seemed to bend at an odd angle. The other looked on terrified.

Despite knowing what she was doing, Holly tossed off her glasses and hat, reaching for the boy and sending wave after calming wave of peace with her thoughts. His high pitched shrieks slipped to a wail and finally died to a whimper, his baby blue eyes rimmed red and brimming with tears, his face shiny and watery.

A woman rounded the corner and skidded slightly before pausing and yelling her son's name. Holly ignored her, knowing that in moments, she would be recognized and allowed to finish the task at hand.

Coaxing the little boy into trusting her enough to let her hand curl around his knee was the hardest part, but after that, it was easy sailing. Her eyes fluttered close, ignoring the ring of people that just seemed to keep growing, the other like her, the Gifted, kept their distance, looking on in respect. She pictured the bone sliding back into place painlessly, the surrounding muscles and tendons knitting themselves back together.

She took every couple of seconds to project a feeling of calm and harmless tickling as she did something that sound have had the boy rolling and screaming in pain. It was over in a matter of minutes and Holly turned to the older boy who held out a mere scraped elbow and a pleading stare.

Holly smiled and brushed her fingertips along the puffy skin and the boy gasped in fascination as he watched the skin heal itself. He clapped and ran to his Mother, the younger boy already hugging her side. The Mother mouthed a thank you before rushing from the store to, no doubt, go running to her friends to delight in the fact that she met a healer.

Healers were rare, very rare. Mostly because it was dangerous times for a healer. Lately they had been getting kidnapped left and right, up and down, until only the strongest, the ones that could take care of themselves, remained.

It was a sad time.

Some of her friends were dead, some where hiding. No one could be too careful.

Holly had grabbed her cart and tried to quickly speed through her shopping, ignoring the stares as people spread one amazingly beautiful tale about her one after another to those around them. They didn't care it was fake, they were astounded. Stupid, fucking humans.

Two bubbly girls ran through the crowd, smiles splitting their faces from ear to ear, and tried to catch up to her. Their questions ranged from, "Are you dating?" to "Have you ever killed anyone?"

Stupid, fucking people!

Like she had time to answer everything they wanted to know. Holly wanted to finish shopping and go home to hide under the covers and berate herself or giving her herself away despite the fact that she knew she would have been sick if she hadn't done anything to help that child. Just let him cry and wallow in the blinding pain.

"Wait! Miss Holly! Miss, WAIT!" But she didn't wait, she didn't want to see them or their parents, or the long line of people just barely containing themselves from charging at her with the demands to heal a Grandfather or dying pet.

When another basket, more empty than hers, collided with her cart, she almost lost it. But when she slanted irritated eyes in the direction of the one responsible, she felt her face pale and her stomach erupt into a messy mass of panicked butterflies.

It was him!

He didn't look too surprised to see her, only smug, and it pissed her off. But there was nothing she could do. This was a Fire Caster. And he was the last of a dying race. Something to be cherished and honored above many things.

"Holly," He murmured, his voice a mixture of things that made her toes curl. His voice was low and slightly rough, the perfect morning voice. His words slipped like velvet over her skin and everything just felt so much warmer when he speared her with those golden eyes. The golden eyes that were the first trait to give away his family line. "It's been too long."

Stupid, fucking life!