2. 100 Letters
SUMMARY: There's a pounding in her ears and rush in her veins. She can almost feel the sharp sting and sweet release that will flow afterwards but she can't. She promised she wouldn't. Said she'd stop. But the shadow reaches out gripping her throat and she crumbles. Accepting that which she knew all along. After all, promises can be broken.
CHARACTERS: Artemis Crock
RATING: M
WARNINGS: Mentions of suicide, Self-harm attempt.
I'm fine she whispered.
I'm fine she said.
I'm fine she screamed.
I'm fine she lied.
I'm not fine she admitted.
She was fine, you know? She'd done her therapy. Gone to counseling for what seemed like years and succeeded. She'd beat him. She had built a life, applied to college, and started a relationship. She had been fine. She just hadn't expected to see him there.
The mission had been simple. A couple of low level crooks who had wanted to join the major leagues. The goal? Capture them and put them in prison before they became a threat. And all had been fine. But he had been there.
He'd seen her. He'd chased after her. And he'd grabbed her. Just a brush of the hands, a grip on her arms to prevent her from leaving. He'd talked. And she listened.
Listened to his voice until it blocked the cries of her teammates looking for her. Until she drowned in the guttural sound of it and he suffocated her.
"They're not your real friends," he hissed, "they don't understand you like I do."
Please go away.
Please go away.
But it had been too late.
So here she was. Sitting in her bathroom at the cave after a therapy session. A session where she was forced to talk about her trauma.
But she didn't want to talk. She didn't want to relive her childhood. She didn't want to talk about her suicide attempt. And she definitely didn't want to talk about the truth.
Because if she started talking the truth would come spilling out. Ironic that that was the whole purpose. But the truth was difficult.
The truth was like water. Cool and refreshing at times but also capable of drowning you. It could be icy cold or burning hot. The truth was flexible and slippery. You could cup it in your hands but sooner or later it slip through your fingers.
The truth was hard. But the truth was this.
She hated him. Hated what he had done to her and how he had changed her. But she also hated herself. She had given him that power over her, no matter what the psychologist and counselors said. She had wasted her time on him and she hated it. But she also understood. Understood his motivations and his mission. How could she not? How could she judge him for the things she herself had done.
It's what people like them did. They took victors and turned them into victims. They found their towers and crippled them. Not enough to kill but enough to cause damage. Enough to always be remembered.
She had been a fool to think that being a hero changed that. Because the only reason people like them were good at their job was because they were like them, with only one difference.
Pleasure.
She took pleasure in breaking people. In chipping away at their core until they didn't recognize themselves. She took pleasure in the way doubt starting clouding their eyes. Their loss of perception and the glee that came with successfully manipulating people.
She was a monster. He had made her a monster. But she wasn't his monster.
So she took pleasure where she could. An extra kick to the ribs for a crook that deserved it, a few unauthorized fistfights in the streets. Small comments dropped when possible, and a blade.
She made it work. Made it to where it was just enough to feed the beast. To where it could be sated and stay quiet. But some days it didn't work.
Some days it was a mouse, tiny but quick, dashing in and out of existence. Other times it was a bear. A beast who stood proud and tall and would crush her with a swing. Some days it wanted a snack. Other days it demanded more.
Demanded blood. It crawled out from under her bed and dug its nails into her calf. Black liquid coating her skin as blood pooled around her room. And slowly, almost sensually it would drag her down. Yanking her farther and farther away from the light she fought so hard to stay inside of.
That was today.
There's a pounding in her ears and rush in her veins. She can almost feel the sharp sting and sweet release that will flow afterwards but she can't. She promised she wouldn't. Said she'd stop. But the shadow reaches out gripping her throat and she crumbles. Accepting that which she knew all along.
After all, promises can be broken.
She had tried ways of coping. Sex and even the one time she did drugs. But bloodlust wanted blood. So here she was. Sitting on her dirty bathroom floor holding a scalpel she had nicked from the hospital wing in the cave.
And she could feel it. The excitement and fear that came with laying the blade on her skin. The throbbing sensation in her head as her breathing grew shakier and shakier. She readied herself for it. For the pain and satisfaction that came with the blood. But it never came.
A hand appeared out of her right side while long legs moved to her left. Shadows briefly clouded the light. And then there was warmth.
There was M'gann sitting in front of her and holding her hands. There was Wally holding her head to his chest and Dick leaning on her shoulder, holding the scalpel she had been so ready to use. And there, standing in the doorway like two immovable forces stood Conner and Kaldur.
It was her team.
"Next time you come to us ok?" whispered the boy to her right.
And it really was too late. Because her father would never have a hold on her. Not while her family was there to keep her safe.
And maybe. Just maybe she could change.