Chapter 2: Heart
The first (but really the second) time she was asked by the first (second) person in her life that mattered, she froze. Terror, anticipation, and excitement dug their claws deep within her very soul, her mind at war with itself. She was so tired of the ignorance, the shear facevalue acceptance and sitting not five feet from away was the (second) most important person to have been allowed so close, asking what so many others have and the only one with the possibility of hearing the truth. The entire truth. Maybe it was time to tell the tale only two living (and one dead) knew. Emotions in chaos she steels her resolve and chokes out; "Because my Mother -" and the words lodge themselves in her throat, a painful lump to be swallowed. As she takes a shuttering breath, gearing up to continue her story the determination, the drive fueling her left in a whoosh of disbelief, her ears refusing to comprehend what they were processing. The women that was considered her best friend was singing praises for her mother. That she wished her mother was like that and on, and on. With glassy eyes and a breaking heart, she can't force back the single tear that breaks free and falls, lost in her long locks. With a smile sharper than usual and her heart tucked back behind cracked concrete walls, she looks out towards the stars and ignores her boss' drunken ramblings - promising herself her heart would never suffer another crack. As she sits with her light-weight boss, talking about nothing yet everything the questions about the infamous Taser were dropped and stuffed under the inconsequential. As she tucks her boss into bed she can't help but hopewishpray that tomorrow will be better and her living nightmare wouldn't seem so real in the new light. As she closes the (shared) bedroom door she wedges herself between the battered and leaning dresser and wall, body facing the closed door and Taser gripped within white knuckled fingers. She thinks of The Man with a rapsheet longer than she is tall and how that even though she was free she would never be free - and this way she could hold her nightmares, sleeping and awake at bay. When the sun rose high enough to be called Day, she will have had her coffee and nobody but her (and Heimdall) would know of her post as guard throughout the night.
