XII: Practice
There was really nothing like this, she knew. It was exhilarating and frightening and uplifting all at the same time. She felt invincible, she felt powerful, she felt fucking perfect.
Her blood rushed to her head, and as she continued, she realized why Robin drove that motorcycle so fast, why Starfire loved to fly, why Beast Boy needed those escapist video games.
Her heart pumped blood faster, lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub instead of lub-dub-(pause)-lub-dub.
She nearly moaned in delight, but managed to keep it trapped in. Even now, emotion was a frightening prospect. She could destroy the world by laughing.
But still she continued. Even as joy threatened to overwhelm her, even as her arms grew tired, even with the fact that she knew Robin would never approve.
Well, she was Raven. The entire world disapproved of her. Crazy people formed suicide cults and worshipped her; equally crazy people had held signs and chanted and marched outside of the Justice League head quarters, demanding that the JLA remove her from the Teen Titans. Her face was a favorite for Hot Topic t-shirts. And, when you added the classic "NO" sign, like the one you saw on "NO SMOKING" signs, it was a best-seller at Baptist bake sales.
There was a Church of Raven. There were thousands of Churches that hated Raven. When you got right down to it, if she were to walk around in public, she'd probably have random people throwing things at her or something. If you looked at her situation in that light, Robin's opinion shouldn't have mattered. After all, Robin wasn't the type to kill himself at her feet or pick up a pitchfork and a torch and try to burn her.
She paused. An empty clicking sound came from her current source of amusement. Sighing and opening a small box, she refilled the beloved amusement source.
Back to the loud noise, the intense concentration, the way the world seemed to fall away, except for one tiny spot.
The thoughts of Robin's potential disapproval melted away as she continued to squeeze.
It felt warm in her hands, but that was only because she'd been holding it. She had four more boxes left, and even though a box was only ten dollars (I wonder if it's this much other places? Or maybe it's more... Then again, this is California, she thought), she wasn't going to buy more.
She'd started with six. That was sixty dollars. If Robin knew she was spending her money on this, on something she'd likely never use, he would be furious. It would be a waste of money, to him. And even worse, it would be a waste of money on something he hated.
Well, it was her money. And she definitely had plenty of it. Her work as a literary critic (anonymous, of course) gave her five hundred dollars per review. She did at least two reviews per month. That was a thousand dollars a month. And, considering how little else she spent her money on, she could definitely afford this.
More hollow clicking sounds. She refilled again, now halfway done with the box.
She didn't care. She had four boxes left. The world narrowed again.