Jean and herself
May. 16th, 2005 05:22 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-jeangrey.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsafter writing this reply.
Jean typed determinedly and with great focus, ignoring the part of her that cried out with every word, the part that felt waitressing had been a good life, and Thomas had been a good man. That part of her was infuriated by the formal tone of Jean's reply, but Jean kept that part of her locked away until she finished, hitting 'send' wiht a decisive motion.
As soon as it was done she shoved her chair away from the computer, standing and pacing around the suite as though she were looking for something. Possibly peace of mind. Catching sight of her reflection, Jean opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut.
Arguing with my reflection. How cliche. How absurd. Jane was a part of me, the personality that developed in the vacum of my lost memories through the experiences I had in Canada. Nothing more.
Jean breathed in deeply, calming her mind by force as she shoved the anger away, trying to bury it. The anger passed away almost grudgingly, leaving behind what almost felt like a hole in her mind, a hole that filled instantly with thoughts of Canada, or Thomas, and of the good things which had happened in the last two years, all of it tinged with the bitter knowledge that she could never have that again.
I don't want it. Life is better here.
Better for you. Fuck that. I want to go back to Canada.
"Too damned bad."
Jean grabbed up her coat, pulling it around her and heading out the door. She'd given in to the impulse to argue with herself, and that was worrying, but it wasn't like it meant anything. She'd just go out for a little walk and think about things. Yes, there had been nice times in Canda, but she wasn't going back there. Going back would be giving up and would be losing Scott and no, Thomas was not better than Scott, waiting tables had never been better than giving stupid physicals to snot nosed little brat freaks and I AM NOT A FREAK! I need to get out of here, get away, get away from this place I hate it here run, run away, go home. This is home. This is NOT home and fuck that. Fuck all of it I want out and you took it away, I want Thomas and you hurt him. I HATE you.
Jean's fist slammed into the wall next to the door. "Stop. It. Now," she said, voice as tight as her clenched hand. She ran her mind firmly through the calming base pattern that Nathan had first taught her, breathing slowly and carefully until the rush of emotions had stopped. Turning, she returned to her bedroom to collect her inhibitor bracelet before going out for a walk in the grounds. Jean wasn't sure whether it was to keep back the constant mental noise or to stop anyone from knowing what she was thinking but she did know that, tonight, the only person she wanted in her head was her.
Jean typed determinedly and with great focus, ignoring the part of her that cried out with every word, the part that felt waitressing had been a good life, and Thomas had been a good man. That part of her was infuriated by the formal tone of Jean's reply, but Jean kept that part of her locked away until she finished, hitting 'send' wiht a decisive motion.
As soon as it was done she shoved her chair away from the computer, standing and pacing around the suite as though she were looking for something. Possibly peace of mind. Catching sight of her reflection, Jean opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut.
Arguing with my reflection. How cliche. How absurd. Jane was a part of me, the personality that developed in the vacum of my lost memories through the experiences I had in Canada. Nothing more.
Jean breathed in deeply, calming her mind by force as she shoved the anger away, trying to bury it. The anger passed away almost grudgingly, leaving behind what almost felt like a hole in her mind, a hole that filled instantly with thoughts of Canada, or Thomas, and of the good things which had happened in the last two years, all of it tinged with the bitter knowledge that she could never have that again.
I don't want it. Life is better here.
Better for you. Fuck that. I want to go back to Canada.
"Too damned bad."
Jean grabbed up her coat, pulling it around her and heading out the door. She'd given in to the impulse to argue with herself, and that was worrying, but it wasn't like it meant anything. She'd just go out for a little walk and think about things. Yes, there had been nice times in Canda, but she wasn't going back there. Going back would be giving up and would be losing Scott and no, Thomas was not better than Scott, waiting tables had never been better than giving stupid physicals to snot nosed little brat freaks and I AM NOT A FREAK! I need to get out of here, get away, get away from this place I hate it here run, run away, go home. This is home. This is NOT home and fuck that. Fuck all of it I want out and you took it away, I want Thomas and you hurt him. I HATE you.
Jean's fist slammed into the wall next to the door. "Stop. It. Now," she said, voice as tight as her clenched hand. She ran her mind firmly through the calming base pattern that Nathan had first taught her, breathing slowly and carefully until the rush of emotions had stopped. Turning, she returned to her bedroom to collect her inhibitor bracelet before going out for a walk in the grounds. Jean wasn't sure whether it was to keep back the constant mental noise or to stop anyone from knowing what she was thinking but she did know that, tonight, the only person she wanted in her head was her.
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