Rappaccini's Daughter - Guilty and Alive (backdated)

[x-courier.livejournal.com]

Cammie escapes to the front porch, only to find Jake out there. They talk; healthy ways to deal with trauma somehow don't manage to come up. Backdated to late Wednesday night.



After talking to Kurt, Cammie felt like she needed fresh air. She went out the front door and avoided her parents for a bit, even though she couldn't avoid them all night. She knew that. But a part of her wanted to put talking to them off as long as possible. There was a lot of hurt feelings with her right now, and a lot of confusion.

Once out the front door on to the street with old neighbors looking out their windows in the twilight Cammie almost turned around and went back inside. Then she saw she wasn't totally alone.

"Um. hey," was all she could manage to Jake, who looked about as happy as she did.

"Hey," he replied quietly, pushing against the ground with his toes to make the porch swing rock back and forth gently. "How's the reunion going?"

"I'm out here," Cammie said, "What does that tell you?"

He smirked, although there was a weary understanding behind it. "They seem nice," he indicated the house with a tip of his head. "And happy to see you."

"Yeah, well, it was never them I was worried about being all accepting and junk. Though figures that if I hadn't run away I likely would've been dumbly handed right over to psychowitch," Cammie grumbled, leaning against the wall of the house.

Jake shrugged at that. "Not out of any malice, though. That should count for something." His eyes roamed the yard absently, legs still swinging him back and forth. "How long've you been gone?" His tone was idly curious, nothing more.

"Three years," Cammie said, "It will be four in late September. Fuck, it doesn't seem like it should be that long."

He nodded. "Time flies when you're having fun?"

"You have any idea what it's like to live on the street?" Cammie returned.

"Nope," he said, unruffled. "Not a clue. I would imagine it's dirty, smelly, and definitely No Fun At All, though." He tilted his head, looking at her with interest. "Was it better than living here?" Again with the idle curiosity.

"My last night here," Cammie said stiffly, "I was chased out by a bunch of my peers. Literally."

His expression didn't change. "Sucks. Did they at least have the sense to bring pitchforks to the party?"

"Or torches, go figure," Cammie said. "Funny things happen when you kill a star quarterback. You heard the witch. I'm a weapon."

"You could be," Jake replied, as if she'd said "I'm a ballerina" or something equally as innocuous. "You certainly hit people enough."

"Fuck you. I mean, it's not like you understand jack shit. Because hitting people? Is the only thing I don't suck at," Cammie returned. "And oh, the lady in the next house is staring at you, I should warn you she's a divorcee and there are no other prospects in this town. If you end up out here alone you're going to face a fate worse than death."

"Is she hot?" he smirked. "Look. I actually do understand having a mother who looks at you in terms of how you're useful to her, and nothing else. But I don't expect you to care about that. I'm certainly not looking to commiserate." He didn't bother to stop his wry, bitter grin, pushing the swing into a wider arc. "But that doesn't mean I've become what my mother wants me to be."

"No. She isn't. And you know what? I didn't even try," Cammie pointed out.

"So try." He shrugged. "Stop hitting people all the damn time. You can start with me."

"Maybe if you weren't such a fucking wuss," Cammie said, half-laughing.

Another shrug, this one with a half-smile. "It's kept me alive." He glanced at Wanda, visible through the window where she stood talking to what he guessed was Remy on the phone. He should talk to Cammie's parents, get more information on Monica and George, but he hadn't quite gotten up the energy just yet. He could get some information out of Cammie, though.

"Hey, you said that my fingers were delivered to you--they came by courier?" Despite his weary slouch on the swing, his eyes locked back on Cammie with a startlingly intense curiosity.

"Being a wuss doesn't keep people alive. You get to do anything if you're always hiding in a corner shaking and too afraid to take a punch. And yeah. High class delivery boy," Cammie said with a shrug.

He ignored the barb in favor of the information. "Nice suit, nice car, bored?" At her nod, he sighed. "That's what I was afraid of." He thought for a moment. "Did this happen at Xavier's?"

"No, it happened when I was out on the town, playing water polo and eating caviar," Cammie returned, dipping into a passable high-class Boston accent and then rolled her eyes, "Yeah, front lawn. Took the long way back from the house of many boats."

"Good," he said absently. "They'll have cameras, then." He rubbed at his mouth, then looked up at her. "So, what are you going to do now?"

Cammie shrugged, "After I convince my parents I don't belong here I'll go back, dig myself a hole somewhere on the mansion's grounds and see how long it takes the local plant life to recover from deep poisoning." Her tone was sarcastic, but that really did sound like a good idea. She knew she had issues, and today had hit just about every one of them. Everyone of them if you could count that her every other thought was 'hey, first person I killed is in the cemetery just outside of town!' "I'd shoot myself, but it'd be a waste of a hazmat crew."

He shook his head. "Don't shoot yourself. Not only does it involve the aforementioned hazmat crew in your case, but that one's too easy to fuck up. You'd likely just end up a vegetable, eating through a tube."

"Well, you see, then I have a problem there. Because it has to be a 'hard' way with me. Soft methods don't work. Pills, drugs, drano, I'm thinking radiation, these are the things that just bounce right off me. A good bullet to the brain or a long fall with a short stop though, these are classics. I'm sure I can also drown... maybe be electrocuted or something. Slitting my wrists would cause more of a problem than a gunshot wound to the head, because, you know, my blood is totally toxic. I am the 'unknown contagion' from Houston this last January. Sorry, this getting a bit morbid for you?" Cammie said sweetly. The whole thing was sing-song, half-disconnected. It was not thinking about this afternoon. "Besides, there wouldn't be any difference between brain death and real death anyway. Your soul is metaphysical bullshit they feed you to make you feel guilty for doing what you have to to stay alive."

Jake's mouth quirked into a wry smile. "I'm pretty sure I'd have to fall off a pretty high building in order to kill myself, and even then I'm not so sure it would work. It'd probably just hurt a lot." He shrugged. "I guess you and I'll just have to be guilty and alive."