Cammie & Charles

[x-scorpion.livejournal.com]

After the journal fallout, Cammie has a meeting with Charles and her future is discussed.

"Come in, Miss Black."

Charles was seated behind his desk as the door opened, engaged in reading through a number of papers. He glanced up, peering over the top of his reading glasses as Cammie came in. "Please, sit down." His tone wasn't overtly angry, but there was a certain sterness to it.

Cammie plopped down in the seat and sat back, looking like someone had dropped a rag doll in the seat. She hadn’t really been sleeping, which didn’t help her demeanor any. But she was waiting for that to pass. It generally did, after awhile. In the mean time it was just dealing with it.

“Sitting down,” she said simply. She wondered if this was it and she was finally getting kicked out.

Charles scanned the rest of the paper he was holding and then set it down, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes for a moment. When he lay them down, he looked... tired. "I had truly hoped the last time we talked, Miss Black, that I wouldn't have the need to call you in here again," he said, sounding almost disappointed as he referred to the incident where she'd gotten herself stabbed.

She shrugged. The last time really wasn’t her fault. Cammie knew this one was her fault though. Pulled punches and pillows be damned, “If you’re going to kick me out, you can just say it,” she wouldn’t really be ‘fine’ with that, but she’d get it. “You don’t need to soften the blow or anything.”

"Do you want me to?" he replied, his gaze penetrating. "Do you want to leave here, Miss Black? Go back to the life you had before?"

She snorted, “Would you?” she said. “I like not having to sleep in a gutter.”

"Some would certainly say you have fallen on your feet, as it were," Charles agreed. "But you do not seem to understand that there is in fact no such thing as a free ride. I told you last time that while you are living under my roof, I require a certain level of behaviour. Assaulting others, be they bikers or the residents of the Snow Valley Center, is not included in that." He steepled his fingers, still gazing at her. "I can understand your frustration, especially in the case of Mr. Gavin, but I also have to think of those individuals living here, their personal safety. Your using the journals to boast of your exploits is hardly inspiring confidence in your ability to control yourself and not hurt them when the urge takes you."

"I wasn't really boasting..." she started, but figured that point was moot. So was the fact that she hadn't meant to hit him when she went to ask him what the hell had happened. In the end what happened, happened. There wasn't any dancing around it or taking it back or anything cute like that. Regardless of what you wanted what was done was done, "Look, in the end it's your house your rules. I'll do what you say. I admit I fucked up," breaking things was what she did best, "So I can pack my bags and be out of your...uh... house," she had almost said 'hair', "asap."

The very slightest flicker of amusement crossed his face at her correction. Charles wasn't prone to scanning his students casually, but Cammie's thoughts weren't exactly hard to pick up. "I could insist on that," he acknowledged. "But I don't think it's exactly the most constructive action. You were offered a place here not just because I'm a kind and naive old man. I offered you that place because you are an intelligent and talented young woman, who has the potential to be far more than a prison statistic or a corpse in a city morgue."

Are we even looking at the same person? she wondered in reference to herself. "Gee, when you say it like that," she started, "...I had nothing, because yeah. Those don't sound that attractive. I'd be a pretty picky corpse, for one. All the other corpses would get jealous of all the special attention I'd have to get."

There was a reason she hadn't just shot herself in the head years ago, after all. Luckily she was over the wanting to die hurdle. "Seriously though, I would kind of like not to die," not that life was, for her, rainbows and sunshine but she was sort of attached to the idea of breathing.

Prison also never sounded attractive. You heard horror stories from people who bragged about it or people who swore to never go back in alive. That was also a no, but always a possibility once you had to fight to survive.

"Strangely enough, I would prefer you didn't die either." This time, the hint of humour was more than a brief glimmer. "You have a chance here, Cammie. I know it is difficult, but I believe you have it in you to overcome the obstacles in your way, including the self-induced ones." His look said he knew more of what she'd not been saying than she possibly realised. "It would help, I think, for you to discuss anger management techniques, either with myself or Mr. Haller," he continued, almost briskly. "And I would want your promise that you will not be engaging in any kind of violent behaviour, save in the course of your training with Mr. Logan or in self defence. Is that understood?"

"Yeah, I understand," Cammie said, "No more late night bar fights, punching fests or kicking puppies. And I'll do that... I'll admit, I have a pretty fucking bad temper," and it likely cost her a friend.

She wouldn't like her if she punched herself in the face. Even if most of it was with a pillow.

"I don't often say this, but... this is your last chance, Cammie. I can't have the safety of those living under my roof threatened." Charles seemed more unhappy than angry at having to say the words. "I recommend in future, that if you're having problems, that you seek out someone like myself or Mr. Haller before acting."

“Yeah, got it,” Cammie said. Given she expected to be thrown out on her ass in the first place, she could deal with that. “Help it is, then.”

Maybe that would keep her from feeling like she was drowning. Maybe.