shattered souls won't mend themselves (supercorp au)

mission, confliction

So why do I feel a twinge of sorrow as the girl walks away? Damn good question. I don't even know her name. And that's a problem because...? I've never been one to second guess myself. Ever since Hope left, I haven't let any emotions through, in or out. Maybe that's the source of my incandescence. It's not incandescence. Being angry at people who get adopted isn't hatred of everything. So why am I letting my anger for the people who get adopted ruin my perception of the whole world? Because the world sucks. It's full of people who don't know how to love. Well, I'm certainly one to talk.

But as I glance at the girl again, I think maybe it wouldn't suck so much if I let the right person learn how to love me.

//Kara POV//

The exchange was enough to make me hope that I didn't have to interact with anyone in this place again for the rest of my time here. However long that may be, it didn't matter to me. All I knew is that I didn't want to be placed under the hard, cold, scrutiny that her gaze held again.

I felt my eyes betray me (again), searching her face against my will.

I guess I didn't know what I expected. I observed so myself, that girl had no emotion betraying any part of her... her fingers, her posture, her feet, her face... all perfect masks in their own ways. I didn't know what I was getting into.

Her face, though. Unargueably, undeniably , flawless. A perfect jawline, a face framed by raven colored hair that spilled over her shoulders. Dark, perfect eyebrows to match her hair. The only thing bright about any of her features were her eyes. Have you ever seen grass in the morning? How it always seems brighter then, with the morning dew reflecting the sun back into your eyes.

And under her harsh (her beautiful) eyes, I felt like the sun was in my eyes. Like I had to shield myself just to face her, to protect myself from her.

Not that she made any threatening advances to me. Honestly, I may have just preferred verbal (or physical) abuse to what this girl made me feel. I felt collected at first, I felt like I could get something out of her. I tried some sarcasm, I even gave her my signature 'Kara Danvers Smirk,' (yea, don't know what I was trying to accomplish with that one.) I showed her one of my drawings, the best one I had done yet, in hopes that perhaps she would know which kid it was. I meant for it to be a conversation starter, a mood lightener. I guess she wasn't impressed, on the inside or the outside. She just looked at me with so much judgement. Ok, it didn't show, but I could feel it radiating from her like gamma waves. It was killing me. All I could do was stand there, and even though I was taller by about two inches, I felt so small. I vaguely remembered nervously fidgeting with my glasses; a habit I had broken years ago (what the hell was this girl doing to me?) All it took was for her to sneer (I can't even really say sneer, her tone was dead); "Well, I don't know about these other girls, but I am not interested in being a model for some pathetic new girl," to drain me of all my confidence. To falter my stance and to let my head down. It was such a minor exchange, it took no more than 3 minutes of my life, but it was like she was my superior, and she knew it. I felt belittled. I felt insignificant. And it didn't feel good. Insignificance is not what I need here. I need someone to build me up, to restore me. I didn't need her. Why did I apologize to her then? Obviously, I had inconvenienced her somehow. Maybe that's just what I am; a slight inconvenience to most people in the world. Perhaps to everyone in the world, now that anyone who mattered to me was gone.

Suddenly, my thoughts froze. Against my will. I felt my left hand shake. I felt my eyes roll into my head. And then I saw it; flames.

Just as quickly as my eyes rolled into my head, they rolled back out. My vision cleared as if nothing happened (I was almost convinced that nothing did actually happen.) I clenched and unclenched my hand. They were under my control. I blamed the second long episode on her. The girl was obviously getting to me, her complete indifference managed to make all the difference to me.

So is that why? Is that why I sat in my room, furiously scribbling at my sketchpad? What about her compulsed me to take her blank slate of a face and put more detail into it than I have ever put into any of my other drawings. Tell me why I turned her loaded words and made them into something that they weren't.

Maybe I was just trying to prove to no one in particular that I wasn't pathetic. Maybe one day, she would see this and realize (hope to God that someone realizes) that I'm not pathetic. I mean something (right?)

Tell me why my finished project was a portrait of this girl, her raven colored hair shaded to perfection, a playful smile on her lips, and sparkling eyes that held stories to be told (stories that maybe I dreamed she would tell me one day.)

I ripped the page out of my book. The first one to leave. I walked up to the wall opposite of the single window that was installed in my bare room. And I hung her onto a patch of sunlight that was shining through the window, and onto the wall. In this sense, I didn't feel the need to shield myself from her anymore. In this drawing, she was my friend.

After simply staring at it for at least an hour, after gathering my emotions and thoroughly thinking (and rethinking, and thinking again) about today's earlier exchange with the girl, I smiled widely, the first time I've smiled like this since I got here.

Because for the first time since I arrived, I've found a purpose. And I wanted to kick myself in the shins for it. I know this won't be easy. I know this is never what my intentions were.

But I think I'm prepared for what I'm getting myself into. I have to be.

"I don't know your name, and I don't know your stories, but you... you're my mission in this place." (I directed my statement to the drawing more than I did to myself.)