The Duns

Crying On The Floor

It was stupid of us to have not thought about this, but in the excitement of our first heist, I had forgotten about my family, about my parents and this is the land I would now lay waste in forever.

At first no tears fall out of my eyes. There is no pain- only emptiness- as if my life had been sucked out of me. No amount of consolation, no words, no kind gestures- from anyone- can take this away. This is my fault. I forgot about them. I forgot about the people who made me, loved me, took care of me. I forgot them. I let the thought sink in unfairly.

I slam my upheld body to the floor, steps away from the doorframe. My fault. Tears stream out uncontrollably as my face bangs onto the floor, a protective hand shielding it, making the fall cushiony. I don't deserve this kindness. I deserve pain. Shocked voices. People running in, not touching the crime scene, standing aimlessly next to them whispering whispering whispering.

I deserve pain. Demanding memories rip out of my eyes and fall onto the ground like a running tap. My mouth hangs open like a gaping fish. My eyes weaken to emotion. My fault. I remind myself.

Another voice-soothing, careful, as if holding back- speaks to me, "Cathy, Cathy, I'm right here...Cathy...." I block it out. One strong, able hand hangs itself over me and pulls me towards it. "Hey, hey, we're going to get through this...." Peter. No, don't be so benevolent. Hit me. Hurt me.

"We're going to figure this out okay, Cat?" Cat. My parents used to call me Cat. I throw myself onto his chest, the terror of what was happening wrapping itself around me endlessly, like wrapping a child in a long piece of cloth while playing dress up. I thrust myself onto Peter, sobbing like a baffled, newborn baby.

-

The nightmare goes on for hours; the sky turns brighter, the sun comes out slowly but nothing else changes inside. My tears are gone now, replaced by empty looks and blank, clueless stares.

They cleared the bodies- the police would have been of no help for this- and are now seated in a circle around the table, ten of us altogether. I take a good inspection of the seven new boys and a man that have entered our group, trying to make sure I know all their names and powers: Lucas, Kabir, William, Oliver, Harry, Albert and Max- though him I know from before.

We each have a bowl of cornflakes and milk in our hands and apart from Peter and I, the rest of them gobble it up guiltily.

A surge of anger uproots suddenly and my hands clench the vessel in my palms, my focus hard on the milk sloshing around joyfully, and the flakes mixing with them in a most atrocious manner. I feel a cool hand placed on my shoulder from the other side of where Peter is seated.

"You okay?" Lucas asks. I know he means it well, his eyes show so too, but what kind of smartass person would ask someone if someone was okay right after her parents were brutally murdered and strangled- left tied to a chair?

I flinch at this touch. "Get your hand off me." my voice sounds cool, and if my pupils could change color like Peters, I would look like a devil with white eyes. He takes his hand away. I growl.

Peter turns towards me cautiously, "let it out now, Cat."

My frowning expression fails, replaced with a blank note once more, "My parents called me Cat. My parents were my only family apart from Aunt Elle and she lived with ten cats in a forest somewhere in India." I sigh. A little thought tingles at the back of my mind.

Peter laughs gently. "Well, I'm more of a dog person, but I'd really like to meet her, you know."

I allow a small smile to show itself on my face. "Yeah, me too."