i love my coauthor; infinity_in_his_eyes
//Lena POV//
I wake up from a dreamless sleep (a blessing, since my last dream led to that whole incident with Kara) to sunlight shining through my window. It makes me angry. How can the outside world keep spinning while the world I've gotten so used to is falling to pieces around me? How can the sun shine and the sky be clear when there's a dark, swirling hurricane inside my head, all centered around a girl with sun in her hair and the clear sky in her eyes? I throw off the covers and stomp over to my window, yanking the curtains shut, blocking out the radiant sunlight, obscuring the perfectly blue sky. I don't want a reminder of her. Except maybe I do.... But the last thing I need is a reminder of her. I turn around and stomp back to my bed, letting myself fall face-first onto the twisted sheets and the lumpy mattress. I want to scream into my pillow in frustration. I want to throw something, anything. I want to punch my way through that wall again....
The wall. The hole I punched through it. The shitty job the repair people did. The feeling of my ear pressed against cheap plaster and partially-dried beige paint. The tiny spy-hole I had been making with my pocket knife last night. The sounds of Kara's breathing I had heard. The sound of her knees hitting the floor and her gasping for breath when she had her episode (oh yeah, what even was that?). The fact that I could hear something as small as her shifting around on her bed. It all comes flooding back to me in an instant.
I freeze. The walls here are probably the shittiest, cheapest, thinnest walls in the entire city of Detroit (and that's saying something). If Kara heard me storming around, I am royally screwed. If I woke her up, she'll be waiting outside the door for me, waiting to confront me about last night. Ask me what was wrong. Try and talk to me and smile at me and break down even more of my walls. Or else scold me and scowl at me and demand I explain why I left her alone on her floor. I can't deal with that right now. I can't even deal with myself right now. So I get up, with painstaking care, and walk over to my dresser to grab a new set of clothes, shampoo, my favorite cucumber body soap, and a towel. This is when years of being stuck in the same lackluster room, in the same shabby building, in the same troubled city comes in handy. I know exactly which floorboards to avoid and how much force I need to apply to open the dresser drawers. I check the clock as I sneak around my own room: it's 7:02. I feel the urge to punch something again; normally I'm awake and ready by 7:00 sharp. This damn Kara girl is messing up my entire life....
When I've finally gathered all the stuff I need for the day (I don't want to come back in my room until I absolutely have to, for fear ( fear?! ) of encountering Kara), I head to the door. I pause before I grab the doorknob, listening intently for any sound coming from Kara's room. I glance over at the repaired section of wall without even meaning to (has this become an unconscious thing now?). I see my knife lying on the ground right where I dropped it last night, right on top of the pile of chipped plaster. I debate whether or not to go pick it up, finally deciding to put it back in its hiding spot since I'm not technically supposed to be in possession of any weapon. Once I've put it back in the Converse shoebox I keep under my bed, I pick up my clothes, makeup bag, and soaps and open the door.
Upon doing so, I almost scream.
As soon as I open the door, a limp body falls at my feet. It's Kara. Her hair is still angelic, her fingers delicate, but her face is serene, her breathing calm and even, her eyes moving only slightly under her closed lids. I almost want to rest her head on my lap again and stroke her hair and whisper into her ear....
Instead, I push aside the box of chess pieces from Lex I keep on my bedside table, place my stuff down in the room I made, and pull Kara (a little ungracefully, but not harshly) into my room a little bit, just so her feet aren't out in the hall. I'm honestly surprised that she sleeps through the whole thing, but I'm certainly grateful. When I'm satisfied that she's positioned comfortably (remind me again why I care?), I grab my clothes and swiftly leave the room, heading down to the end of the hall where the bathroom is.
One of the perks of getting up as early as I do is that I usually get to use the bathroom first. Today is one of those days; none of the other girls have even woken up yet. I get the bathroom all to myself for at least another half hour. That means I get to use thirty minutes worth of hot water, and I intend to use the hell out of it. God knows I need a relaxing shower after last night.
I end up just standing under the shower head, eyes closed, letting the hot water roll over me, for a solid twenty-five minutes. And during those twenty-five minutes, all I can see behind my closed eyelids, all I can think about, is Kara.
I'm in the common room, on the first day I saw her. She's walking slowly towards me with a kind (if not still tentative) smile. But I see her eyes burning with a blue fire, hotter than the sun. If I didn't know better, I would have said I saw something like lust in her eyes. Then, all of a sudden, she's right next to me, whispering in my ear. Her hair, once again, falls down to brush my nose. I feel her breath against my ear and my breath hitches. Everything is the same as it was when she confronted me (or did I confront her?), the second time that we ever spoke. Except her words are different.
"Lena, Lena, Lena. What am I going to do with you? I can tell you have feelings for me. So why are you running from them?" Her arms circle my waist and pull me flush against her. Her arms are stronger than I ever would have thought; I try (a little half-heartedly) to move away, but I can't. Kara rests the side of her head against mine. I can feel her even heartbeat at my temple, conflicting with my pounding heart. Then she whispers again: "Maybe I want to. Maybe I want to get to know you more. Maybe I want to kiss you. Maybe I want you to take care of me...."
Her voice fades and I'm on the floor of Kara's room, her head on my lap. I reach out and bury my fingers in her hair, breathing out a sigh at the calming sensation. I stroke her hair with my left hand (more gently and with more care than any other time I've done... anything) while, with my right hand, I rub circles on her palm. I want so badly to lean down readjust her glasses, stroke her cheek, kiss her forehead....
I look at her and her eyes are open. This time, they're glowing with something else: not lust, but something softer (dare I say love?).
"Lena...," she whispers, every sad and loving emotion I can think of pouring into her voice. "Thank you. You saved me." She pulls me down closer, and this time it's a loose strand of my hair that falls and tickles Kara's nose. Kara smiles her cute little close-mouthed smile before whispering, "Now you need to save yourself from your demons. Let go of the past, Lena." Then she grabs the sides of my face and kisses me.
My eyes fly open. I'm still in the shower with hot water enveloping me. My heart is beating erratically and my breathing is shallow. Dammit, Kara. Shaking my head, I grab my shampoo and angrily rub suds into my hair. I quickly wash the rest of my body and step out of the shower. I'm glad there's steam everywhere; I can't see myself in the mirror. If I could, I would probably smash it. Instead I just let my head fall back and rest against the door. Why is my life falling apart?
I whisper my answer into the white haze hanging over the bathroom: "Kara Danvers."
***
I get dressed quickly, put my hair up in its regular ponytail and carefully sneak back into my room to return my toiletries (I know I said I wanted to avoid this at all costs, but this is unavoidable (I'm totally not checking on Kara)). Upon setting down my toiletries (making sure Kara's still sleeping peacefully), I head downstairs to the kitchen to get breakfast. The wardens (as we call them; they don't seem to mind) of the foster home are both seated at the kitchen island sipping coffee. Meghan, the girls' caregiver, notices me first. Thank goodness. She at least pretends I'm a real human being half the time.
"Lena." She bows her head, eyes shut, as a way of greeting, just as she always does. Both her and John do it without fail, almost always at the exact same time. It's unsettling, as if they share a mind. It's always been this way in all the years I've been here. In fact, I was convinced for the first eight months of my time here that they were married. When I found out they weren't, I spent the next seven months convinced they were dating. But no, they were – and still are – dancing around each other like a pair of clumsy ballerinas. Sometimes it helps to imagine them both in pink tutus....
"Meghan," I reply, simply blinking once. I turn to the boys' caregiver. "John." He bows his head stiffly in return.
"What can I do for you Lena?" Meghan asks. She's not as cold and dismissive towards me as John is, but she's certainly in no hurry to warm up to me either. Damn Luthor blood.
"Is there anything you need done around the house today?"
John and Meghan share a surprised glance. I can see why; it's been about three years since I've offered to help with chores. Sure, I've completed the mandatory chores that cycle through to everyone in the home with little complaint, but I haven't actively sought out work in a long time.
"Any particular reason for this sudden change in work ethic, Ms. Luthor?" John asks.
It takes almost everything in me not to roll my eyes at John's words. Always the skeptic. He probably assumes I'm doing this to gain his and Meghan's trust so I can stab them in the back later. Although to be fair, he is right to ask his question; the reason I'm offering myself up for slave labor is so I can stay away from Kara. Did he pick up on that? If he has, then I should probably say something about it.... Dammit. I'm overthinking things again. All because of Kara. Everything I do now is because of Kara....
As if on cue, I hear a loud thud on the floor right above me (right where my room is; I know the layout of this prison by heart), followed by a crash, followed by Kara's voice: "Mother-!" Then I hear another crash, this one heavier and familiar (Kara). A moment later I hear a laugh, Kara's laugh, the sound of angels.... I sneak a glance at John. His head is turned towards the sound. His lips turn up a tiny bit at the edges, and his eyes soften. It's as if he can sense her, even see her, and is smiling at her fondly. Of course he has a soft spot for Kara. Why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't everyone?
I let Kara's clumsiness serve as a distraction for a while (Meghan is off taking inventory of the pantry and making a grocery list, so the silence lasts for about two minutes), before I clear my throat. As I suspected, John's eyes harden, his lips turn down into a grim scowl again. Typical. I know I should hate Kara for this, for her positive influence over everyone around her, but I can't. Instead, I hate John more, just for being so happy with Kara while I'm seen as just another troubling foster kid (except six times the trouble in his eyes, one time for every letter in Luthor ).
"Ms. Luthor, why do you all of a sudden want to help? This hasn't happened before. Has anything changed?" John restates.
I pause, considering telling him everything again. He'll understand, he likes Kara. But that's exactly why he won't understand. He likes Kara, he doesn't like me, and I'm trying to avoid her. He'd hate me even more (he'd find a way to) if I told him.
"Nope," I lie instead. "Why? Does anything have to have changed?" John just grumbles and turns back to his coffee. Meghan gives him a look (I can't read it; I'm not that good yet) and turns towards me, a smile on her lips. It's not quite a fake smile, but it's certainly not one that shows she cares for me.
"Well, we're glad you're eager to help, Lena," Meghan says. "There are lots of chores to do, so you can choose what you end up doing. Any specific preferences?"
If nothing else, I have to give Meghan credit for treading carefully while still making it sound like I'm the one holding the cards. She's actually just making sure I won't run away. She masks her intentions well, but not well enough to get past a Luthor. And I think she knows it.
I give a pleasant smile that I know doesn't reach my eyes. "As long as I stay away from the second floor," I reply. Where Kara is, I finish in my mind.
Meghan knows better than to question my request. "Okay, then how about you vacuum the common room. You remember where the vacuum is, right?" I nod. "Alright then! Thank you for your help, Lena."
I walk over to the small closet next to the pantry and grab the vacuum out, quickly dragging it towards the common room. I walk to the outlet and plug the cord in. I turn on the vacuum cleaner turn around....
And lock eyes with Kara Danvers.
// Kara POV //
My eyes flutter open, bleary from last night's tears. The first thing I see is the white plastered ceiling, which reflects the sunlight shining through the window back into my eyes. It's so sunny out, it almost feels like the world is mocking me. I flex each of my fingers, one by one. After last night's incident, I've been terrified that I won't have control again, that my feet will be glued to the floor once more, my hands bound to my sides, my eyes forced to the front of my face to watch my family burn again. I let out a long breath that I didn't realize I had been holding when each of my fingers obey my command. I clench my fists for no reason in particular. I don't remember much from last night, but I do remember feeling like absolute garbage. I also remember the certain someone who provoked those feelings.
I lift my right hand off the ground. Lena . My fingernails dig into my palm, deep. I'll probably have to take care of the blood later. As my mind makes all sorts of connections based on her name (not all of them good; most of them actually make me feel pretty shitty), I bring my fist back to the ground. That's actually an understatement. I slam it, hard. Slam it against the floor like I slammed it against Lena's door last night. The door that I fell asleep against. Lena's door...
I start as something crashes to the ground. I bolt upright, taking in my surroundings as the object's collision with the floor rings in my ears. This is certainly not my room, and I panic as I realize that I am certainly not supposed to be in here. I jump to my feet, quicker than I probably should have. Blood rushes to my head, and I am overcome by dizziness. I stumble a few feet backwards, only to step on whatever it was that had fallen to the floor. It digs sharply into my foot, causing me to lift it in pain. "Mother-" I am cut off by myself, as I lose my battle against balancing on one foot, falling to the floor once more. The floor where it all started. A million other things could be (should be) going through my mind right now, but I can only throw my head back and laugh as I think to myself how grateful I am that Lena wasn't there to witness my grand fiasco. I roll over onto my stomach, extending my arm in search for the object responsible for my downfall. My fingers grasp onto a small figurine, and I bring it closer to my face for examination. It's a knight, a part of a chess set. It seems to be undamaged. I release a sigh of relief until I realize that the floor before me is littered with many more. Gleaming black and white pawns, bishops, knights, rooks, and the royal king and queen all mocking me, daring me to make my next move. I'm not surprised if the entire floor below me heard the incident, but still, I am quiet and quick as I pick up all the pieces, thoroughly checking each one for damage before placing them back into the tin that they were in.
I feel like I am in the clear when I pick up the last piece, the black queen. I give it a once over with my eyes, and run my fingers across the length of it, slowly rotating it with my forefinger and my thumb. My fingers pick up on the chip before my eyes do, and I know that because I feel a sharp pain on my thumb. I pull it back quickly, watching the blood pool from the small wound. I stick my thumb in my mouth to curb the bleeding, but I almost want to cry, because I'm fairly certain that the damage is my fault, and I'm fairly certain this will put a damper on our relationship. I feel incredibly guilty as I put the queen back into the tin, with the hopes that Lena will never see it, with the hopes that she'll never hate me for it.
Tentatively, as if I expect to see an accusing face peering back at me, I look to the window, surprised to find that the curtains are shut. The room had appeared so well lit, I thought that the sun had free passage. The curtains were messy and rumpled, like someone had shut them hastily and violently. Who knew Lena hated the sun and/or curtains so much? Actually, my brain decided to contradict itself, it seems pretty expected of her. Several soft beeps drew me away from my internal monologue. My ears searched to locate the sound, and after turning in circles several times, I spotted an alarm clock that was indicating the hour. 8 A.M.. I wouldn't take Lena for one to wake up any later than 7 A.M., and if my assumption was right, that meant that I had been slumped on her bedroom floor, unconscious, for about an hour. Lena has left me here, slumped on her floor, unconscious, for about an hour.
I feel selfish for feeling betrayed, for feeling hurt. Yet I feel entitled to my anger, to my ill feelings towards her. The confliction doesn't help me feel any better about anything. I shake my head at no one in particular, thinking about how incredulous the situation actually is.
She held my head in her lap. She ran gentle fingers through my hair. She didn't know what was happening to me, and she rushed in my room, seemingly without a second thought. I could hear it in her voice, when she was whispering into my ear that everything was going to be alright. It was sincere, promising, delicate. I could tell that she wouldn't have done anything differently if given the opportunity.
So tell me I'm wrong for feeling hurt. Tell me I'm wrong for feeling like I was made a promise that couldn't be kept. Tell me I'm selfish for wanting more of her , the Lena that made me feel tingly, the Lena that gave me butterflies, the Lena that I envision in my dreams, underneath my body, breath hitching, heart pounding faster and faster, body shaking ever so slightly as I lean in closer and closer to her ear, whispering the words that have the power to toy with her emotions, to make her feel wanted, needed. The words to make her mine (am I being too possessive?)
"What the actual heck, Kara." I mutter it to myself, because someone needed to point out the fact that I was about to have awkward fantasies about a girl who (maybe? I don't even know at this point,) doesn't want to associate herself with me, in her own room.
I pace several times, unsure what to do until I situate myself on Lena's bed. I impulsively bury my face in her pillow, and take in the scent (I also take into account how weird I actually am.) It's the same clean, fresh, cucumber smell that lingers in my memories. Breathing in the scent, I find myself feeling giddy, like the scent has pheromones, and they make me feel like I would do anything for her, anything to know her. I roll over onto my back, and glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand. 8:07. Yikes. I realize that it's wrong for me to have stayed in here for so long, and it's definitely wrong for me to be laying on her bed, so breathing in one more time, I stand up, and walk out of Lena's room, carefully shutting the door that led to it all behind me.
//
The guides (the other kids in the home call them the wardens, but I can't bring myself to call them that. It makes this place feel too much like a prison to me,) took an immense liking to me from the moment I got here. I pin it on the fact that I've only been here for two weeks, and I've given them no reason to dislike me. The male guide, John, seems especially fond of me. He always asks me how I'm doing, he appears to be earnest and invested in our conversations. He puts a comforting arm on me now and then, and occasionally, he ruffles my hair playfully. There's always a twinkle in his eye when he looks at me. Something about his gaze always becomes softer.
I wish I could be annoyed, I wish I could dislike him for treating me differently from the rest of the kids. I wish I didn't feel so selfish for wanting his attention, but I couldn't help it. He reminded me of my dad, and it made this prison feel a little more like home.
I always figured that John and Meghan must have been generally kind and understanding people. They would have to be, in order to work in a place like this, right? I was aware that for some odd reason, John was a little bit more fatherly to me than what was perhaps appropriate, but my judgement wasn't based upon that. I often observed the guides. I watched how they interacted with everyone, I got a feel of their personalities as soon as I became a part of this home. They looked at everyone with the same understanding and acceptance. And I believed that that was just who they were.
Until I see them looking at Lena, devoid of any sympathy and even empathy. Even Meghan, who looked like she was genuinely trying to feel something for Lena... I could see that she was apprehensive, unwilling, almost, to trust Lena. John however, lacked any trace of effort. His eyes were empty, the twinkle that I was used to was replaced by suspicion and bitterness. Like him and Lena had history. But of course they didn't have history.
Nobody in this place has history with Lena. They have history with Lex. Why am I the only one who seems to understand this?
I watch as Lena makes conversation with both of them. I can only see John move his lips for a brief moment, Meghan seems to be the one instigating further conversation. Even so, I can tell it's forced. Her lips move quickly, sharply. I can practically hear the crispness in her voice. She smiles politely, but it's an empty smile. I'm not sure what Lena is up to, but I'm definitely positive that now is not the time to confront her about anything, not in front of the guides, and not so soon after waking up in her room (and not in the way that I would ever envision (ok Kara, take it easy.) ) After several nods, Lena turns around, and I duck quickly (it's almost comical) to avoid catching her eyes. I watch as she walks to the broom closet, and narrow my eyes as she pulls out the vacuum. I don't think I've seen her take it out so eagerly before. As she backs out of the closet, she turns towards the common room. It's only then that I realize that I have chosen perhaps the worst place to avoid Lena. My eyes sting at the prospect of facing her right now, I know I'm not ready, I know I won't be able to keep my composure. I know that again, I'll humiliate myself in front of her. I hold my breath as she walks to the far right corner of the room, the opposite corner to where I'm stationed, in order to plug in the vacuum. If she turns around right now...
As if I need anymore reason to believe that there is no one up there watching over me, she turns around. The vacuum is whirring, but she is frozen in place, eyes fixated on me.
I'm not surprised when I feel the tear fall down my cheek.
Lena Luthor has the vexing tendency to make me feel some way, one way or another.