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Nov. 10th, 2004 04:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
not_that_spikeShowers are good places to sit and think. The water washes over you and heats you and reminds you that you can still feel things, even on those days you're sure you don't have anything left.
Some days on the Bebop, the shower was the only place I could go where no one was allowed to follow. But there it was mostly a thing for efficiency; water got recycled but the storage was limited and hey, common courtesy dictated not taking up all the hot water. Faye always pushed it. Every time.
This shower in Room 8 seems like it has a limitless supply of hot water. Which is good, because I have no fucking intention of moving any time soon.
I was trying to remember something this morning and I couldn't. I was trying to remember the last time I cried. I didn't cry when Annie died, I didn't cry when Julia died. I didn't get a chance to cry when Dragon died. It must have been some time way before that, when I was little. 7, 8 maybe. I didn't cry when I ran away from home or got kicked out of the hundredth school or killed my first guy and I didn't cry when my best friend betrayed me and ordered me killed.
I don't cry. Not that I think it's weak. Sometimes I wish I could, but I just don't, or can't.
I guess it has something to do with having nothing to lose. One of the first lessons Mao taught me with the Red Dragons is that people with nothing to lose are the most dangerous, because they don't give a shit what happens to them. If they have nothing to live for, they can and will do superhuman things because they just don't care if it kills them.
I used to have nothing to lose. For a long time I had nothing to gain, nothing to lose, and I was one of those people who didn't give a shit what happened to him. Hard-hearted, I guess, or unsentimental, or maybe even incapable of giving. Not incapable of going through the motions, but not really able to feel anything. The phrase goes like this: live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse.
I didn't want to die after I found Julia, though. That was when things began to change. I know it's one thing to carry a torch for someone, and it's something else to lose yourself so desperately that you can't even see the torch. That second way is how I felt... at first. At first. Then she disappeared and I even surprised myself how fast that shell came back again. How angry I got, how hard.
Armor's a good thing to have. It's good to hide behind.
Do I care? Of course I care. Did I ever want to feel as vulnerable again as I did with Julia? No fucking way, no fucking way. That window got closed and shuttered damn fast. All locked up, no key.
Then this girl with green eyes and yellow hair and a scar across her face opens her palm to me and she's holding the key. It's right there. I don't know how she got it but before I could knock it out of her hands she put it in the lock and turned it and opened me up just like a book, and that's why I'm sitting here under the water in this corner of the shower wondering about all this shit. Because no one gets to see me even think about crying.
Some days on the Bebop, the shower was the only place I could go where no one was allowed to follow. But there it was mostly a thing for efficiency; water got recycled but the storage was limited and hey, common courtesy dictated not taking up all the hot water. Faye always pushed it. Every time.
This shower in Room 8 seems like it has a limitless supply of hot water. Which is good, because I have no fucking intention of moving any time soon.
I was trying to remember something this morning and I couldn't. I was trying to remember the last time I cried. I didn't cry when Annie died, I didn't cry when Julia died. I didn't get a chance to cry when Dragon died. It must have been some time way before that, when I was little. 7, 8 maybe. I didn't cry when I ran away from home or got kicked out of the hundredth school or killed my first guy and I didn't cry when my best friend betrayed me and ordered me killed.
I don't cry. Not that I think it's weak. Sometimes I wish I could, but I just don't, or can't.
I guess it has something to do with having nothing to lose. One of the first lessons Mao taught me with the Red Dragons is that people with nothing to lose are the most dangerous, because they don't give a shit what happens to them. If they have nothing to live for, they can and will do superhuman things because they just don't care if it kills them.
I used to have nothing to lose. For a long time I had nothing to gain, nothing to lose, and I was one of those people who didn't give a shit what happened to him. Hard-hearted, I guess, or unsentimental, or maybe even incapable of giving. Not incapable of going through the motions, but not really able to feel anything. The phrase goes like this: live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse.
I didn't want to die after I found Julia, though. That was when things began to change. I know it's one thing to carry a torch for someone, and it's something else to lose yourself so desperately that you can't even see the torch. That second way is how I felt... at first. At first. Then she disappeared and I even surprised myself how fast that shell came back again. How angry I got, how hard.
Armor's a good thing to have. It's good to hide behind.
Do I care? Of course I care. Did I ever want to feel as vulnerable again as I did with Julia? No fucking way, no fucking way. That window got closed and shuttered damn fast. All locked up, no key.
Then this girl with green eyes and yellow hair and a scar across her face opens her palm to me and she's holding the key. It's right there. I don't know how she got it but before I could knock it out of her hands she put it in the lock and turned it and opened me up just like a book, and that's why I'm sitting here under the water in this corner of the shower wondering about all this shit. Because no one gets to see me even think about crying.
