circumitus: Completely decimated and my hand was all bloody and covered with glass. Weird dude, never saw him again ever since. (got into a bar fight last night)
Reybama ([personal profile] circumitus) wrote 2015-05-25 10:15 pm (UTC)

the apple does not fall far from the tree {cw: violence}

“Am not sorry for your trash.”

She turned to her father. He towered over her, but that was hardly imposing.

“Or for this.”

Swinging her fist back, she clocked Lucas in the nose. He hit the ground harder than she imagined he would, his glasses flying off his face. As he reached for them, she set her foot down, shattering glass and bending the metal frames.

He didn’t get back up this time. He hardly moved. He only panted heavily as she knelt by his side, hot-faced and body bloody. She wrapped her red knuckles into a tight fist, showing the damage that had been done on her own flesh and blood to the man who created her in his image.

“This is all you,” she sneered. “You created this. Let the memories in. You want to know which memory am seeing, right now?”

Lucas did not respond. He was gasping, trying to breathe through his mouth.

Rey leaned in, smelling his peppermint scent.

“The cooking. MREs. Stone’s men, from the squad that Gregory had sent her with — they always eat without her. Can hear them talking. ‘Hey, if I close my eyes, it almost tastes like ma’s cookin’!’” She lowered her voice, imitating the southern twang from her memory as the wayward Sergeant Stone. “He laughs, saying his mom doesn’t cook that well to begin with. They joke among themselves, and Stone eats alone. The food tastes like shit, cooked or uncooked. We don’t know anything about cooking, but sometimes it would be nice to laugh about it with them. Want to be able to tell them that Mother doesn’t cook well, either. Don’t have a real mother, though. Jonathan made certain of that.” She craned her neck, nose to nose with Lucas Coffey. “We both know why.”

There it was. The monster that rattled the cages in her mind, now a reflection in her father’s eye.

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She took Lucas Coffey’s neck with one hand. The back of his head slammed into the hardwood floor. The broken medical equipment rattled with that force. The walls shook. She reeled her other fist back.

He may have said something. If he did, she did not hear a discernible language.

Not that it would matter, when the man’s tongue would become pulp soon.

“RE—” was the last thing she heard the man scream before her fingers hooked around his lower teeth. With a powerful wrench, his jaw cracked off, splitting his face in two like an eggshell.

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