isla lahey. (scarflette) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2014-01-25 11:41:00 |
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The hotel room had emptied, the people staying with her off eating or tending to Scott or doing something else, so Isla had decided to step into the shower to wash off the sand and sweat from her run before she went to join them. Hot water was a rare gift with so many of them in one place, so shower timing was crucial. As a general rule, Isla tended to leave doors open whenever she could. The fact that people were constantly coming and going through the hotel room made that impossible, even though Isla herself wasn’t terribly modest. It made her anxious to close and lock the bathroom door, but years of practice had helped. The skip in her heartbeat noted the fact that she was closed into the bathroom, but it was okay. She’d be okay.
Showers were hard sometimes as well, and it wasn’t uncommon back in the city for her to have Boyd come sit on the counter and talk to her to keep her from panicking. Luckily, there wasn’t a door on this one, just a curtain. She could handle curtains. She turned on the water and let it heat as she undressed, then stepped in.
Generally speaking, Isla felt she functioned rather well, considering the circumstances. Much better than one of the younger male versions of her, at any rate. She wasn’t so tremendously overcome by her thoughts as he was, and she was much better at internalizing much of what had happened in the past. Outwardly, she knew she presented herself the way she wanted to present herself (mostly). She made a point to be friendly and easygoing. She could bring up little things without feeling as though she was sucking the life out of the room or “milking it,” as show-Isaac had been accused of doing. That was relieving, in a way. The fact of the matter was that for a majority of her childhood, it was just her and her father, which meant that a majority of her childhood had been terrible. If she were to keep from making little comments here and there, she wasn’t sure she could’ve handled it. It would’ve been like cutting out more than half of her life. Still, she thought she maneuvered her way through it all rather well.
However, after her conversation with Dr. Allison some weeks back, Isla had been haunted by the idea that maybe she didn’t handle certain things as well as she ought to have. There was a cycle there, one she’d never realized existed before. Making mistakes had always led to punishment, and that was the way of regaining equilibrium. Trying to re-program herself to view the world differently was more difficult than she could’ve ever imagined. When it struck her, as it frequently did when she made a mistake and searched for punishment, the realization of her ‘problem’ made her head swim a bit. And really, maybe this was the entire reason why she tried so hard to please everyone and be well-liked. If no one was angry at her, she had nothing to worry about. She could internalize it like everything else.
She shut the water off, wincing just a little at the little screech the faucet made, then toweled off as she stepped back onto the tile. This was the worst part, really. The shower had fogged over the mirror and the high window, and the low light provided by the old fixture did little to brighten the space. She could feel her breathing hitch and her pulse quicken, and she moved to wipe away some of the condensation on the mirror. It’s okay, she told herself. It’s fine. I’m fine. Just breathe.
She set into motion a bit more quickly than she might’ve otherwise, toweling off as much of the remaining water as she could from her body before pulling on clothes. Everything within her grew just a little more panicked, though, the mirror fogging over again. She still lacked a shirt, though she’d clipped her bra into place, but she grabbed it and moved to the door, needing some fresh air.
The door wouldn’t open.
Her brain clouded as it was in her panic, she tried it again, forgetting the lock. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. Tears sprang to her eyes, her pulse racing and heart pounding so hard that she could hear nothing but it and her panicked thoughts. It’s not. It’s not okay. I’m not okay. Her claws emerged, her strength surging in such away that she inadvertently jammed the door more. She didn’t see the splintering of wood, but rather felt it, a little piece shooting into a fingertip. Seeing the damage didn’t help, as it meant more panic over what she’d done. Oh god. She stepped back, tears unstoppable and body trembling entirely, and moved instead to frantically push at the window, finally getting it to budge just enough that some air could filter in.
As in the suicide hotel, there was a certain point in Isla’s state of panic that she reached now that she had better control of herself as a werewolf. Instead of completely wolfing out, as she’d nearly done when she and Alex had been trapped in the custodial closet, she’d shut down. She slid to the ground, back against the bathtub, and drew her knees to her chest, holding them tightly, her claws digging into her thighs as she fought to anchor herself. In reality, all she could really do was cry, that drowning feeling still circulating through her as she reverted once more to being that scared little girl trapped in the freezer.