Heidi Petrelli (walks_again) wrote in parabolical, @ 2009-01-28 03:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | heidi petrelli, narrative |
who| Heidi Petrelli
what| The Lazarus Pits force Heidi to think on what she might have done.
when| Evening
where| The Hyperion; LA
rating| PG
status| Narrative, Complete.
The feelings of moral complexity were not strange or unknown sensations for Heidi, but all the same, she was not enjoying them. She had no afflictions that needed healing, no wounds to mend, no mental dents or dangerous powers. She was perfectly fine. It was the plight of most women to find fault in their appearances, and though she counted herself as a rare specimen that had given up the goat chase for someone else's features and been pleased to find her own satisfactory--even her nose, though she doubted the Pits had anything to do with rhinoplasty--there was an imperfection she couldn't self-esteem away sitting on her lower back that had nothing to do with Jewish genetics. Scars from the surgery to save her spine after the crash, still pinkish in places after a year's healing and dose of Claire's blood.
Somewhere along the way, she'd lost track of how long she'd been standing there, and it wasn't until her nagging neck muscles twinged for the second time that she realized the odd angle she'd needed to twist it to see the scars in the bathroom mirror. With a parting grimace turned her head back to a normal position, and pulled her shirt back down. Nothing about them derailed the sensibility of not setting foot near the Pits; they were a reminder of what she had overcome, and there were all manners of products these days that took care of scar tissue without requiring two days' worth of nonsensical babbling and unnecessary flailing. But carrying them in remembrance wasn't a burden composed entirely of positivity. There was the weight of the What Ifs to shoulder, and the fear of being struck immoible again that she couldn't have shrugged if she were an Ayn Rand novel. The memories, save for the first two hazy pain-filled weeks of her recovery, were still fresh enough to keep her awake at night from time to time, or prompt her to reach down during the day when noone (Particularly Nathan.) was looking to insure her legs were still beneath her and without signs of giving out.
She could discourage and caution against the Pits all day long, but what if Linderman hadn't healed her?
It had been bearable at the time--and even almost normal, when she pulled herself out of her wheelchair and onto the couch and the boys sat with her and regaled her with their day. She had been determined to walk again, and she knew she would have. There hadn't been any alternatives; her family had needed her. Knowing that, she had looked at her circumstances, and made them work. But if the Lazarus Pits had been there? She could have taken the burden of the crash off of Nathan before he'd gone to Las Vegas, been strong enough in more people's eyes--She closed her own, tightly, pressing the heels of her palms against the lids until she saw a few interesting colours behind them. She knew herself; how determined she could be. Never a fan of the easy way out, but still romantic enough that, if the pits were proven to be without a large enough consquence, she might have had a little ramp built to get a good splash out of the experience.
When the blues became boring, Heidi lowered her hands and blinked her vision back into focus. Her reflection's lashes batted back, momentarily distracting her from the ghosts of weakness in her legs that made her sit on the side of the tub. She stayed there for a while, every so often pausing in thought to distractedly nudge the powercord on the floor infront of her with a toe.