Kate Bishop (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
learnfromthem) wrote2014-02-20 11:47 pm
learnfromthem) wrote2014-02-20 11:47 pm
Entry tags:
[for Tony] Meeeeemories.
It’s a totally normal day. I wake up (after sleeping in). I feed Lucky. I make a half-assed breakfast of mango and dry cereal with what’s left in my pantry. I curse the fact that I don’t have a coffee maker in my cottage and trudge to the Compound for my first cup of the day. I stop in on Wren, make sure she’s exercised, watered, and fed. I think about going to the beach after I pull in my shift at the Boutique.
Totally normal.
Except for the part where I get smacked with a splitting migraine as I’m meandering down the boardwalk. Wincing, I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, almost doubled-over in pain. I see flashes of memory, the images skipping in my mind’s eye like a scratched up DVD — stuff I don’t remember. Correction: stuff I didn’t remember. There’s this whole other life unraveling in my head. People I’ve never even met suddenly seem as familiar as old friends, as family. Twin versions of the Skrull invasion fight for a place in my own personal timeline, and I’m sure only one of them is even real. I remember a petite brunette girl snacking on a bunny — Alice. Meeting Felix, the first time. Long nights spent with— Spent with—
“Nate.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks as more memories fill in, and it’s too much. It’s too much. I swallow back bile and try to breathe, try to control the rush, slow it down. I gulp down air and focus on my hands, focus on what’s right in front of me, and it helps. It helps. I start breathing easier. Deeper. The pain subsides.
“What.”
I should see a doctor. I should see a shrink, because whatever the futz that was, that wasn’t normal. But it’s not the Clinic my feet carry me towards at full speed. It’s the Scrapyard.
“Hey!” I shout, breathless and woozy. My voice sounds raw. God, I hope he’s here. “Hey! Christian Bale!”
Totally normal.
Except for the part where I get smacked with a splitting migraine as I’m meandering down the boardwalk. Wincing, I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, almost doubled-over in pain. I see flashes of memory, the images skipping in my mind’s eye like a scratched up DVD — stuff I don’t remember. Correction: stuff I didn’t remember. There’s this whole other life unraveling in my head. People I’ve never even met suddenly seem as familiar as old friends, as family. Twin versions of the Skrull invasion fight for a place in my own personal timeline, and I’m sure only one of them is even real. I remember a petite brunette girl snacking on a bunny — Alice. Meeting Felix, the first time. Long nights spent with— Spent with—
“Nate.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks as more memories fill in, and it’s too much. It’s too much. I swallow back bile and try to breathe, try to control the rush, slow it down. I gulp down air and focus on my hands, focus on what’s right in front of me, and it helps. It helps. I start breathing easier. Deeper. The pain subsides.
“What.”
I should see a doctor. I should see a shrink, because whatever the futz that was, that wasn’t normal. But it’s not the Clinic my feet carry me towards at full speed. It’s the Scrapyard.
“Hey!” I shout, breathless and woozy. My voice sounds raw. God, I hope he’s here. “Hey! Christian Bale!”