literature

Diagnosis by Song (OLD)

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~Otsana~

They talked. A lot. She didn’t seem to care. In a way, Jane thought it was admirable. Most of the time, she thought it was selfish. Selfish that this nineteen-year-old, a princess, with everything she could ever want, was treating her boyfriend like a servant. They talked. A lot. Always behind her back. Always about how he deserves better than that, better than her.

She didn’t seem to care. In her mind, Jane and Kabuto were just trash, and she could let them get away with talking because no matter how many times the Avyarche talked, Kaby-kun would never leave.

And Jane hated her for it. She hated how she could get away with it.

She’s not a saint, and she’s not what you think… She’s an actress…

It went beyond how he was treated.

She’s better known for the things that she does on the mattress…

When she asked, he said he didn’t know how many of them there were. Too many, he said, to count. Jane couldn’t understand how Otsana could possibly fool around with a string of lovers when it was perfectly plain she had one of the best waiting on her every beckon and call at home. Any woman would be lucky to have him, and yet she goes on with her promiscuity, excusing it by declaring that HE was lucky to have HER.

But sophistication isn’t what you wear or who you know…

“It’s not her fault.” He said to her one day.
Jane didn’t know if she should respond. She’d been giving him the cold shoulder as of late, but she knew with the wedding and the holiday fast approaching that it would not do to be so cold to him. She sighed in reply, hoping this would suffice; she was not in the mood for a rehatch of the earlier heated debate that was yet again over his smug fiancée.

“When she was young, she wasn’t as strong as her father wanted her to be.” The boy continued. “So he asked me to design a drug for her that would make her stronger. It helped, and it boosted her immune system, but… there weren’t good side effects.”

Jane, whether she liked it or not, was now completely focused on this new discovery, and screw dinner. When it came to medicinal topics and how they influenced psychology and sociology, Jane was as attentive as a butterfly to an electric lamp. She had a feeling that this time, it would work out as well for her as it usually does for the zapped insect.

“The drug deteriorates impulse control, and one’s sense of humility.” He waffled to a stop in his explanation, but there was no need to continue.

“That explains her temper and the promiscuity.” Jane remarked.

Kabuto nodded. “The drug also screws with the nervous system, and her body will tell her that she is in constant pain no matter what she happens to be doing or not doing. The only way to fix that is to become light-headed, by—“

“Lack of oxygen or blood.” Jane finished. She paused, considering the ramifications. In the end, he could make excuses left and right, but nothing covered the basic problem.

“She has an impetuous nature because of the drug, but her manipulative streak has absolutely nothing to do with it.” Jane said softly.

Or pushing people down to get you where you want to go.

“….I know.” Her companion replied.

Jane forged on: “You can excuse the cheating to an extent, but that doesn’t mean you can excuse everything else. She manipulates you, tells you repeatedly that she doesn’t need you, and overall, she’s not a good person. Yes, she has issues, Kabuto, but they are not yours to fix. Don’t let her drag you down.”

The look of anger and betrayal he shot her shook her with unwavering force. Barely had her words echoed in the kitchen before he stalked from the room. Only then she realized he hadn’t asked her advice, he had asked for understanding.

She frowned. She wasn’t going to just tell him what he wanted to hear. If he wanted that, he should have gone and talked to Mandy or Vicks. Kindred spirits, them.

It took all her self-preservation to stop herself from bludgeoning Otsana to death with a frying pan when she came in half an hour later to smirk at her, dressed in a much-too-small corset that barely contained her…assets…

She knew that the princess only came to gloat about how Jane was the one who finally made her friend furious, instead of Otsana. It irked the blonde to no end, especially with the insinuations that she cared for that stubborn boy as more than a friend. If Otsana was that jealous, then maybe she should stand, smirk, and shake those melons in front of Kabuto instead of her.

But no amount of vintage dresses gives you dignity!
~~~~~
~Kabuto~

Was he really, truly doing this? Peter shivered in his sleep, clutching closer to Jane in their bed, despite his early distaste and disdain for her repetitive deceit towards him. It wasn’t her he was thinking of.

It wasn’t her, and it should be. It shouldn’t be his best friend, the one he’s screwing to help his self esteem. His friend’s esteem, not his. Never his.

The one he’s screwing behind Jane’s back. Well, he’s her friend too, Peter reasoned. Maybe she’d understand. She read all about that psycho-freaky-mindfuck stuff, so she’d understand.

Bullshit, this was wrong, and he and “Kaby-kun” both knew it. No matter how “right” the latter said it felt.
In the beginning, I tried to warn you…

But there really was no other way around it, was there?

Kabuto’s anorexia nervosa that Jane had been so concerned about had graduated to bulimia, and it was all because of that bitch ex-fiancée of his. Kabuto never talked about it, but Peter was a changeling, and a canine at that. He knew how training and conditioning worked. Otti had been doing it since she was a tween, and she was practically the best at it. Punishments for eating consisted of guilt trips, slaps, kicks, isolation, and overall emotional and physical abuse. Rewards were the rare kindnesses and sickly smiles she shot his way. And for what?

She didn’t want him eating. Not for his health, no, not even because he looked good skinny. (No one looks good that skinny.) Because that cruel, bored girl wanted an experiment, some entertainment.

Pete punched his pillow, trying to mute his temper. It wasn’t working. It had been two weeks since he had cracked the code, and used it for his friend’s benefit instead of hindrance. Two weeks since he realized that if Kabuto were reverse trained by someone he cared about equally as intensely, that maybe he would eat, and maybe he would be healthy. Maybe they could beat this disorder. So far, it’d been working. The preliminary technique had been to grant the subject sex once a week if he ate regular meals all week. It didn’t work the first week. It did the second. And now they were half-way through the third, and it looked as though it might be a roller-coaster battle.

What helps is the caring. If Kabuto cares enough for him, then he’ll care about his input, for some twisted reason. So while normally affairs would end because of the presence of emotional ties, this one seemed to be driven more intensely by it.

The problem was that Pete was starting to care too.

You play with fire, it’s gonna burn you.

And it was own fault. Getting into something like this destroyed friends time and time again, without fail.

Now here we are now, same situation…

It was ironic, how this…relationship, or whatever it was…. How its dynamics were as much like a roller-coaster as Kabuto’s eating habits were. Sometimes he’d eat, and they’d go out for a “movie” or to the “library”, before detouring to various hotels. Sometimes he’d overeat, but only throw it back up due to reflex or habit. Those Friday nights were spent holding his hair out of his face as he retched into a toilet. Not fun. And then some weeks he just wouldn’t eat. Those weekends were long stretches of strained, tense silences, as they went out of their ways to ignore each other until ultimately Jane got fed up and ended up taking Kabuto’s side, telling Peter to stop pestering him and punishing him instead of praising him when he did the right thing, that it’s a mental disorder that Peter won’t fix by being cruel.

Since when had his girlfriend become a shrink, he never cared to wonder.

So the motel-toilet-isolating cycles were mirrored in mercurial nature only by the rules of the affair. Peter specifically remembered warning Kabuto that he shouldn’t care for the former, because it only makes thing complicated. Then they used it to their advantage when he ended up ignoring Pete’s simple instruction.

You never listen… I never listen.

And now he was doing it. And it was going to ruin everything. Jane was right. There was nothing they could do for the bulimia, and they couldn’t afford professional help because they were all “undesirables”. Unless they were blessed with some miracle, Kabuto had an expiration date stamped on his ass and there was nothing his friends could do about it, no matter what stupid, mercurial, caring plans they came up with.

But Peter thought maybe, just maybe, if they tried even this stupid thing, that instead of the caring making it harder when the final seconds are counted, maybe, just maybe, they could beat the clock all together.

Maybe, just maybe, he could convince himself that this would save his friend.

It’s a game and we’re all just victims of love.
~~~~
~Ophelia~

Inability to conform to social norms.

Lies and manipulates easily and without guilt.

Feigns emotions more than actually feeling them.
Extreme inability to cope with boredom.

Reputation of thievery and cunning.

Sees their own needs as more important than those of others.

Lack of empathy.

Lack of shame.

Extreme narcissism.

Impulsive and/or impetuous.

Incapable of emotion or love.

Textbook definitions were rarely things to go by faithfully.

She knew full well that she did not have anti-social personality disorder. But she displayed enough of the symptoms to just tell people she was a sociopathic delinquent and they would leave her be.

She wasn’t really the type to make friends easily anyway. She knew full well that she was just a detached child, uninterested in childish ways, and that was considered abnormal. She knew that she was ambitious enough to step on the toes of people and stand on their shoulders to get to where she wanted, and that was considered manipulation. She knew that she could be often callous, awkward, or short and curt, and this was often mistaken for coldness and indifference, and that was considered lack of empathy and emotion. She lied, stole, and made decisions involving others without even their knowledge of thus, and she didn’t care. That was considered lack of shame, of conscience, and of impulse control, as well as of the understanding that the world doesn’t revolve around her. She often dissected animals, already dead of course, just to see how they worked. That was considered animal cruelty and inability to cope with boredom. She wore huge glasses, and dyed her naturally brown hair silver, as though to look like an owl. She held disdain for anyone who thought that beauty was important, or even valuable. That was considered the inability to conform to social norms.

When Tetra and the C-Reich came into her neck of the woods, and brought the Selection Wars with them, she and her friends knew that their parents’ war was now theirs to fight. When Tetra began to underestimate her powers of deduction, her genius, her true brilliance, Ophelia demonstrated the error of that assumption. That was considered narcissism.

When Tetra decided to leave bodies of the children from the boxcar family all over the city with warnings and riddles, when she kidnapped the closest people to Ophelia, the latter simply followed the clues, hoping she’d find the answers to the puzzles before the midnight chime each Thursday night, and if she didn’t, she moved on to the next puzzle, not displaying any depth of feeling that Tetra could perceive as weakness. She ignored anything on the inside, keeping her face so carefully blank as she examined dead, mutilated children, even as Eames, James, Noreen, and Sparrow, their siblings, would weep just behind her. She needed to think, and she couldn’t let attachments slow that down. Thinking was supposed to be a conscious process, but sometimes she ran on automatic. That was considered inability to feel love.

Left the only worries I had in my hands away from the light in my eyes. Holding tight and try not to hide how I feel.

What was considered true and what was true, she soon learned, could be two completely different things. But she never dropped the façade, even when her friends began to pester her for her stoicism. She simply remarked, “Sociopath,” and moved on, considering the matter ended by a reasonable excuse.

What was considered true and what was true, she soon learned, could be two completely different things.

When Jack confronted her, she brushed him off. She considered the matter ended by the impending fifth day of the week.

What was considered true and what was true, she soon learned, could be two completely different things.

When Eames had her pinned against the doorway of the library, she realized the matter was far from ended.

She barely got a word in edgewise as he rained accusations upon her of being as ruthless as Tetra, of being an icy, soulless girl, of not seeing what was really important because she really thought it was all a fun game, and couldn’t she see that these were his brothers and sisters dying in the streets while she screwed around? When she finally cut him off, she didn’t know what to tell him.

’Cause feelings mean nothing, now.

“I told you days ago to look up the definition of anti-social personality disorder, and that that was why!” She finally shouted.

“BULLSHIT! That is such bullshit and you know it, Ophie! You’re not some emo little girl who needs counseling and electro-shock therapy, you don’t have a hindrance, you just don’t have the capacity!” Eames bellowed. They really were attracting a lot of attention, he was much too close to her to be acceptable, he smelled like canvas and cotton candy, and god, were his eyes always this golden?

“I can’t just worry about kids who have already been killed. I can’t stay stuck on them when I have to worry about the ones that will be found the next week, and the one after that! The future is more important right now!” She finally deadpanned.

Now all those feelings, those yesterday’s feelings will all be lost in time. But today, I’ve wasted away, for today is on my mind.

“That doesn’t mean you completely forget about them!” He growled, and she realized for the first time, just how angry, how impossibly angry he was, and how much he was holding back.

“I don’t forget, Eames, I just have more important things to worry about—“ Ophelia faltered, and she saw the tip of the volcano in his eyes, saw that venomous anger beginning to erupt. But the explosion never came. It was as though a cork had been inserted into the opening, and instead of being incinerated by the lava flow, she realized that he was keeping the magma inside.

Hurting himself instead.

He stepped back, shook his head, muttering something about how he never should have bothered, and stalked off.

It was minutes before she realized she was shaking. Was that how she looked when she blanked her own visage? Like a terrifying force of nature that was dying to reign free?

No, she didn’t look like that. She just looked like she could be in the same league as the perpetrator of all these serial killings.

Despite what the boy may have thought, she never forgot any of the faces of the children. They were always there, keeping her up every night.

Close my eyes and move to the back of my mind…

It was too painful to even let her mind meander to the parts of reality that weren’t sugarcoated and stereotyped by considerations.

Cause feelings mean nothing!
~~~~
~Aaron and Jack~

The entire night after Blondie was taken, he sat in his chair, quite motionless, too silent. Not silent enough. He could still hear her words echoing off the chamber walls, haunting any snatches of light sleep he could hang on to.

When it really came down to it, free will was nothing if someone was there leeching off of it. She was as trapped as he was. The only difference was the conflict.
She had it.
He didn’t. At least, that’s what he told himself.

She had hope, so much hope, that she could become more than her predetermined purpose, and that she could be what she deemed “good”. But there was still that part of her too deep to amputate that just wanted to let loose and be….not good, exactly, but free. Witnessing and becoming the first victim to her “freedom” when she was but sixteen years old reminded him that labels were frightfully deceptive.

And still they were there, the remaining words clattering around in his head and all together making quite a racket and wearing out their welcome.

The plea to save her from herself, and the request on the other end of the spectrum that demanded he set her free.

Just once in my life, I think it’d be nice… Just to LOSE CONTROL.

He liked listening to her conflict, only because it was louder than his own.

He never liked to share his toys, and as a child, his possessiveness was something to behold. And just when he had his favorite in his grasp, fate decided to send him another speed-bump.

He had given up his very soul for the deed to the property of her body, and just when he was close enough to touch it, he realized that it wasn’t what he wanted. He hadn’t fallen in love for her exterior.

It’d been for her potential, for her heart, spirit… for everything he didn’t have, he watched her strive to achieve, giving him hope. For once, the hope not that he would make things better, not the hope born of self-pity. For once, he hoped for something outside of this cocoon. He hoped that she could change the world and leave it in the same condition she’d left his.

But in having her, he would ruin it forever. In destroying that innocence by pulling her down to have her, he would, ironically, lose her. Or at least what had really pulled him so magnetically to her. She would lose that passionate light that he so treasured about her. But to let her keep it would mean to let her go.

If I cut you down to a thing I can use… I fear there’ll be nothing good left of you…
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