a dance of doves & crows ( jonathan crane )

scars and subversions .

notes: HEY SORRY D,: i needed a break from jules and jon for a second there, just so i didn't get burnt out to oblivion. jules' painful awkwardness , however, pulls me back ! love you so much queen keep doing ur thing

prepare for her messy, emotional ramblings! its a much shorter chap because its build up to jons next :) which will be :) longer :) to say the least :)

song of the chapter: thy mission - the garden

Perhaps she had finally lost herself to her madness, because Jules was finding very few legitimate reasons to continue staying calm. Her hands never really were still, even on a good day, but now they couldn't be trusted to do anything. They were useless trembling that much.

"Jules."

She hums as a response to Doctor Jonathan Crane, the remnants of joy still lingering in her mind. Her ribs mildly ached from the laughing fit she shared with a friend only a few hours before. Except now, things didn't seem so funny.

Her joy had very quickly been corrupted into anger, actually.

It was kind of like a cosmically ironic slap in the face. To feel the after effects of normalcy, of safety, but being completely and totally on edge. Permanently feeling like she could be attacked at any time, only occasionally being distracted. If she were to make one wrong step, she'd be right back where she started half a year ago.

All because of who sat in front of her.

There the center of her dream sat, typically clinical in his seat behind his desk. Calling her name patiently and trying to snap her back to reality. God, she dreamt of punching him. At least once. Jules isn't sure why she doesn't just do it.

She couldn't look at him. She didn't want to see the uncomfortably familiar blue gaze, nor his glasses, nor his stupid suit and how well it framed his torso.

On a normal day, she'd be able to describe his suit and tie combo. Jules would be able to point out patterns about which ties he pairs with what blazer. He liked the maroon tie with his brown suit, or the deep gray suit and a black tie. He'd repeat those a lot. They always made him look so...

Doctor Crane.

Today, she would come up empty on her suit analysis. No results. She hadn't looked at him even once since being escorted into his office, hence him repeatedly calling her name.

Was he wearing the gray, or the black today? Maybe even the dark brown?

Crane was trying to get her to look at him. Or, at the very least, trying to get her attention. He wouldn't fucking stop trying to get her attention. His life didn't depend on it, she had no idea why he was trying so hard.

But everything in her told her to avoid him like the plague, eye contact included. Was it fear of intimacy, or discomfort with her own mind? Was she scared of him?

No. No way she'd admit that one, even to herself. She just hated him, is all. Him and his stupid hands. Hated them.

She just kept her eyes glued to the ground, picking out small things to keep from focusing on the man in front of her. Jules' rubber-soled blue socks stood out against the dark gray carpet. Her hair was growing fine, but she felt like she needed a trim soon. Maybe she'd braid her hair up today in Quinzel's office.