Greenroom XVII

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1986

Orihime Inoue was a special child.

Canonically, in the original Play, she grew up in an extremely physically abusive home. Her mother was a prostitute that had a horrid habit of taking out her frustrations on Orihime and becoming excessively jealous of Orihime's innocence and youth. Her father was a raging alcoholic that destroyed his liver as much as he destroyed Orihime's ability to healthily cope with violence.

Orihime didn't deal with violence, the threat of her death, or pain in a good manner.

She denied it.

She repressed it.

She ignored it.

People who were cruel or violent to her were not at fault.

They were like her parents.

How could she hate them, when she couldn't hate her parents?

She shut down, in a sense, when surrounded by rage and violence. At times, she could be a strong woman standing up for herself, and other times she found herself unable to move or speak like a helpless child.

She herself never acknowledged the core issue, dismissing herself as too weak.

Dismissing her trauma, her scars, her pain as something unimportant.

Perhaps if she had dealt with it in the original Play, she would have been adjusted enough to do more.

Hard to say, since it never happened.

She could never bring herself to put anger or violence in her actions. Again, she would never, ever admit to herself or others why this was the case. Always so terribly quick to call herself too pathetic, or weak to do anything.

In truth, she was fucking terrified.

Not of the people who attacked her, but of herself.

Only those who grew up in households like hers could truly understand, could truly feel the heart-stopping terror of: What if I become like them?

What if she gave in to her anger and became her father? Became her mother?

What if she indulged in her rage and in the process she hurt those she cared about?

She couldn't—wouldn't—allow that. That was something worse than death, worse than anything life could throw at her. She would rather be beaten, tortured, and murdered than become like them. Her raw, freezing cold, terror overrode everything else in her heart, forever damaging it into a barely pieced together glass ball.

Yelling was not acceptable.

Losing her temper was not acceptable.

Being angry was not acceptable.

Giving in to any of this would destroy her.

So Orihime did not fight back.

But now?

Now she has me.

And she was going to fight back.

(◕▾◕✿)

(◕▾◕✿)

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