Hunted

Three: Coping

Charlotte Owens traced a line down her forehead with her finger, trying to pin point the exact point of her headache. There was a pounding behind her eyes and a sharp pain shooting across her temple. After countless nights of sleep evading her, she was exhausted. She sat on the sofa in the small, tidy living area of the apartment Matt had rented for them, with her chin resting on her knees.

She was dressed in jeans and a knitted jumper that was too big on her, but she didn't care. The clock in the corner was ticking too loudly, the refrigerator humming too noisily, and the traffic below was picking away at her worn nerves.

Charlotte started chewing her nails, a habit she had never had before. They were already bitten down painfully short, but it was a distraction, a repulsive distraction. Coupled with her headache was the anxious knot in her stomach – her knew constant companion. She had tried to settle on its cause during her hours of loneliness cooped up in the small apartment. Guilt, stress, fear, anger all seemed reasonable guesses. Matthew Desmarais was an ardent believer in the fact she was suffering from stress. Charlotte reckoned that was what he needed to think was the reason of her current state.

Charlotte had other thoughts though. She was beginning to wonder if it may be another aspect of her psyche. Charlotte could feel the power of her alterations beginning to take over, once more. She knew she had ignored them for too long and her handle on them was beginning to weaken – too much of her wanted to experience something other than anger and guilt. She wanted to feel exhilarated, powerful, terrifying.

Yet, it was impossible. If she let go the way she wanted to, to feel a person's own mind snap under the mental pressure she caused them to experience, she would destroy them – she could destroy many. She feared she would hurt Matt.

She pressed her teeth down on her lower lip until she felt skin breaking, a wave of revulsion and guilt washing over her. A part of her wanted to hurt Matt, wanted to make him feel small and insignificant and it wasn't her alteration. She was still so bitterly frustrated and angry with what they had done, with how they had deceived her. She felt dreadfully helpless, alone in an unknown world, a world where she was a freak, a monster. At least on Kingston she wasn't alone in her abilities, but here, what she was, what she could do was inconceivable.

Despite her anger and her abysmal mood, Matt had been good to her, patient and kind. He was risking everything to protect her, to rescue her and she was repaying him by being sullen and distant. She wasn't deliberately unkind to him, not all of the time, but she found it so difficult to be how she had been when they were on the island. She found it difficult to be the person she had been before. She felt helpless and alone, too distant from the enemies she had once faced to be of any use and very aware that other enemies might be already pressing down on her. She felt ashamed that she was free of the persecution she had once endured, free of Elmhirst, when James, Iseult, Ian and all the others were still there, trapped in the horrific game where they were the pawns feeding a war machine so much bigger than they could ever imagine.

The thought of her friends sent a hollow ache echoing through her chest. The thought of James made the knot in her stomach tighten even more, until she felt she might throw up. He had rescued her, forcing her away, banishing her. She could feel her anger raise its ugly head, making her desperate to lash out at something. Without thinking she grabbed the bowl containing her untouched lunch and flung it against the far wall, the porcelain splintering and scattering noisily all over the tiles on the floor.

"What am I doing here?" she cried to herself, the tears suddenly flowing unabated down her cheeks, sob after sob raking through her chest, painful and hollow. She felt useless, an utter waste of space. So desperate to back in a world she knew, in a world where she belonged.