shattered souls won't mend themselves (supercorp au)

the fall, the catch

//Kara POV//

It was... an interesting sight, to say the least.

When I had returned to my room, feeling triumphant in my efforts to make a person out of Lena Luthor, I expected a night of peace (as much peace as I could get without going to sleep; I still didn't trust my own brain to let me have a moment of serenity.)

I can tell you what I did not expect. I did not expect a barely contained scream erupt from the other side of my thin, plain wall. What I expected even less was an entire fist, evidently having destroyed the perpetrator's side of the wall and reappearing on my side.

I let out a barely contained scream of my own (I've always been quite easily frightened.) Surprisingly, there was no noise coming from the other room. I was admittedly curious, I mean, anyone in this circumstance would be, right?

The moment I decided I was no longer curious was the moment I caught green eyes peering into my own through the fresh hole in the wall.

Oh. My. God.

There were no confrontations. No exchanges. I didn't come out of my room, and she didn't come out of hers. Even when they came in to repair the wall, I stayed. I had too much on my mind for them to really be a bother to me anyways.

Was I the reason why?

Did I manage to gain that much power over Lena?

Or was I giving myself too much credit? I didn't know whether to believe that I, a so called "pathetic girl" (by Lena's own words,) would have really been the gasoline on the fire that was Lena's emotions.

Alex always told me that I over-thought too much. She always warned me when I was obsessing over minute details that did not matter to the world (but they mattered to me.) Alex was gone, but her words stuck with me. She was gone, but she was still right.

I'm thinking too much.

(So is that why for just a moment, my brain stopped thinking altogether?)

Again, like the night after my first confrontation with Lena, (when I couldn't stop thinking about the way she got into my head, the way she made me feel so small,) I froze where I stood. I could feel my knees wobble, but I was helpless to do anything about it.

Ringing in my ears. Screams.

Light in my eyes. Flames.

Screams and flames and heat and explosion and glass and me falling to the ground, trying to escape it all.

Again, like the night it first happened, it lasted for only a few seconds (but hadn't it lasted for only a fraction of a second the first time?)

When my eyes snapped back to the front of my head, I found that I was kneeling on the ground, my knees seemingly unable to carry my weight for that brief moment. My breathing is uneven (why was it so irregular?) as I rise to my feet again, pacing around the room once before I place myself on the edge of my bed. I realized that I didn't remember falling.

What I do remember is that on both occurrences, I was investing all my thoughts into Lena.

It may be a coincidence. But what if it's not?

Maybe I need to not think so much (about her.)

//

Maybe I need to not think so much (about her.)

Evidently, I'm not good at "maybe." I wouldn't call it obsessive (anyone else would.) No, I would call it passionate. Dedicated, even.

It took dedication to do what I do. To stay up all night in order to escape the past. To hold a piece of paper just inches away from your face, analyzing every shade, every line, every bit of detail that was put into the art. To bear through hand cramps and disappointment when the piece doesn't turn out the way you had hoped. It certainly took dedication, and I think I have just a little too much.