#I'm always rabid for feedback but for this I would really really appreciate reactions

[one-of-us-must-be-crazy]

6?

things you said under the stars and in the grass

What up, this got super dark! I recently found out that the little bitch of a mental problem I have stems from ~trauma~ according to science, and becuase Ripley clearly hasn’t suffered enough, I played around with some of the symptoms of this ~absolute bullshit~ illness. Anyhow, vague references to ideation and intrusive thoughts of s*lf harm, so…read with care? Don’t worry too much, I know ya’ll come here for the cute shit and there’s plenty of that too.

“We don’t have to go home,” Ripley says, angry at herself for using the word ‘home’ instead of Luna and implying her preference of locale. Angry, too, that she grew roots, angry that she was satisfied when she only ever had been a drifter, leaving the second that things felt safe and warm, preferring the honesty of the cold detachment to past jobs, neighbors, and various places. 

“You’re very strange, you know.” It’s a kind way to phrase ‘absolute headcase’ and she knows well that he wouldn’t ever call her that, or think it, but she knows too that it’s true. A plethora of complexes and traumas and fears that make her once short fuse a non-existent one. 

Anymore she’s a pile of gunpowder in a world of small fires, and just two days ago she dropped the (plastic) sugar jar over coffee and began screaming, shaking in anger and rage that felt like it materialized out of thin air, so much awfulness coming out that she didn’t think she could stop, knowing it was absurd, knowing she was having a temper-tantrum like a child, but if she stopped screaming a string of profanities aimed at the jar, at herself, at the whole fucking satellite, she thought for sure she’d implode, guts boiling over. 

They had already chosen the dates for a camping trip, a first trip to Terra (dumb as hell, she knew that too, to take him to the middle of fucking nowhere instead of some city, some cultural center where he could see humanity and maybe learn something, feel something. Maybe she was afraid his intelligence and curiosity would take away his focus from her, unlike here where he’d be forced even closer to her, and sure she’s the first to deny that he’s a PA program, but really what was she using him for? 

Ripley loved this wonderful person, yes, but there was always that nasty cloud in the back of her head that reminded her she loved the way Chris treated her, and loved the attention and dedication, and maybe that was why this person so far removed from anything she’d ever wanted before appealed to her so much.

“Why do you say that?” she says, the racing thoughts making her words faster to make up for the time between what he said and when she answered, anxious that it was too long, knowing logically it was just a moment.

“Becuase you’re still under a great deal of mental duress, and you choose to sleep in a tent that provides only minimal shelter, and spend your time with me, still, after over a year of being back in human company. Becuase you’re offering a computer with legs the choice of where you spend your future.” 

She considers his words, spoken with an admiration close to hero-worship, a distant form of love she has to keep pulling him back from, she’s only a human, and a very poor one at that. This hatred of nothing, maybe of herself, definitely of herself, possibly of other things, but this raging blind hatred that forms a drastic black cloud over so many slight inconveniences, that turned her world into stark extremes (he’s late, clearly he’s not coming home, go fuck yourself, it’s your fault, you should just–), perhaps she’s always had it.

You have to have something foul in your shriveled heart to have murdered again and again without immediate feeling (but I didn’t, I hurt so horribly with fear and grief each time I thought I would fall over), without remorse (every day, every fucking day, I feel it). 

A machine programmed to be dedicated to its owner is the only thing that ever stayed around you. 

The last thing that she wants is to be touched right now, but oblivious to what she’s containing in her head, aware that whatever is going on in his mind is likely of an unpleasant nature too, she doesn’t fight off when he reaches out and takes her hand in his, a little tighter than what would be considered comfortable. 

“Hard to think of it, isn’t it?” he breaks her silence again, and she doesn’t care, doesn’t give a fuck what he’s doing with this bullshit small talk, can’t they–

“What?”

“Luna. The moon. Seen from down here as humans only ever saw it, and to think there’s a city there now, sprawling, an expansive training base….our home. All contained in that silver glow.”

“Pearl.”

“Pardon?”

“Every fucking poet and shit alway wanted to call the moon silver, and it’s not, it’s fucking pearl, it’s one lonely sad little orb on the horizon and–”

“Amanda?” He sits up onto his elbows, and Amanda forces her eyes shut against the burn of angry tears.

“Fuck. Sorry. It’s not silver.”

“No,” he says softly, lying back down, “I suppose it isn’t.”

“If you like it better here, we don’t have to go back.” She says it out of duty, out of consideration, because this kind and patient man deserves the world and he’s trapped himself with her, and they’re out here looking at stars like they’re young and ignorant that there are monsters out there, and every moving speck of light could be carrying them like a fucking plague ship full of ghosts, corpses, and demons. Later he’ll surprise her with something else, like the wine he had brought last night, or the popcorn he taught himself to make over a fire their first night, and then he’ll climb into the two sleeping bags they had zipped together, hold her like she’s something special and–

“Would you like to go home?” he asks her, ignoring her previous question.

“Why the hell would we cut this trip short?”

“You haven’t been….You aren’t yourself this week, maybe resting in your own bed could be better for you?”

Whatever God that could be that could ever give a shit about her worthless soul still help her, she almost told Samuels to fuck himself.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,”

“I feel like this all the time, it’s always there, even if it’s not loud it’s just…fucking there like some annoying white noise and yes, I’m myself right now, becuase this is what I am. A fucked up asshole.”

“I’m not going to debate with you on that, or argue about how you feel. I’ll never know, I never could know. I haven’t seen what you have or done what you’ve had to do without choice, or lived the life you have, but I’ve seen you smile and laugh, and I’ve seen you light up with joy like stars,” she’s still looking at the sky, afraid to look at him, so angry and so scared at once that it feels like something is eating at her heart and for a terrified second she puts her hand over her chest to feel if something’s about to claw out of it.

She glimpses to the side; he’s still focused on the sky too.

“Amy,” he inches closer to her, and it makes her feel like a cornered animal.

“What?”

“If I told you that you were coming down with the flu, would you allow me to take care of you, assist you in caring for yourself, or take you for professional human medical attention?”

“Not this analogy again,”

“You’re broken, that doesn’t mean you can’t be helped, or mended entirely.”

The bubble of anger is about to burst, and she came close to hitting him once in the past, lashing out becuase he was unlucky enough to be there and ask her to stop screaming.

“I don’t want to talk about it, I really don’t,” she was suddenly all too hot, and sat up enough to take off her sweater, dressed down to her sports bra and shorts. 

“You’ll freeze,”

“You’re warm enough,” she said, the closest thing to affection she could state right now, and when she didn’t flinch at his further motions to approach, he wriggled up against her, moving his arm so she could rest her head on his shoulder–harder than the autumn ground, but at least warmer than it was.

“You’re a good person, love. I’ve met so many bad ones, I would know,” he said, and kissed the top of her head softly.