threat & freedom

his face is utterly transformed, twisted by fury and loathing, and I can no longer see any trace of what I loved. the veins on his forehead bulge, his lips twist in a sneer. all I can think is how to het him out of here, how to escape. we're standing in a hotel room with many doors and windows. finally he storms out, and I'm rushing around trying to fasten all the locks-- but there are too many ways in, and I know he'll be back. sure enough he finds an unlocked door I've missed and is advancing on me, venting further spleen-- but I've heard him coming and managed to dial the front desk for help. I only wonder if they'll arrive in time-- he's right there, towering over me, and I cry out for help-- just in time they're there, right outside the window, firing through it-- I watch the explosion and the wounds bloom on him, and as he crumples, although I'm relieved, all I can think is, oh no, he didn't really deserve that-- and it's my fault.

I'm tagging along behind her out of the club when she runs into him-- he's giving her offhand orders before he slouches off, too cool for himself-- I'm appalled and ask her why she takes that treatment-- I ask her why she's referred to as "the unit," and she shrugs and says he gave her that name-- and I say, why not get rid of it? so we rename and reinvent her, and soon she's headlining. I watch her bloom under the spotlight, her voice swelling as she soars through the air on a trapeze swing in perfect orchestration.