All the Same || Fleur (Self-Para)
She wasn't really sure what triggered it this time. Sometimes it was a simple touch-- accidentally brushing up against someone in the crowded halls of a school-- or sometimes it was by mistake. Like today, she thought. Today was a normal day. Well, as normal as Christmas in an insane asylum could be. Then again, she spent the last three locked up. Sighing audibly, she waited and waited for her name to be called over the P.A. It was Christmas, after all. Someone had to come to see her, ever since her incarceration, it was as if she no longer existed in the Sawyers' eyes. But this year had to be different, yeah? It'd been three long years.
Fleur sat on the shiny tile floor, her feet crossed over one another, indian style. Her eyes fiercely watched the other patients walking in and out of the visiting room, and she could clearly see the happy patients hugging and greeting loved ones from behind the clear wall that separated the waiting area and the visitation room. She also watched the visitor check in, hoping to glimpse the familiar sight of her father walking in. But it hadn't yet. Yet. It was almost silly how expectant she got, especially now that she hadn't seen him in three years. But what was different now? What would drive the young man to visit his killer of a daughter, the one who took his wife and successfully shattered his life into a million little pieces.
Fleur closed her eyes, a little bit of disappointment washing over her when she heard the crackle of the speaker and a husky female voice announcing the close of visiting hours. It was time for the patients to return to the asylum and start preparing for dinner. But Fleur didn't move. Her mind was long gone, something triggering her strange ability. Her retrocognition, she called it. She remembered reading about it in a comic book when she was little. Like Blindfold, from the Marvel books. It was kind of neat, really. The blond's heartbeat slowed down, and her breathing seemed to come to a stop. Anyone walking by would simply assume the girl had fallen asleep sitting up, and wouldn't try to wake her. Attempting to wake her would prove futile, as her body seemed almost lifeless if you were to shake her. But she was alive, and she was well.
Fleur was no longer in Pennhurst, mentally. She was at her home, flung back to the day of the murder. Something she relived quite often, actually. This wasn't just a flashback. Fleur was literally reliving the moment all over again. Nothing was blocked out of her memory, nothing was remembered wrong, it was literally the same exact day, all over again. It used to bother the small blond, but she'd seen it so many times it was almost numbing now. It was like she was standing on the sideline, invisible, watching herself, unable to stop anything or intervene. Just like usual.
It started with her father walking out of the kitchen, two mugs of what looked like hot chocolate in his hands. He would bend down, and give it to the older blond woman sitting on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. It all played out the way she knew it would. And then something would happen, and young Fleur would come sulking down the staircase. A strange, almost blank look on her face. The rest was history. The screaming, the slicing, the crying, the begging. She'd heard it so much, it seemed dreamlike. This wasn't real, this wasn't real. And it all ended the same, too. The police practically tackling the small girl to the ground, young Fleur screaming for the voices to stop, all the same.
Until she snapped out of it, her eyes fluttering open as if just waking up from a peaceful sleep, but not feeling the same. She woke up just as tired, just as disturbed, just as crazy. She wasn't sure what time it was, but the lights were dim and no one was around. So, Fleur picked herself up off the floor and drug herself back up to her room, defeated and mentally exhausted. Everything was quiet, though, for once. As it always was after she woke up. And Fleur could fall asleep good, for once. Christmas wasn't all it was cracked up to be, anymore.
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