martyr complex has entered the chat
@avbeom
at this point, olivia’s pretty sure she deserves an entire bag of jolly ranchers and at least two reese cups with all the good decisions she’s been making. first off, she didn’t die, even though bone-deep exhaustion can only be cured with the eternal sleep. second, she didn’t kill anyone. and third, she held up positive human interaction. she didn’t dissociate even once.
if her therapist’s still alive they’re going to a have a fuckton to talk about next week.
she’s not entirely sure the flying guy wasn’t a hallucination but honestly, she counts it as a win that she knows when to pick her battles.
the boots she stole makes her ankles hurt and she’s tempted to try and find her alternate self just to get some clothes that goddamn fit. maybe they can swap trauma reduction strategies? olivia’s pretty sure there’s no version of her in any universe that doesn’t lead a complete shit-show of an existence.
she meanders into the cafeteria, hating every step, and stops so hard she rocks on her feet. her nostrils flare and she spins in a circle, amping up her olfactory gland and squinting hard.
“beom?” she breathes, darting through disheveled kids and bewildered staff.
it feels like someone’s punched her in the neck. her throat has collapsed. everything hurts and she’s dying.
olivia looks down at him, feeling thoroughly overloaded with emotion, “you fucking idiot,” she snarls, squatting next to him and immediately assessing damage, “you reckless goddamn moron.”
he’s bleeding heavily from his arm and looks like someone’s hit him in the head with sisyphus’s boulder. knowing beomseok, that probably is in no way an exaggeration. leave it to captain america’s incarnate to pick a fight with a greek god and expect not to lose.
“i left you alone for five minutes.”