Burnt

by Poi Lass

Alaska.

She came here to be alone. Seemed a good place to go for that, far from all the places they'd lived.

Far from the place they both died.

And the cold, too. Somehow she finds that comforting, ice against the desert she is inside now. The wasteland. Inner landscape, burnt and broken when the link snapped.

Her friends came after her of-course, wanting to comfort her, wanting to offer support, help, love, love. She told them to go away. And when they wouldn't listen, she... made them. Unethical. Reprehensible, wasn't it?

Once she would've cared.

"Why are you here?" She asks finally. It seems if she doesn't speak, her visitor won't. Will just stand there watching her, with that curious smile. So. Speak.

"I came to offer my condolences. I thought it only appropriate, all things considered." The voice is cruel, bitter, sarcastic, of-course. And yet -

"How did you know that - that he..."

"Don't be a fool Jean. I felt it of-course." Casual. Arrogant. And yet -

"...Did you? I didn't think you still... cared."

"I didn't. I don't. Does it really matter now?" Cold. Offhand. And yet -

"...No." Soft. So blank. "Nothing much seems to anymore." Silence. Then -

"Poor Jean. You really are just drowning in self-pity, aren't you? Feel empty inside, do you? Feel lost and alone? Not that I'd know what that feels like." That, at least, gets a reaction.

"Don't mock me. Don't you dare -" She rises, she moves. She stops. Silent again. Calm. Empty. She isn't angry. Can't be angry.

Doesn't dare be angry.

"I ... apologise." Her visitor says. Doesn't mean it of-course. Voice is silk. Mocking. And yet - and yet - yet -

"...You loved him too, once. I know."

"Long after he stopped loving me. If he ever did at all. But not any more."

"I - I don't think I really believe that."

"Believe what you like. Or what - is this compassion, Jean? A little late for that, isn't it? Since you were the one that destroyed my life in the first place. Since you took everything I ever had. Well now you have nothing. Now you're the one with nothing, with the hole where your life was, where your love was. With the gaping, empty future stretching out in front of you, which you will spend entirely, utterly, alone.

"So, how are you enjoying it so far?" Fury. Old, old fury. Bitterness. Hatred. They've been here before. Nothing new.

"...So you just came here to - gloat."

"What were you expecting? Sympathy? Understanding? Compassion?"

"Something... less petty."

". . ."

"I think you'd better go now Madelyne." Strength now. Where did that come from? Steel in her voice. Thought it was all gone.

But Madelyne sits instead. Crosses her legs, neat, clean. Senuous perfection in black leather. Strange, sophisticated counterpoint to Jean, who everyday wraps herself in his tee-shirts, and will not wash them, for fear of losing his smell. Who stands near the chair she was curled in. Eyes like black holes.

Madelyne smiles. What she always wanted, Jean brought as low as her. Jean hurting. Jean desolate. Jean alone.

And yet - it is not quite the thrill she always expected it to be.

"What else do you want? Me dead? Fine. Kill me." Angry. She isn't angry. Mustn't be angry. Dares not be...

"I'd rather watch you suffer." Not the thrill she was expecting.

"Then watch. Am I doing okay? Is my grief entertaining enough for you? Would you like to see me cry, Maddie? I think I still have some tears left... somewhere..." Angry. That sounded angry, didn't it? And Madelyne ignores it. Foolishly.

"...I had everything. It was all so perfect. I had a husband. And a son. And a beautiful life. It was so perfect -- it hurt."

It still does.

"And then you ripped it all away. And I wept, and I grieved - and then I got angry. I wanted it all back, but I knew I could never have it, so in the end, I settled for revenge instead. And it was enough. It was more than enough."

No, it wasn't.

"And so I want you to hurt, I want you feel what I felt, and I'm glad, Jeannie, I am so glad, that you are finally feeling it too - "

Rant ends with a slap in the face.

Yes.

Definitely angry.

"Shut. Up. Just shut the fuck up Madelyne." Incandesantly angry. "You always whine, don't you, about how much I took from you. You go on, and on, about how much you hate me." Deliriously, joyously angry. Don't do it. Don't say it...

"Don't you know how much I hated you?" No.

"You took from me too. You took everything. Scott was mine first, they were my friends, it was my life, Madelyne. And you moved in and took it while I was gone. While I was dead...

"And then I came back, I came all the way back from the fucking dead, and I wanted it all back. I didn't have anything, I'd lost everything and I wanted - it - back!" Madelyne's face: shock there, and something else -

"And God, I hated you. I was only gone minutes, so far as I could tell, and they could say it was months and years but I was only gone fucking minutes, and already I'd been replaced." Anger there, and something else -

"And I'd always thought I mattered more than that. I thought I was more than just a face, and a body. I thought I was something unique, and individual, and loved for myself, but there you were, and he loved you, they all loved you, when all we had in common was the face, and so I hated you." Oh. The thrill she was looking for.

"And I hated me, for hating you, because I knew, whoever, whatever you were, it wasn't your fault." The thrill she was expecting.

"And I had to be fair to you, didn't I. I had to be just. Poor Maddie. Poor, lost, left Maddie. You bitch. I took your man? I took your life? Well, Maddie, just keep in mind that you started it."

Yes. Yes. Angry.

The thrill she was expecting.

And... angry...

"Oh Jean, my dear sister. I always knew you had it in you."

"Had what?" And brittle. And furious. On the edge. Words like daggers. She could throw this woman into space. She could do it. She's seriously thinking about it, and that frightens her.

Not as much as it should.

"Hate. Bitterness. Anger. The dark side of us, Jeannie, that I embraced - and you always tried to pretend didn't exist." Self-righteous bitch.

"No, I didn't." Self-righteous bitch. "That's just a myth you tell yourself to fuel your self pity, Jean the perfect, Jean the light side." Contempt. Madelyne isn't the only one with a fine handle on that. "I always knew the darkness was there Madelyne, even before you came along to rub my face in it. I just didn't give in to it." So angry now. So dangerous.

So dangerously close to not caring.

"...Give in now."

"What?" Closer.

"Give in. Why not? Stop playing the heroine. The happy homemaker. Stop being so ... good. Let the anger out, Jeannie. Let all it all... hang loose. Be yourself. Your true self."

"Go back to hell Madelyne." Closer. "Where you belong."

"Oh no, hell belongs to you now, Jeannie. You're the lost, left one now. I have a new life. I'm the one that got reborn this time around. You're the one living in the hell of being alone. And I know how you feel Jean. Exactly, down to the last, hideous detail, how you feel. And do you know, I'm not sure I can even hate you anymore? Because suddenly you're so much like me..." And suddenly, it sounds so much like grief... And then,

"So, Jeannie," doesn't. "Tell me. Do you want revenge too? Do you want to hurt the ones who took from you too? Do you want to make the world hurt, so it knows how you feel?" And then, "Do you?" Warm. Sensual.

"No."

"I'm not convinced, Jean."

"And I'm not you, Madelyne." Vicious, cruel, all the things she's not supposed to know how to be. "You were sick, and sad, and twisted by Sinister and demons until you didn't know who or what you were. And I'm sorry for that, still, I truly am, even though every time you've had a choice since, you chose the same again." And Madelyne does not get to interrupt, here, this. "But I - am - nothing - like - you. I know who I am. I know what I am." Strong. Sure.

"I know what you are too, Jean." Amused. "Alone."

And suddenly weak again. "I'm not you. I'm never going to be like you." Weak again, suddenly not so strong, so sure. And angry, and so angry, and so close...

"You're already like me. Why not make it official? Why not?" Oh, why not? "I don't hurt anymore Jean. Don't you want to stop hurting too? I know this is awfully cliched, but - join me. There's no reason for us to be enemies anymore." Mockery, commiseration. "After all, we're equals now, aren't we." Cruelty, compassion. "And you have nothing left to lose, now."

"Except my soul." Bitterness, self mockery, never her style. So much closer...

"What use is half a soul?" And there.

The edge.

The snap.

The falling,

the breaking, the setting free, the letting go. The irony, since, for once, Madelyne does not really mean the words to cut. She says them lightly, on reflex only.

Habit.

A bad habit. She should've broken it.

There's another reason Jean chose Alaska.

The explosion destroys the house.

Rocks the town.

Is felt for miles.

Kills no-one it wasn't intended to.

And she burns.

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