Fill Me Up; Bring Me Down // {Christian}

S P E A K I N G // T H I N K I N G

"Hmm, no matter then, cardiac arrest might turn out to be a blessing."

Smoothly, he wiped the whole where he had stuck the needle, a drop of blood blending in with his skin tone. He should put a band aid on it, but there are a lot of things that Christian should do, and he still hasn't deigned to do them. As he dumped the needle in the waste chute in the wall, the young lady began laughing. Bewildered, he looked back at her, craning his neck around, one hand still on the chute's pedal. Mostly when people were around him they were either angry, or they were about to get angry at him. That's how Chris liked it too, no need to let people feel chummy with him when he'd be leaving or they would. But he had barely spoken to Psyche and she was laughing.

It wasn't a bad laugh either as far as laughs go. To Christian, who had only collected a few laughs in his lifetime, it sounded a bit like china glass. Their was a fuzzy memory from when he was younger, and an old wine glass had tipped off the table. He remembered the liquid inside splashing everywhere as it had fallen in slow motion, and the way the stem broke first, like the neck of a flower. And then the shattering of glass against the old wooden flooring, resulting in tiny pitches screaming across the ground in exuberant freedom. He remembered being clumsy for the next few weeks, just to hear the sound of the glass breaking again, it had seemed so beautiful to him. The sound still seemed lovely now.

Shaking his head, he turned to look at the shoot again. Laying his hand carefully on the lid, it felt like he was touching air. Even then, air didn't have a feel to it. It would take some time to take affect, but maybe it wouldn't at all. Spinning back on his heel, he leaned against the counter again, regarding the woman in front of him. His first thought that she was pretty stuck with him, a slender jaw and neck, with wide eyes and soft looking lips. By soft he meant that if he pressed his to her's they might yield. Quietly, he pulled out a white topped stool, the one that was least damaged. There were a few scorch marks on the rim, but it was safe to sit on. It would be safe for her if it was for him. He placed it down and offered it to her, pulling himself up onto the counter.

So seemed she had a lot of sisters. At least six, from what she counted off. Of course, Christian could have heard wrong, but it did seem weird to ostracize her with a different sound at the beginning of her name. Or maybe Psyche was just a nickname given to her when she was little and she thought it was her real name. Maybe she had been abandoned in her own special way, by a family that didn't understand her, and left her to her own devices. Either way, it was all very interesting.

When she finished speaking, she lay her hand down just above her knee, and it drew Christian's attention. He found himself wondering what it would be like to feel a connection between skin and skin, to know what it was like to feel yourself. Christian might as well be walking through air, and be made out of it when it came to it. He had no fucking clue of what it even felt like to lick his lips. He only knew that if he slipped his tongue out every now and then, people wouldn't look at him weird when blood ran down his chin from cracked lips. It was as if he were wrapped up in a giant bubble. No one could ever tell him they understood. Feeling frustration beginning to boil, he focused on her question, wishing he could reach out and push her hair behind her ear before she dislodged it herself. He wondered what soft was.

"Just give it a few more minutes," and his hands were shaking, he'd noticed the way his pinky was flicking a minute before. It was the beginning, then they could really test. "I assume that Christian is my name because my mother and father are idiots. It means a blind follower of some religion. Ridiculous really, because I don't believe in anything but science, and even then, it's impossible to follow someone when blind because you cannot see, obviously." In annoyance, he turned and picked up a vial used in the day's experiment, not liking the way his voice had risen by the time he had finished talking. He didn't normally let himself get so worked up. "Sorry," he murmured, vial slipping from between his shaking fingers to land with a tinkle on the ground, reminiscent of a wine glass.