when worlds collide [Cass]

With a nod of his head Patch gestured toward one of the doors, moving through it to wander into whatever torture chamber lied behind it. She untwisted the knots in her stomach and settled her quivering nerves with a long sigh, and without hesitation stepped into the room while maintaining a careful watch on Patch in case he decided to try any funny business. As soon as she entered the large expanse of empty space she halted in her footsteps and gaped at what wasn’t supposed to appear so surprising in her mind. Weapons surrounded her at every angle, propped against the walls in such a vast variety she wouldn’t know where to start if he offered her a choice. She had, of course, predicted that the information she had promised to hold secret was a selection of stolen weapons, but she hadn’t expected to see so many of them. She also hadn’t expected the presence of three, manufactured straw dummies to occupy the space near the back of the room, scratched and deformed from previous poundings. The room was what appeared to be a living room, but with one of the walls demolished to provide more free space and access to the bedroom without a door. It was a strange sight indeed.

Indigo hadn’t thought he would actually allow her access to the entire selection of weaponry. How was she supposed to decide? There were so many to choose from, even weapons she’d never seen before. Weapons she didn’t want to touch in fear of dropping them on her feet and mangling her ankles. Should she try something swift and narrow, like a knife? Or something larger and more intimidating? She contemplated this for a moment as she approached one of the far walls and examined a few of the finer-looking weapons. According to him, whatever she picked he would teach her how to use. Sounded easy enough. ”How about this?” She wrapped her dainty hand around the hilt of a rather large sword whose blade was nearly as tall as she was, and removed it from its position against the wall. What she hadn’t anticipated when she compulsively decided to lift it was it’s weight, and as soon as it was in the air it dropped to the ground dragging her arm with it. The tip of the blade clanged against the floor, and with two hands she could only drag it along and clumsily raise it only slightly. Cheeks flushed, she scowled at the thing and began searching for something else. ”Maybe not,” she muttered irritably.

Another weapon caught her eye just then. Unable to lift the sword with one hand, she dragged it across the floor behind her as she reached for a dagger propped upon one of the corners of the room. Perhaps the sword was too heavy and elongated for her to handle safely and elegantly, but with the dagger in hand she felt familiar surge of power tingling through her fingertips similar to the sensation she experienced the day she was attacked - the day Patch saved her life. She recalled feeling the rough texture of the handle beneath her fingers as she pointed it at Patch and watched its silver glint blossom beneath the sunlight. A dagger - it was perfect. It suited her weak build and tiny hands; it was small yet lethal, which was exactly what she wanted to be. Yes, this would do. ”This one. I choose this one.”

Indigo’s small cheeks burned with rosy wildfire emanating from the fury and humiliation buried within. Her slight struggle with the heavy sword had earned a snort from the cruel, haughty Patch who hadn’t bothered to warn her of its weight - not that she would expect him to, anyways, what with him being a twisted sadist and all. He had probably waited patiently for her to screw up and nearly slice her foot off with the damn thing, the bastard. With a fierce huff of anger she abruptly dropped the sword and listened to the metal clang against the floor as she examined the dagger and sensed Patch approaching her from behind. If he was going to chortle at her failures, then fine, she would just have to improve and show him that she wasn’t a girl to be mocked. She would master the art of knife-wielding and prove just how dangerous she could be when provoked. Hiding her flushed cheeks she angled the blade forward to watch it glisten beneath the light, just like the one that man had been holding against her throat. Except this one, she could tell, was more deadly.

Patch’s large form appeared in her peripheral vision, prompting her to look up as the excess blood finally emptied out of her cheeks. As he grabbed his own dagger of choice she felt her grip around the handle tighten, her body physically anticipating a sudden movement or attack. She watched him cautiously for a moment, arms stiff at her sides, and took notice of the way he stared at the weapon as if there were nothing more beautiful in the world. For a moment she wondered if he was going to go against his word and attack her with the lethal blade, forcing her to defend herself if such an idea was even possible. However, he made no such abrupt or unexpected movements toward her, and instead parted his lips to speak to her with another grin plastered onto his malicious features. His attitude change for an instant as he described just what exactly she was going to do before he taught her anything. What she noticed was something she hadn’t predicted; passion. Well, of course the boy reveled in the thought of hurting other people, so an admiration for weapons would not unusual for him. What she was seeing, though, was a bit different. He wasn’t acting mean or nasty, nor was he displaying any creepy or unwanted expressions. He almost looked normal, even if he was discussing how to choose a weapon to kill somebody. She didn’t know what to say.

An extension of my arm. That was a rather uncommon way to describe it, but after a few moments of contemplation it began to make perfect sense. Her weapon of choice needed to feel simple to grasp and comfortable in her hand, unlike the enormous sword, and the dagger clenched within her hand did not meet those requirements. It was oddly-shaped and unlike the other knife she held during their last encounter, but was that because it was the wrong weapon, or was she just not used to touching daggers of this type - or any type for that matter? How was she supposed to find one that felt “right” in her hand when she had only held a knife once in her life? What did “right” even feel like? The whole idea began to frustrate her even more, and a scowl edged its way across her features before she could respond. She didn’t want to find an “extension of her limb”. He said he would teach her how to use something she could handle. Maybe, she just needed to be taught how to handle it. A frown distorting her expression, she returned the dagger to its rightful position and flicked a glare towards him before her gaze to the sword. ”I want to learn how to use the sword,” she said, kneeling to grasp the hilt and lift up the half she could actually move without toppling over. She was being obnoxiously stubborn and big-headed to a dangerous exten. She was too distracted by her overconfidence to realize she was out of her league, ut she didn’t care - she wanted to be strong. She would make him teach her if she had to.

Failure and weakness were two aspects of life she could not bear to endure without her blood boiling in her veins and searing her heart like a ribbon of fire ready to burn her to a crisp if she dared not to learn how to control it. Weak and brittle were descriptions aimed at her like arrows at the ready - arrows to be released at any moment to plunge their tips into the depths of her skin and permanently scar her like the porcelain dolls cracked and eroded by constant misuse. But that was never how Indigo imagined herself. In her own foolish mind she was not a delicate butterfly or a fragile flower, but a strong women with a golden heart and enough determination to fuel her fire, thus granting her the physical strength she needed to defend herself and prove how not so harmless she could be. Unfortunately, what she perceived as fact always began as childish fantasies. Indigo, a fighter? She could be crowned a princess before she could ever be considered a threat on the battlefield. Sure, she was bursting with confidence and the will to fight for survival, but what the mind and heart could create would only drag her so far. Eventually, it was her own skin and bone that would fail her. In the end, she would always fall. Until now.

Unable to think clearly with a brain clouded by overbearing pride, Indigo scowled at the boy who so insolently grinned at her and looked him in the eyes without a trace of fear. ”You couldn’t do it even if you wanted to.” Was that a challenge? Indigo could never back down from a challenge; such a thing would be cowardly. Yes, she perceived it as a challenge, and a challenge she would indeed conquer with her strongest efforts. ”I can too,” she snapped bitterly, clenching the hilt so tightly her knuckles were tinged white. Her almond eyes scanned the room in search of something she could use to help her case. Something she could use for experimentation with the sword - something she could test her abilities on. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the straw dummies near the back of the room, and with a dangerous glint in her eyes she turned back to Patch and softened her scowl to a neutral expression. ”Watch me.”

As she dragged her weapon across the room she was unconsciously aware of how heavy and awkward the blade felt in her bony hands. Consciously, however, she was distracted by too many other things to acknowledge what the shadows of her mind were trying to warn her about. She approached one of the dummies with an air of confidence about her, her eyes taking in its various scars and deformities no doubt from Patch testing his skills upon it. By the time she finished it off, she figured its limbs would no longer be attached properly. She held the sword with both hands in front of her, tip gently touching the ground, and standing with legs apart and slightly bent she prepared to use both her thighs and arms to heave the thing above her head and swing it with all of her might toward the stationary target. After inhaling a deep breath through pursed lips she managed to haul the blade off of the ground and hold it shakily above her head. Arms quivering from the pain surging through them she quickly readied herself for an attack, but the sword seemed to have a separate plan. It was being supported too far behind her head, hindering her arms from ever possibly bringing it forward again, and with its heavy weight in comparison to her body it tipped backwards dragging her along behind it With a yelp she staggered backwards in an attempt to follow it and retrieve her balance, but in the end, it was too much, and it plummeted to the ground unable to be supported by her aching arms and brought her down along with it.

Pain exploded at the back of her skull like a splitting headache so severe she failed to acknowledge her body smacking against the ground with an unpleasant thud. Behind her, a table rested peacefully on the floor with its corners sharp and deadly enough to knock glistening stars of every color into her line of vision, a dark haze darkening her surroundings like a thick, black fog as she blinked and failed to realize that her limbs were going limp. She barely registered the clang of the sword beside her as metal clashed with solid surface, and watched as her vision faded from grey to black, her mind turning fuzzy and the pain in her skull turning numb. The last thing she heard was her own breath before everything suddenly turned into nothing.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes passed until her eyelids began to flutter. Where am I? Searing hot pain split the back of her skull and pressed against the inside of her head, disorienting her further as her eyelids parted and allowed the stream of blinding white light to elicit the welling of tears in her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and winced at the sharp pain branching from the back of her cranium, desperately trying to remember where she was and why it felt like the back of her head was engulfed in flames. Reluctantly she opened her eyes once more, blinking rapidly to adjust to the bright lights, and whimpered softly at the sight of blurred edges and strange figures surrounding her field of vision. She couldn’t focus - everything appeared foreign and distorted, like blobs of shadows and blotches of color. Perplexed and lost like a stray puppy, she hesitantly pushed back on whatever soft surface her palms were resting on and shifted herself to an upright position. Ouch. What happened? She couldn’t remember a thing. For a moment she merely held her head between her hands and whimpered in frustration at her misfortunate, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her forehead against her knees. What is happening to me?

Reluctant eyes opened again to find more disfigured shadows in blobs painted on a canvas of white. Her memory, however, was returning to her, along with a conscious awareness of what was happening around her and what she was doing. She did not remember where, or why, or how - just what. She fad fallen and hit the back of her head on something, and now she was sitting upon what felt like a soft mattress adorned with a full set of blankets. But how had she ended up there? Who had rescued her during her time of silent distress and need? Eyes flickered to a human-like blob beside her, and quickly she shut them again and shook her head. They refused to focus - perhaps if she kept them hidden for a little longer, they would experience an abrupt recuperation once they were ready. There was no mistaking what she had spotted, however; a person. She had noticed a dark speck of hair, but who? Ivy? Yes, it’s must’ve been. It was Ivy, her genetic clone, her other half, the girl she could hardly bear life without. It was she who had found Indigo in a time of desperate need, and it was she who had carried her to this bed and ensured her comfort with the utmost care. Yes, there was no other explanation. Only Ivy would sew together a safety net like this. Everybody else? They would leave her in the dark.

Her palm made gentle contact with somebody’s Ivy’s cheek. Eyes still shut and concealed from the bright lights and confusing figures, she followed the extension of her arm and planted a kiss upon ] her cheek. ”Thank you.” Her murmur was almost inaudible, but capable of being understood nonetheless despite her somewhat slurred speech. She rested her head against the nearest object - what felt like a shoulder, perhaps - and let her arm fall limp against her side. Just a few more minutes and she knew she would experience a rejuvenation and find her senses returning to her and the pieces of her temporarily disabled memory fitting together again to tell the entire story. Everything was still somewhat jumbled, and the pain immensely distracting, but her sense of awareness was finally making its arrival. She remembered smacking her head against something, and knew she had been placed on this bed to be healed since she had obviously been knocked unconscious by the terrible blow. There were still a few blanks to be filled in, but she knew that within the next few minutes everything would come back to her all at once like a tidal wave.

A pair of arms cradled her, acting as her shield and her nurturer in a world crawling with danger at every turn Their warmth spread to her body and tingled against her back, and naturally, she embraced the welcoming of this comfort in her rare time of need, her skull still pounding from whatever impact had caused the wildfire to spread across the back of her head - she still could not quite remember. As if the world spinning and twisting whenever she exposed her eyes to the blinding lights wasn’t enough to leave her disoriented, something feather soft touched her lips just then, and instinct, despite its functioning being rather depressed from the painful experience, warned her that it was a second pair of lips kissing her own. Ivy? Every piece of her wanted to believe that it was Ivy giving her comfort, Ivy taking care of her when she was frail and vulnerable to a world that was not supposed to know that Indigo Soren could lack strength. However, as the memories streamed in and bombarded her with the truth rather than fabricated fantasy, logic reminded her that it could not be Ivy at the bedside holding her, kissing her. It was somebody else - somebody who was stealing something of hers that was precious.

Everything was focused again. The globs of images and the whites of the bright lights were no longer present in her field of vision. Her eyes had finally adjusted to her surroundings, able to distinguish solid objects from lights on the ceiling rather than the two mixing to create a blurry collage of colors and heavenly white brightness. However, when she did open her eyes to explore the world as it once was the only thing she could see was the face of Patch Grey only centimeters away from her face, unmistakably the one stealing her first kiss like a dirty thief. ”Patch!” The accusing call came out in an accidental screech of both shock and anger as she thrust her arms forward to push his form away from her. As soon as he was out of reach she scooted across the bed away from him, absorbing her surroundings and suddenly remembering. The sword, the dummy, the tumbling. She could remember it clearly, now. She had overestimated her strength and in an embarrassing mishap had fallen over and felt pain splitting her skull as if she had smacked her head against something. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was certainly solid enough to shroud her in darkness, yet not sharp enough to draw blood from her scalp, for when she moved her hands back to touch the lump on her head she felt nothing sticky and warm leaking out. She was relatively uninjured, thank ripred, but now she had other things to worry about. People to worry about.

The piercing glare she aimed at Patch twisted her face into a scowl, yet within this nasty expression were traces of bewilderment and curiosity. Nothing was making sense, even if she did remember everything that had happened. Was she hallucinating all of the sudden? ”Why did you do that?” It was a reasonable inquiry, assuming she wasn’t hallucinating from the head injury. Part of her wished that this twisted reality was merely an illusion - that she would wake up several minutes later in the same bed, but with Patch nowhere in sight because he was cruel and uncaring. Or, perhaps she would open her eyes to sunlight on his doorstep, seeing as how the two were supposed to despise one another. And yet, as much as she longed for reality to return to its logical state, she knew what she was experiencing was not a hallucination. It was real in every sense, every fashion, and it was a fact not reassuring to the girl who was now lost in a world of confusion.

Indigo waited for the dream to reach its endpoint. She expected the terrifying climax of the nightmare to arrive, perhaps when the walls crashed down upon her to remind her of her claustrophobic nerves, or when Patch admitted that he was just toying with her mind and lashed out at her with a knife to split her chest open. She knew she would scream - she always did - and jolt awake in the comforts of her own bed, beads of sweat racing down the sides of her neck as her lungs tried to recuperate from the sudden trauma. She would seek the companionship of her twin sister and eventually drift back off into slumber until the sun peaked its head over the horizon the following morning, returning everything to the way it once was. She would pretend that such a weakness did not exist, and that Indigo Soren could never be fazed by such childish dreams regarding enclosed prisons and fists plowing into her bones. I am not weak. She always reminded herself of this, yet she couldn’t help but feel terrified while waiting for the nightmare to continue, waiting for whatever torture was in store for her to appear. Silence dominated for what felt like hours, and slowly the realization stuck that the atmosphere was just an ounce too quiet to be a nightmare, or even a dream. What, then, was happening in the real world?

After an eternity of silence and Indigo shifting awkwardly on his mattress knowingly being observed, Patch answered her question - the question she had prayed a dream would answer. ”Well, Indigo, it is not very hard to see why,” his voice was laced with venomous sarcasm, drawing a scowl upon the girl’s face automatically. If it was such an easy answer to figure out, Indigo wouldn’t have asked - but no, it wasn’t so simple, and her question was completely justified. Patch kissing her? In what dimension did that follow anything but complete nonsense? ”You are smart. Figure it out for yourself,” Again, her scowl was evident. She felt a fool for even bothering to question his motives. She should’ve known he would respond impolitely and treat her as if obliviousness was her one fault in intelligence. He was a frustrating human being - a sadist, a demon, and perhaps one of the most puzzling creatures she had even met. It was excessively difficult to get an obvious reading of him - he was obviously a passionless bastard with a strange lust for bullying and pain infliction, but he had still rescued her, he had still admitted his admiration for her uniqueness, and he had still invited her into his home to train her rather than skin her alive. Anyone could label Patch Grey as several things, but who, who as a person, as a human being living in district nine with the rest of the population - who exactly was Patch Grey?

”When a guy kisses a girl, what does that obviously mean?” It means love, doesn’t it? Not the love witnessed in fairy tales and fantasy, but simple, teenage love. Puppy love. But what the hell did Patch Grey know about love, and why were his interests pointed at her? They were nothing alike. It just didn’t click in her mind why he would kiss her, let alone why he would ‘like’ her in that sort of fashion. Then again, she was not very experienced with the opposite gender, especially regarding relationships other than weak friendships, so how could she possibly understand? Well, Patch obviously wasn’t the average teenage boy, but he was still a teenage boy nonetheless. And what did most little teenage boys think about? Girls. She knew that much.

”You can leave if you want to,” he said, moving from his perch by the bedside and turning away from her. ”Just try not to knock yourself out again.” She watched him pick up the sword and scooted to the edge of the bed, suddenly recalling why she had decided to stay in the first place. I want to be stronger. Nice try, Patch, but she wasn’t leaving anytime soon. ”Wait,” She stood up abruptly and followed him, crossing her arms in front of her chest. ”Are you saying that you like me?” The clear emphasis on ‘like’ was hopefully enough for him to capture and understand her meaning immediately. She no longer meant friendship - she meant something more, if that was what he was implying with the unexpected kiss. ”Also, I’m not leaving. I still want you to teach me how to fight.”

Lies were tricky. They were nasty little gimmicks with sweet exteriors like the silky shells of delicious chocolate candies, yet when broken down and bitten into by the teeth of an unsuspecting victim too curious and clever for his own safety its deceptive nature would be revealed; hollow, empty, and with only ill intentions. That was, of course, if the individual could decipher how to unwrap it first. It all started with a suspicion - and this suspicion, being the reaction to Patch’s harsh denial, was strong enough to persuade the mind of Indigo Soren into delving deeper. He was a complete and utter mystery when she tried to interpret what he was feeling (apparently, the boy could feel some things. Things that could be considered true emotions). Just when she thought she had him in the palm of her hands, completely exposed as a puzzle easily solved, he surprised her with another shocking twist, and it was frustrating her endlessly. He was supposed to be a heartless bully - the same cruel bastard that tried to murder her in the streets mercilessly with his bare hand and stump. And what was he now? He was the boy that had kissed her! How was she have supposed to predict such an event? It was entirely impossible, and that fact alone cast a shadow of irritation over her frail body. If he was still as unpredictable as when she had first encountered him, he was still dangerous. And danger was an aspect of life she had still not grown adjusted to.

”No.” It was just a single word - a simple response escaping the lips of such a seemingly simple boy. Yet, it wasn’t so easy. At he same time, however, the response crossed her boundaries of suspicion, for it didn’t fall into her category of logic. No? How could he deny it after everything that had just occurred, and on a bed for goodness sake? He was stubborn, that was the answer. As stubborn as she was, perhaps, or maybe worse. Whatever it was that was hindering his admitting the truth, Indigo wasn’t buying a second of it. Lies were poison, and they were also very detectable if one found themselves in the right circumstances. His lie? It was so obvious, it pained her to listen to him continue further, the fool. ”No, I don’t like you, the kiss was a mistake, you being here is a mistake.” Again, so hasty to defend himself. A mistake? How could a kiss be a mistake? It wasn’t as if the kiss was an accident on his part. One did not simply accidentally find their lips pressed against somebody else’s, especially when his arms had been wrapped around her so protectively. Who did he think he was fooling? Because it surely wasn’t Indigo, who stood tapping her foot and raising her eyebrow at him, completely unconvinced. Now, when he said her presence there was a mistake, he was possibly correct on that one. But that was her mistake, not his own. She knew she shouldn’t have ventured into this untrustworthy criminal’s home, but now that she was already here, why leave? There were techniques to learn and weapons to handle. If she left, her entire experience would’ve been a waste of her valuable time! Why pester herself with that hassle?

”Maybe you should leave, because--" he never finished his sentence, even when she made it evident with focused eyes that she was keenly listening to what he had to say. Instead, he merely turned around and stalked out of the room as if abandoning her there would solve their problems. Being the stubborn fireball she was - flames engulfing her at every angle, motivating her yet also slowly eating away at her melting flesh - Indigo disregarded his supposed desire for her to leave, and followed him into the other room. ”Wait just a second, Patch.” Her naturally boisterous voice was laced with a false sense of authority, as if she were a mother severely chastising a rowdy child. She was a bit too cocky for her own well-being, but being caught in the whirlwind of the moment tended to knock her off balance and suck her into danger. She ignored the fact that she was speaking boldly to a potential psychopath, and with her hands propped against her hip bones she confidently continued to speak. ”You’re saying that you kissed me, but you don’t even like me?” A mistake, he called it. That was no damn mistake - that was intentional, and she knew it. They both knew it. ”That makes a whole lot of sense.” Sarcasm was practically dripping down the side of her chin, yet she didn’t even care enough to try and hide it. She was just tossing her opinions into the open world, as she always did without considering the consequences first. ”That kiss wasn’t a mistake, Patch. I’m not an idiot. You’re feeling…something. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something, and if you really like me you need to just tell me. I don’t want anymore surprises.” And if that wasn’t clearer than crystal, she wasn’t sure what she would do with herself.