"Wait what?" Beca asks, stunned for a moment. "How would you know? Do you have the same... gift?"
Kommissar shakes her head. "Nien. I just know how to hide my emotions." The blonde closes her eyes and bites her lip and suddenly her body is covered in words from head to toe.
Beca audibly gasps as her eyes rake over the blonde. Kommissar's exposed stomach was a jumbled mess of words. Beca could only make out the words confused and sad. On her neck were angry and satisfaction along with some other ones Beca couldn't make out. On Kommissar's hands were the words regret and terrified. But it was what she saw written across Kommissar's forehead that scared her the most. Pain. Sadness. Hurt.
And just like that it was erased in the blink of an eye. Kommissar opens her dazzling blue eyes again and they find Beca's stunned ones. "How did... how did you do that?"
The blonde sighs. "It is a long story."
Beca crosses her legs Indian style and sits back. "Im all ears."
Kommissar's smile is tight and forced. "When I was little my parents adored me. Mind you I was about three. They wanted me to be the best. Enrolled me in the best school, made me do the highest classes. My only request was to do ballet." Kommissar is lost in thought.
"They beat me. Do better, again, harder, more graceful, you are better than this." Kommissar swallows. "The academy was the top. The best of the best of corse. My parents would have someone watch my every class and report back to them. I would bleed every day from all the work and training. They were the best for a reason. We trained for six hours each day. Three in the morning three at night. They broke us."
Beca watches as the words begin to lazily draw themselves back onto Kommissar's skin.
"I was seven when they began abusing me physically. At first it was all verbal. But one day I came in second at a dance competition. My parents beat me with their fists. Soon they transferred to using a belt or broken bottle or a cigarette for burns."
Unconsciously Kommissar's hand moves to the back of her neck, tracing the burn mark left there by her mom's curling iron. It wasn't an accident.
"When I was ten I had a baby sister. When I was fifteen I was protecting her. Shielding her from my parents hands. She developed cancer and died though later. My parents blamed me. They liked her more than me. Said she had more potential."
Beca notes how empty and hallow Kommissar's voice is as she speaks.
"I ran away when I was finished with high school. Pieter was a good friend from there and allowed me to stay with him. We found out about DSM auditions together and applied together. I have been on the move ever since." Kommissar finishes.
Beca breathes out, her cheeks puffing over exaggerated. "Wow... Thats just... They made you hide your emotions didn't they? Your parents."
"I cried once after dance practice. They slapped me and told me crying will get me nothing." Kommissar says it like she is talking about a history test.
Beca sighs and watches as the words fade out again. "So you are just emotionless. You block out everyone. Thats why I can't read you."
Kommissar shrugs. "I don't feel a lot or strongly."
"It sounds like a bland and boring life." Beca comments.
She nods. "Very. But it is much better than what I had back in Berlin."
"Are your parents still around?" Beca asks.
"They caught me once with a girl in bed. They do not call or check up on me. Probably hoping Im dead. They do not approve of me being gay."
The prominent thought in Beca's mind should not be cheering loudly at the fact that Kommissar is gay but she can't help but lick her lips and look down at Kommissar's perfect ones and remember the kiss they shared. She wonder in the back corner of her mind if it is socially acceptable to kiss her after talking about all the rough and personal things Kommissar just did.
Luckily Beca doesn't have to make that decision because Kommissar moves forward and kisses her. Beca melts into the kiss and can't help the way her arms wrap around Kommissar protectively.
"I won't let anyone hurt you that way ever again." Beca whispers the promise on Kommissar's lips.
"Don't make a promise you won't be here to see through." The blonde warns.
"Im not going anywhere." The brunette says, reconnecting their lips.
