O U T O F T I M E
book 3 in the 'chaos series'
in which lusine returns to earth and is reunited with steve, but not everything is as it was when they said their farewells after the events of the battle of new york. with new companions in tow, ol...
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one "traumatic reminders"
Lusine didn't go back to sleep after her traumatic reminders of what had befallen her in her return to Remulan, not that she could've if she'd tried.
So, there wasn't any point.
There was no chance of her managing to go back to sleep when the pain stung like the daggers still protruded from her chest, the blood ran down her cheek from the wound that would forever scar the beauty she'd prided herself upon and ripped her apart like venom straight from the viper's fangs.
Melting away the layers like acid to flesh.
This had, for quite some time now, kept her eyes from falling closed and her mind from being still. The waves were always turning over and over. Roiling. No chance of relaxation when the body locks itself into fight-or-flight mode in the deep hours of the night.
Instead, she got up, attempted to remember how to turn the TV on and, after being successful, took a seat on the sofa and watched whatever was on.
So, at around five o'clock when Lusine grew bored of human comedy, she grabs the remote from the coffee table and begins trying to change the channel. After pressing the wrong button a few times, she eventually gets there and changes the show a few times until the news comes on, along with choppy images of whatever had transpired in London only days before.
Curious, she sets the remote down and sits back to watch.
The voice of the overly-stiff-backed presenter fades into the background as, with an open ache in the pit of her stomach, Lusine watches shaky footage of Agent Casia Radcliffe swinging a blazing sword through an attacker as if it were a hot knife through butter.
Her previous combat training was clear as well as the swordsmanship Kyrie had meticulously taught her in the weeks she'd spent in Asgard, but Lusine also didn't think it wrong of herself to admit that she was watching the work she'd put in, through pain and agony, come to fruition, even if most of it was through Casia's hard work and blood, not her own.
When the news anchor moves onto the next story, that entirely fake smile brushing over his lips, Lusine huffs and lifts the remote again. She flicks through other news channels until she finds another running the London Invasion news.
Two hours later when Olea wanders into the living room, rubbing her bleary eyes with the backs of her hands, Lusine is still sitting there, flicking through the channels for any footage she can find.
"Is that Casia?" Olea asks, her rumbling belly forgotten as she leans over the back of the sofa to get a better look at the small screen.
"Yes," Lusine replies, remote clutched in one hand whilst she chews on the nails of the other, "that's her."
"You did that," Her cousin says, putting a hand on Lusine's shoulder. "She wouldn't be there helping save the people of London without the help you gave her."
