a dance of doves & crows ( jonathan crane )

anger and the angels.

A/N: hey guys ! sorry for taking small break, life got hectic for a little chunk there, but i am updating now! this chapter will be in jules' POV rather than john's, i think it'll just alternate between chapters, with others sprinkled in (i hope to have an ivy chapter when she's introduced properly). i enjoy writing the differences in their internal dialogues! thanks so much for tapping in. this is a little bit of a longer chapter hehehe

Content warning: graphic descriptions of violence, vague hints of assault

                                    song of the chapter:  trauma - eyedress

     "I saw you sitting with Pamela Isley at lunch today. That's good. Are you two getting along?"

     Jonathan Crane asked from across his desk, peering at her through his rectangular glasses. Her own eyes remained glued to her hands. She didn't have to look up to see his gaze - it was so unnerving - she felt as though he was staring into her soul. A little too personal, a little too much. Jules focused on her nails, mourning the shape they once were.

     She used to paint them all the time. They used to be strong. She'd spend far too long on her nails, of course, she knew this now, but she missed that veil of confidence. The nurses cut them too short, making her feel childish. With the stress of the past three weeks in Arkham, she had begun picking at her nails, resulting in far too many hangnails.

     Three weeks.

     The three weeks felt like two hours and five years simultaneously. The lack of windows made telling time difficult, and distantly she wondered if her time her had actually been one excruciatingly long day. Jules guessed it was the medication, making time mix and blur together. The same medication that kept her from communicating with her friends.

     She'd lay in her cot. She'd be woken up, walked to lunch, she'd sit. Sometimes, she'd be with Crane for a while. Other times, only a little bit. Shower time, then she'd go back to her cell. Wait for an old friend, or a six eye crow. Be disappointed. Rinse, repeat.

     The only way she knew it had been three weeks was because of Crane. He would remind her, when she got confused.

     He was a strange man. A strange man she could never trust. His patience was authentic, but there was something else there she could never put a finger on. Was that projection, or was it intuition? (If she had contact with the strange beings that she loved so much, they'd let her know.)

      "Jules?"

      She hummed in response, scratching at a particularly stubborn hangnail on her thumb. The wall on the clock said she had thirty-one minutes left with Doctor Crane.

      Then, she'd find her peace. Alone in her cell. Maybe, tonight, her mind would be clear enough to see an old friend. It wasn't logically going to happen; she was too tired, mentally, to see any of them. But a girl could dream.

     Oddly enough, the thought of going back to her cell was comforting. No people. No therapy, no trials, no reporters or cops or evil, evil men -

     Only herself, the constant ringing in her ears, and the sound of rain outside. Maybe the occasional scream from her fellow inmates. Her mind could shut off, and she would be utterly alone.