Pixie's rejection, along with the saccharine condescension and the wilful ignorance of what Amy had really been trying to say, stirred up something acrid inside of Amy. It wasn't anger, lacking as it was in that white-hot fierceness. No, it was more a hollow sense of irony, a uniquely cold frustration, that rose to match Pixie's disappointment in her. She bit her lip, not to stave off tears or fury, but so she wouldn't burst out laughing in Pixie's face. There was a part of her still, now relegated to the back of her mind, that begged her not to say what she knew she was about to say next. A part of her mind that preached how vulnerable Pixie was right now, how this wasn't the right time to have this conversation, how pushing these buttons was only going to end in tears. It didn't matter. It had been Pixie, after all, who had asked to see the real Amy...
Well, at last, she was about to get her wish, for better or for worse.
"Is that the best you can do?" she said, her voice low and bitter as she swatted Pixie's hand away. Now, it was Amy turn to stand up, looking down on her lover coldly. "Is that really the best excuse you can give, for staying on this carousel of misery, the Indomitable Spirit of Motherhood, that you want to preach to me like it's some kind of wisdom, and then call
me naive?! You don't need to lecture me about 'takin' 'ar bruises' Pixie, I've been taking mine, every day, since I was six yeas old, or had you forgotten so quickly? My 'happy ending' was running out into a world I didn't even recognise, totally alone, with my hands covered it blood. That was as close as I got. So, you can turn away from me, or scream at me, or even hit me if you want, but whatever else happens, don't ever say that
I'm the one who's living in a Fairy Tale here. You want to talk about fantasies? How about the one where the woman who was made to feel weak and helpless, kids herself that all the problems in the world can be fixed, one broken jaw at a time, just so she can keep feeling like she's strong."
Amy turned away from Pixie, and paced up and down the length of the claustrophobic space, her firsts now clenched against the tide of bile rising in her throat.
"Let's just take a moment, to take stock of our surroundings here..." she mocked, spreading her arms to emphasise her point. "A maniac with a God-complex is raining death and destruction down upon the Ashlands in
your ship; the two people you claim to love the most are isolated in the city ruled by
your arch-nemesis; and, even if they weren't, they'd be here enjoying the 'hospitality' of
your bizarre Trophy Rapist. I must be missing something crucial to your world-view here, because I'm gonna need you to fill me in on how your Crusade of Righteousness is supposed to make any of this seem okay. The best part is, I'm not even blaming you! I'm not even trying to say that this is all your fault. I'm just trying to give
you some perspective of what an irrevocably fucked-up world you live in; and no, it's not fucked-up just because of a handful of bastards at the top making life miserable for the rest of us, it's fucked-up because people, in general,
suck! The longer you deny that, the more you keep throwing yourself against a brick wall, as if it will thank you for it one day, the more the few people in your life who miraculously don't suck are going to suffer. There is no one Arch-Villain who you can punch out to make everything okay, but every tyrant who's ever lived has been able to kid themselves that they can make the world a better place. Please, Pixie, don't make the same mistake!"
Exhausted now, Amy back up against the far wall, and sank down to the floor. When she looked up at Pixie again, her eyes burned with sadness.
"If you never listen to another word I say Pixie, then listen to this... You don't owe this world a damn thing. You can't fix any of this, and even if you could, maybe we should be asking ourselves if the world is even worth saving, if it even deserves it... There is some happiness to be found here, with the people who love you, and who'll only ever ask of you what you can give, and the only person stopping you right now from reaching out and taking hold of that, is you. The ugly truth is, that the world is a reflection of the people living in it, and we only could have got here through people making choices, or letting other people make the choices for them. Why should you pay with everything you have for their mistakes? Why should the people you love suffer, for a bigger picture that couldn't give two shits about any of us? Yeah, maybe if I was a mother, I'd wish things were different; but I'm not, and I never will be, because the father of my unborn child beat him out of me all over the sheets. That's the world I live in, and for a moment there, I thought you might be in here with me." The laughter finally broke through, in one, short blast, but it was a bitter laugh if there had even been one. "I guess that just makes me one more broken thing you can't fix, doesn't it?"
Pixie's head was spinning. Where could she even start?
Her emotions were that of a maelstrom: confused, tangled and violent. Part of her wanted to praise Amy on her honesty, while another wanted her to curl up in the corner of the bedroom and cry her eyes out. To deny all that she had said.
Today had been rough for Pixie. Amy had known that. How could she say these things to her like this? Why now?
Amy was angry. Amy was upset. Pixie knew that. She should have seen this coming. Pixie was the one who opened the floodgate. Pixie was the one who welcomed her honesty.
When you strip away the make-up, the fake smile and the expensive dresses, Amy really was just a normal human being. A damaged, angry and pathetic human being. It was comforting, really. This "Golden Rose" was no better than Pixie.
You selfish *****. What the fuck'r you thinkin', girl?
Pixie was pissed. Pixie was insulted.
Pixie was ashamed.
Pixie
knew how full of shit she was. For fuck's sake, she'd been worshiping the rhetoric of a dead woman like it was the God-given gospel for damn-near twenty years. What the fuck did Cherry know of the world? Really, what did she know? Sure, she did some good things. She left her tower from time-to-time to help the less fortunate, but Pixie
knew it wasn't because she was some kind of benevolent mother figure. No, she did it because it made her feel good. To see their smiling faces. To have them shower her in praise.
The same twisted reason Pixie did it.
Altruism's a fuckin' joke.
Had Amy been right? Had she seen right through her?
Was Pixie really just full of shit?
Pixie hadn't a fucking clue. Between the bullet wound in her leg, the death of an old friend and hundred other things tugging at her psyche, Pixie was in no position to do any meaningful introspection. She was chasing dead ends in her head. Circling back-and-forth endlessly as she grasped out for answers in vain.
She was exhausted. Her brain was still swimming in booze, her heart felt empty and her body was completely and utterly fatigued. She felt like just closing her eye, lying down and dying. She didn't do any of that though. No, Pixie wasn't the kind of person who lies down and takes anything. She was the kind of person that always fought back, even when she knew she shouldn't.
The silence in the room seemed to have lasted an eternity by the time Pixie snapped back to reality. She and Amy had been sitting on the floor, opposite of each other in the darkness. Both lost in their own minds. She couldn't fathom what was going through Amy's mind at this point. Then again, Pixie didn't really give a shit.
Rising to her feet, Pixie walked over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Retrieving from it a single cigarette, she put it to her lips and lit it. She normally hated cigarettes. She felt they were a poor man's cigar.
She didn't care right now, however. She didn't care what imagine she gave. What kind of person she looked like.
She just wanted the pain to go away.
After taking a long drag and exhaling it slowly, Pixie looked to Amy. Neither said a word. She crossed the space between them while taking a second drag. Looking down at Amy, slumped down on the floor, Pixie's eye found its way to the fist she was holding out in front of her, "Breakin' jaws, huh? Ya' know me better than ya' realize, Amy." She spoke as if she were amused, but their was no emotion in her tone. "I've hurt a lot of people I love. Sometimes its jus' easier ta' lash out. Bludgeon yer problems 'til they disappear. I bet ya' think I'll do the same ta' you. I mean, there's certainly a precedent fer it. Ask Bennie sometime."
She chuckled and shook her head, her eye searching the bruises on her knuckles, "Who knows, you stick 'round long enough an' maybe I
will do the same ta' you. Smack you 'round a bit. You'd jus' be bloodied up fer a couple days an' I'd feel better 'bout myself. Not a big compromise fer someone ya' love, right?" Her words were dripping with cynicism.
"I used ta' hit Sprout. I used ta' beat my son." Still, no emotion. "Takin' care of a kid in a city like that by myself at seventeen? No skills, no money, no guidance or direction? An' the cryin'? The constant cryin'! He always needed somethin'! I'm there tryin' not ta' be fuckin' blow away every day, ripping off bandits n' crooks an' he's always fuckin' cryin' fer more! Didn' that little fucker know I'd given up my entire life fer 'im!? Didn' he know I could'a jus' left 'im in the gutter ta' die?!" Though she was shouting, she didn't sound upset or angry. it was like she was trying to display past emotions.
"An' when I looked 'im in the eye? Oh, baby, when I looked 'im in the eye," She took another long drag. "I saw
him. I saw him every single fuckin' time, Amy. I felt the knife slicin' up'n down my flesh. Tearing straight through my eyeball. I could see 'er again, too. I could see the fuckin' mulin', pathetic look on 'er face as he stole 'er last breath. Tell me, how're ya' s'pose ta' be a good mother to yer kid when he reminds you of the fuckin' devil, himself? When 'is eyes remind you of everythin' you've lost?"
She sighed as she held the cigarette out in front of her. Her eye was fixated on the burning paper as it broke apart into microscopic ash and lifted into the air, "I was a monster. I
am a monster. Monsters don' fix things, Amy. They break 'em." She found Amy's eyes for the first time since she started talking. "'An I'll break you too if you stick 'round 'ere long enough. Well," She chuckled. "I'll break ya' more, anyway."
After taking one last drag she tossed the butt down to the ground and stepped on it. Walking over to her bedside, she plopped down on the edge of the bed and put on her boots, followed by her jacket, "I'm headin' out fer a bit. Gonna get some fresh air. Don' wait up fer me."
