||There'd been a burst somewhere down stairs, which was a problem - since the super told her that when she'd moved, she could keep some of her things down in the basement while she sorted things and what absolutely needed to be kept and what needed to be sent to storage. And that was sweet of him, that was nice - the basement seemed to be roomy enough and insulated, she wasn't really worried about mold or little creatures that might flutter or scurry in to nibble at the edges of boxes or dresses she hadn't worn in more than a year. It was, all things considered and for how old the building was, pretty nice. Not to mention, it was good of them to say as much so she could look at everything before anything happened, with the warmer weather threatening on the fringes of what seemed to be every other day. At least to her.|
Her names twisted around what she thought she was interested in at any time, it always circled back around how much she thought hers was awkward and ugly, just like the way her legs looked too big in the studio mirrors when there were exercises to do, always, always first thing in the morning, last thing at night when school was out and the moon was high and the heat off the pavement came trying to seep in and make her sleepy.
"xxxxxxxx xxxx, xxxxxxx xxx xxxx xxxx xxxx, xxxx xxxx xxx xxxxxxx, xxx xxxx'x xx - xxxx'x xxx xxx! xxxx xxxx!"
Though, she wasn't the one to go down the old stairs with the rail that tended to wave just enough to make you aware when you held on too tight. Not that it was all that important, really, when you got right down to it a basement was just a place to put things like any other empty or otherwise room. Natalia didn't like basements. Not scared of, not anything of the kind. She was fine with the clean metal walls and grate floors of the storage facilities at home, well, a version of home. It was fine, those weren't to be associated with anything. They were sterile. Old stone walls under a first layer of earth were just less than friendly, always. So while she took the last step down onto the concrete floor, she couldn't help the sniff and the choke in her throat. Most times, most times this happened, she managed to get out of any kind of remembering mostly unscathed, and while every single part of her thought it was unfair that everyone else seemed to recall painful things what seemed every five minutes, she didn't work that way. Things were stored away for informational purposes. Anything else just took up room, but here in the musty room, there were things that were tying some knots together that she had no interest in seeing.
"xxxx xxx xxx xxx xxxxxx, xxx xxxxx'x xxxxxxxxx xxxx xxxxxxxx, xxx xxxxx xxxx xxxx. xxx xxxxxx xxx. xxx xxxx xxxxx, xxxxxxxx - xxx'x xxxxx xx xx xxxxxxxxx xxxxx. x xxxx xxxx xxx xxxx xxxx, xxxxxxx xxxxx xx xxx xxxxxxxxxx xxxxx. xxx xxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx xxx, xxxx xx xxx xxx xxxx xxxxxxxx. xx'x xxxxxx xxx xxx xxx xx xx xxxxxxxx, xxx xxxx xxxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxx xx xxx - xx xxx xx xxxxx xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxx xxx'x xxxx xxxx xxx. xxx xxx xxxxx?"
It was not the worst thing to remember, it was one of the first times she could remember, however. Laying on the small black blue covered cot with dust lingering on the metal frame with the headmistress' cold, dry hands with her long nails threading a sewing needle with Natalia laying on her stomach as she pushed the needle through a haphazard and fast gash along her side more toward her back.
"xxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxxxx xxx xxxxxxx xxx xxx x xxxxxx xxxxx xx xxxxxxx xx xxxx xxxxx. xxxx xxxxx xx xxx xx xxxxxxxx xx, xxxxx."
Natalia sat in the corner just near a box of things that were hers, well, partially hers. Maybe none of it really had been hers - but, she thought as she thumbed through the top contents of the box and the right corner, if she thought like that, very few things had been hers in any case, in any world, in any instance. There were some dried flowers resting inside of a book, nothing interesting, the smell had died out before they'd been dried, due to the fact that they were plainly hot house. The petals were brittle and threatened to ash off between her fingers and her thumb. And part of her, she thought it would be better if they had. These things were not meant to be saved, this was not something to remember in ten years. Much like the place she found herself in now, it was temporary.
There were scraps of cloth from things that had torn apart, a few wishing dolls, confetti from parties that a version of herself never wanted to end, scraps of paper with hearts and silly things written across them as reminders.
The world had always been going wrong, that wasn't anything all that surprising, nothing that would shake the floor where she stood. But lately, lately she'd been getting everything wrong. The side steps that had at one point in time, been so careful, now seemed very brazen, sure footedness right into the middle of a mire of some kind. So what was left to do with it, accept it for the fault was hers? Argue that she was having a bad day? Everyone had bad days, hers were no worse than anyone else's and therefor stricken from any argument. There were just errors. Big, broad and without apology. What does a person do with their feet when those things happen.
"xxxxx xxxx xxxx xxxxxx. xx xxxx xxxx xxxx xxx xxx."
Her hand went for the at-one-point-in-time jagged pink mark on the right side of her back ribs, it wasn't there now. Nothing was there now - and sometimes, when she found that she was herself, when she had a mirror, she could remember all of those things, where they were, what they were from. Some people were good, some were accidental, some were an issue she hadn't taken into consideration. She was clean here, though. Her hand passing over the white where-it-should-have-been, she had so many marks that were should-have-beens, really.
Ah, the should-have-beens, the might bes, the could haves under the right circumstances, god there were so many. Like most people, she wasn't shocked by the thought or the proof of alternative universes, dimensions, things and lives that didn't coincide with the way she thought the majority lived their lives. But this one line, this line that she'd followed for, it wasn't forever, all things considered, but she'd followed it through.
At this point, at this point down in the slightly cool kind of muddy smelling basement, Natalia was experiencing her mind traveling back and forth between her childhood and the past two years, everything was either sharp and exacting or rusted over and left the taste of metal in her skin - because it felt everywhere. It felt like there were sticks and probes jabbed at what was left of her soft parts and through the bone. How does anyone say those things, how does a person profess to that sort of thinking.
"xxx xxxxx'x xxx xxxxxxxxx - xx'x x xxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx! xxx xxx xxx xxxxx xxxx xxx xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxxx xx xxx xxxx xx xx xxx xxxx xxxxxx, xxxxxxx'x xxx xx xxxxx xxxx xx? xxxxxx xxxxxx xx xxx xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx xxx xx xxxxxxxxx xxxxx xxxx. xxx xxx xx xxxx - xxx xx xx xxxxxxxxxxx, xxx xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxx - xxx xxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxx xxxx xx xxxxxxxxxx, xx xxxxxx."
"xxx xxx xx xxx xxxx xxxxx."
The words and mumbled sounds were all trying to crowd each other for the front spot in her thoughts, so much so that there was a moment, unsurprisingly, that forced her to sit there with her head in her hands. This was not something that generally happened to her - other people, yes. Other people had to deal with the things that they remembered and how they impacted their lives on either side, her blocks were up and reinforced with all sorts of steels, people had gone through long painstaking processes to make sure there was nothing that she would remember if it didn't have purpose or if someone else didn't want her to. Natalia had accepted a long time ago that her mind wasn't always her own.
In the boxes that were.. actually fairly dry, after what had felt like being stuck in the room for hours, sitting on top of the second box, was ... it was a kind of old notebook, but it'd been taken care of - and she knew why, she remembered it, it was full, she'd filled it the year before. Awful things taped to the inside pages, reminders of days and funny things that somebody'd said to her - it gave the other thoughts a chance to quiet down as she remembered how some things had started. She could remember the time she went out with a friend for French fries - somebody thought they were engaged or something, asked how long they'd been married because god you two are so young! She missed that - maybe not all of it, but the French fries and the person. Maybe curling up in the living room that wasn't hers, breakfasts that she didn't like with people she thought she'd know forever. And maybe she would know those people forever - just not right now.
Finding where her feet went shortly after, there was a new kind of wobble in her step as Natalia went back up the stairs - it wasn't, it was still not her favorite place, and if anyone asked in any sort of seriousness, maybe she would tell them about her apprehension of basements. Maybe she was expecting someone to slide up behind her and grin in her ear and then it would be over - but in fairness, she always kind of felt like that was going to happen.
"xxxxx'x xxx xxx xxx xxxxxxx, xxxxxx?."
Then there was that. That was something that she found herself a little confused about how to work around, work through - get a feel on, but that was mostly due to the fact that this was the first time it had happened just by herself. She didn't feel comfortable, but that wasn't anything that actually mattered. It wasn't an ill at ease feeling, it was just -- when she got back up to her apartment, if there was a greater good to be had at all - that was sort of up for debate. Natalia just knew she was getting worse at keeping anybody's thoughts quiet or safe, so this was, this was only a little distressing. There were many, many other people to turn and scruff the guy by the neck and take him to, there were still a few she was scared for, worried about - wanted to check on, but it wasn't right, it wasn't the time for it. Besides all that, she knew everyone. But what that question had implied was that she more than knew the house guest. And she just - she just didn't. It wasn't like the thoughts that tickled when she tried to reach out to catch them, the unsettling feeling in her spine that made everything soft and uncomfortable to think too hard about. No this was just - this was just a person she did not know beyond what a file said, what friends he had, the few count-on-one-hand encounters that lasted for something like two minutes tops. This was not a person she knew, but she knew that other people did, other people trusted him. Probably more than they trusted her, that counted.
"x xx xxxx xx xxxxx."