Season of Terror
by Tigger
Copyright 2002, All Rights Reserved

Chapter 8: Recognition - Phase 2 

"Cowards," he repeated the word for what had to be the tenth time since the older woman had left.  The taste of it on his tongue seemed to become more bitter each time he said it.  Lord, but he wished he'd never asked Marie anything, that he'd just kept to his plan to follow whatever orders the Thompson woman gave to the best of his ability - to do whatever the hell it took to get out of this pink-and-satin-madhouse and back to his real life.

It was the second instance where 'cowardice' and 'lack of intestinal fortitude' had come up in just the past few days.  The first had been during the challenge that had ultimately led to his decision to get with the program here at Seasons House. 

Victor wondered if HE would ever be able to let himself live that down.

"Coward," he said again, his eyes filling. How had Marie defined that term? "Hurting innocents because you've been hurt and can't or won't try to do anything about the real problems.  Just hurting to make yourself seem more important."

Victor had never felt so alone nor so unhappy in his entire life.  The memory of Marie holding him, of him holding Marie swamped him and then he remembered the comfort that moment of sharing had given him.  Except, he thought as hot moisture began to trickle down his cheeks, Marie wasn't here, and besides, why would SHE want to . . . do THAT with him, anyway?  Thoroughly miserable, the teen rose and began to wander aimlessly about the frill-bedecked room.

And then his eyes fell upon the bed, and on the bed in it's place of honor was Pooh.  Victor had never so much as touched that teddy bear in all the time since arriving at Seasons House.  Victoria had only handled it when ordered to do so by one of the two older women in conjunction with one of their exercises.  After all, cuddling a stuffed bear was not something a teenager should do, particularly a teenaged boy.  However, Victoria found it impossible to pull her eyes away from good old Winnie.

Suddenly, appearances no longer mattered to the distraught youngster. Victoria let out a barely-stifled cry and hurried over to the satin-quilted bed and the large furry stuffed toy.  Without considering her clothes, the girl-boy threw herself upon the bed and wrapped herself about the oddly-comforting toy.

*God, what a horrible day!* she cried as she hugged Pooh to her, *What a horrible, horrible day!*

How long she cried, Victoria did not know - only that the tears helped - at least a little.  Still clutching the comforting toy to her stomach, she rolled over so that she could see the glowing numerals of the digital clock radio.  Lunch would be served soon, and her face was a mess. *Ms. Jane would have a coronary,* she thought. *And my clothes and petticoat are so badly wrinkled and bunched, I'd be lucky to be let off with just one of her killer lectures.* On top of everything else, that seemed to be a small concern, but Victoria decided she'd just as soon not face THAT, too.

Much to her surprise, she realized she felt better - the stifling tension, at least, had eased. *Is that because I cried?* she wondered as she disengaged herself from Pooh's now more-than-slightly-damp clutches, and then decided she wasn't ready to know the answer to that question.

Stiffly, she arose from her bed, carefully settled her new friend in a place of honor on the vanity and considered just how she was going to repair the damage her mirror revealed.  "I just wish there was something more I could do, Pooh," she said as she began to cleanse her face.  "Something that would really help, you know?"

Pooh, unfortunately, had no ideas to offer either, or at least, none that he chose to share them with the wan-looking teen.  Sighing, Victoria reached over to turn on her radio, unable to resist the urge to 'know the worst'. 

". . . and now a message from the Red Cross," the radio announcer excited tones grated through Victoria's rattled emotions.