There is nobody in the world that Catra ever feels bad for lashing out at.
...except Adora.
Her eyes widen as Adora crumples. The blood running off her leg is expected but her fall is not, and the look in her eyes is-- is--
--It makes Catra recoil. She really is the wild, worthless creature Shadow Weaver always warns them about.
She wants to say -- something. Anything. When Adora picks herself up and shoves past, Catra's throat works; but her tongue is heavy in her mouth and she can't think of anything to give voice to.
She just crouches there, for a long time, the water soaking through her hair and fur and freezing her the whole way through.
It's late when she finally finishes up. By herself, in silence. Adora's blood is long since washed away, but the guilt weighs heavy in Catra's stomach, clawing up at her chest. The press of her hand against the ache does nothing to dissuade it.
It's so late that she's risking a reprimand for being out of bed past curfew, but unlike what seems like literally everyone else in the Fright Zone, Catra can't just dry off. She has to shake herself out, mop up moisture with thin towels, squeeze water out of her hair. She has to do it all in a cycle, until it reaches the point where one of the hair dryers the Horde supplies can finish the rest. It's a process made more difficult by the bone-deep shivers of cold, and takes more than twice as long as usual because she - great person that she is - has chased away the person who would normally help her.
It gives her too much time to think, to dread what's going to happen when she goes back to their dorm. Adora's not going to want to have anything to do with her, wretched thing that she is. She's going to have to feel her glare as she walks right past her; going to have to hear her sniff of disdain as Catra climbs into the seldom-used bunk above hers.
She lingers after drying to collect their clothes for laundry, and to mop up the tiles the way she normally complains at length about. Somebody else is just going to come along and shower at some point anyway, so why do they have to mop after every one? It's just another stupid Horde rule that Catra hates. But it's a reason to delay, to procrastinate. She can't stand knowing that she's really done it now. She's really, finally made Adora hate her.
She does slink in eventually, silent as she slips past the other bunks. Her heart is a sick, terrible weight in her chest that grows heavier with every step, and her shoulders hunch as she braces herself. She can do this. Everyone always warned her she'd eventually cross the line that would turn Adora against her. She's had a lifetime to prepare herself for it. She just has to get through it, and get onto her bunk, and then she can -- deal with the rest of it from there.
no subject
...except Adora.
Her eyes widen as Adora crumples. The blood running off her leg is expected but her fall is not, and the look in her eyes is-- is--
--It makes Catra recoil. She really is the wild, worthless creature Shadow Weaver always warns them about.
She wants to say -- something. Anything. When Adora picks herself up and shoves past, Catra's throat works; but her tongue is heavy in her mouth and she can't think of anything to give voice to.
She just crouches there, for a long time, the water soaking through her hair and fur and freezing her the whole way through.
It's late when she finally finishes up. By herself, in silence. Adora's blood is long since washed away, but the guilt weighs heavy in Catra's stomach, clawing up at her chest. The press of her hand against the ache does nothing to dissuade it.
It's so late that she's risking a reprimand for being out of bed past curfew, but unlike what seems like literally everyone else in the Fright Zone, Catra can't just dry off. She has to shake herself out, mop up moisture with thin towels, squeeze water out of her hair. She has to do it all in a cycle, until it reaches the point where one of the hair dryers the Horde supplies can finish the rest. It's a process made more difficult by the bone-deep shivers of cold, and takes more than twice as long as usual because she - great person that she is - has chased away the person who would normally help her.
It gives her too much time to think, to dread what's going to happen when she goes back to their dorm. Adora's not going to want to have anything to do with her, wretched thing that she is. She's going to have to feel her glare as she walks right past her; going to have to hear her sniff of disdain as Catra climbs into the seldom-used bunk above hers.
She lingers after drying to collect their clothes for laundry, and to mop up the tiles the way she normally complains at length about. Somebody else is just going to come along and shower at some point anyway, so why do they have to mop after every one? It's just another stupid Horde rule that Catra hates. But it's a reason to delay, to procrastinate. She can't stand knowing that she's really done it now. She's really, finally made Adora hate her.
She does slink in eventually, silent as she slips past the other bunks. Her heart is a sick, terrible weight in her chest that grows heavier with every step, and her shoulders hunch as she braces herself. She can do this. Everyone always warned her she'd eventually cross the line that would turn Adora against her. She's had a lifetime to prepare herself for it. She just has to get through it, and get onto her bunk, and then she can -- deal with the rest of it from there.