#isha lives

"You've got this Isha. Believe. In. You."

The glass eye never got easier to put in, or take out. But it was apart of her now, she had no choice. Even as she stared at herself in the mirror, Isha could feel the explosion happening again. Almost feeling bitter that she hadn't died, death would've been nicer than the pain the weeks after surviving that brought. Her vocal chords still ached whenever she'd made a noise, and she thought about paying someone under the table to cut them out. Not like anyone would notice the scar or the healing process anyways, she wore scarves or high collared shirts to hide the scars on her neck anyways.

Her finger ghosted over the scars, watching her fingers trace them in the mirrors reflection. Almost six year later, at the ripe age of sixteen nearing seventeen, she still couldn't get used to feeling them there. Some days she hoped and prayed the internal scars would open up and she'd choke to death on her own blood, but she honestly wasn't sure if that how she wanted to die. After all, she'd fought along side Jinx for years. She had friends, a cool sort of aunt with her Piltie wife, she wasn't sure if she wanted to give all that up. Despite the way her mind would spiral late at night, when Jinx was asleep or out doing a job, and she'd think of all the ways she could die in moments. She never acted, she knew she couldn't do that to Jinx. Not when the older woman finally looked so in control of herself, finally on medication, and happy. Isha wouldn't ruin that for the woman that had practically become her mother in the last five and a half years.

With a reluctant breath, she pulled her hand from her neck and gently pulled down her bottom eyelid. Carefully fishing the glassed eye from the cup of water, she slowly eased it in. Her true eye stared boringly back at her, the action still disgusting her every day she did it. The repetitive action of inserting the false eye and removing it was routine, she didn't need help with it anymore, but it still made her feel less than human every time she did it. She wanted to curl into a ball and scream, smash something as her hand fell. Gripping the sink tightly before her hand jerked up, fist clenched tight and she swung. Only for her hand to stop right in front of the mirror, and her head fell to rest against it. Her hand turning to gently thump the side of her pinky against the glass, knowing better than to smash mirrors. Aunt Violet taught her better, hell. Jinx taught her better, but that didn't mean the urge wasn't still there. Slowly opening her eyes, Isha watched as the brown, blue, and pink hair swept into her face. Her roots bleached white, and the other three colors splattered around her hair. An "artistic" expression Jinx had called it, in reality it was just so when Isha woke late at night. She could stare at the colors in her hair and remember that people loved her, even when she thought she was unlovable and grotesque. She was loved.

If her voice box still worked, there'd be an obnoxious groan leaving her lips as she slowly peeled herself from the sink. Cautiously working her turtleneck back on, knowing damn well that she should've left twenty minutes ago. But Ekko had given her a new hoverboard, she'd make it to the meeting in ten. The damp parts of her hair would be dry and be wind blown, how she liked it, and she'd still have time to adjust herself before going to the stupid meeting for Ekko's fireflies and Jinx's tech. If she didn't love her mother, she wouldn't be going.

With one final glance in the mirror, her hands raised.

She signed, watching the movements then repeating them a few more times. Calming herself, then gripping the handle of the bathroom door. The brass feeling to warm for her liking as she pulled it open and headed up to her room, where she had stashed the gift from Ekko.

Grabbing it off the wall where she had it propped up, she opened the window and carefully turned it on. Setting it on her window sill to warm up, she grabbed her gloves. A gift from Caitlyn, leather fingerless gloves with small flowers handsewn into the Velcro. A sweet gift for the wild child, and she honestly enjoyed it. Pulling them on, Isha wiggled her fingers then strapped them on tight. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulled her boots over. Tying them tight enough to bring a sting of pain when she set her foot down, she took a deep breath. Needing the small dose of pain to remember that she was alive, that she deserved to be here.