By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. I like this one so R/R.

Bones. It's always bones. They're my life, my curse. It's what I am, all that I am. Bones. Bones that grow in places they shouldn't, bones that protrude from awkward areas where they shouldn't. Some teenagers have acne, I have bones. Lucky them.

I know a lot about bones. I know a lot about how they grow and mature. I know how to break them off cleanly so none of the fragments get stuck in me. I know when they should be broken, what level of maturity makes the best weapon in a fight. Yeah, I know a lot about bones. They're my curse. I could write a freakin' textbook I bet. Too bad nobody would want to read it.

I don't know why I think about you all the time. There's no reason to really. It just seems like you're always there. I know I have a temper. It comes from all the heartache I've had to endure. All the rage calcified and formed a protective shell around me. So yeah, I have a temper. Sometimes I just want to kill everybody around me. Just slit their throats or rip their guts out or anything. And every time I get like that there you are. You always have that dopey smile on your face and something positive to say. You always know how to make me feel better and stop the rage.

It's a funny thing about bones. Sometimes they look hard but they're brittle and they can break easily. I guess that's a lot like the way I am. I'm hard on the outside. I've had to be to survive everything. The Massacre, The Hill, my whole life has been a war for survival. Even now here at the mansion it's a struggle. If I'm not out making the world safe for flatscans who hate my guts I'm taking crap from my own teammates. It's funny to watch what a life like that can do to someone. It kills them inside. It deforms them until they're as ugly inside as they are outside. I used to be a happy little girl and now I'm a monster, a killer. Yet still, I'm just like those bones. I'm hard on the outside but inside. . .well that's different. I notice it more around you. Inside I am brittle. It makes me gag to think that I'm soft and frail. Sometimes though I am inside. Sometimes I feel like maybe I can be happy again. Sometimes I feel like I could be soft for you, Sam Guthrie.

I know a lot about bones. Take my codename for instance. Marrow: the soft tissue inside a bone. There's always some degree of softness with bones. Like cartilage for instance, bone material that hasn't fully hardened or matured. I feel that softness sometimes when I'm around you. When I see you smile or when you tell me things will be okay, I feel the barriers inside break down. I'm brittle, Sam. I am that soft tissue beneath all these damned bones. It's nauseating. It's what I've tried so hard to not be all my life. But I couldn't get rid of that softness. It's my marrow. The anger and hate calcified around it but it's all still there deep inside me and I feel it come out when I'm around you.

But I resist the softness. I'm used to fighting so I fight the emotions I feel around you. I can't let you see me break, not you or anyone. They wouldn't even like what they saw inside anyways. Even if I stripped this calcified shell of rage away they wouldn't like to see my marrow. I wouldn't either. So even though I want to be soft and frail around you, Sam, I can't be. Even though I want to tell you what I feel for you I have to hide it. You wouldn't want me, Sam. I understand. So once again I'll crawl back into my shell. Once again I'll try to not believe you when you say things will get better. Once again I'll try not to turn into cartilage when I stare into your pretty blue eyes. Once again I'll refuse to show you my marrow, show you what I am on the inside. There's something else I'll do again too though, Sam. I'll tell myself again that you don't matter. Then once again I'll realize I'm the world's worst liar.