The Angry One

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I wrote this a long time ago. R/R if it's still good.

The thunder rumbles angrily outside. It makes the house vibrate even harder than one of Lance's tantrums. The sky is furious and eager to vent its rage. I suppose I can relate to that. I used to hate thunderstorms even when I was a little kid. All the lightning and noise scared the hell out of me. These days, I don't mind them that much.

I turn to see Todd lying beside me on my bed. He looks at me with gentle eyes and I feel some part of me melt and dissolve. His eyes are my refuge, my strength. I feel his clammy hand slowly caress my cheek. It's a calming touch meant to scare away whatever demons may lurk in the dark corners of my mind. Don't be afraid, my love. You banished them all. As I snuggle closer to him, I can only ask myself a single question. How? How could I have been so stupid and blind to see Todd as anything but the wonderful, caring person he is? The answer still eludes me.

I suppose that, in a lot of ways, I was a normal teenager. It's pretty funny to look at it that way but I guess it's true. You see a lot of us walking around. Trust me; we're not that hard to spot. We're the angry ones. You probably know the type. We keep ourselves closed off from the rest of the world, developing a persona that says "Look at me but don't get close". We act like we don't care about anything. Why should we after all? If the world is so good at hurting us then why try to still be a part of it? But the truth, as always, is more complicated than that. In the end, I guess I was just lonely. The angry one isn't abrasive on purpose. It's a learned behavior, the only behavior she really knows. You are what other people treat you as. If people treat you as an outsider then it's what you become in your own mind. People don't turn angry at the world overnight. No, it's a very slow process.

There're a lot of people like me in the world although they'll never admit it. After all, I certainly wouldn't. The angry one's always the outsider, always the anti-hero. There can't be more than one because if there is then there's the possibility of forming a group. The angry one can't do that. But there's something else the angry one can't do. She can never admit when something's her fault. The angry one's never to blame. She's just a victim of circumstances, of the cruelties of society. If the world is the one that made you angry then nothing you do as a result of that anger is your responsibility, right? I suppose it's pretty childish to think about things that way.

I was completely clueless when I was in the asylum. All I cared about was my revenge, feeding my anger and clinging to it like a stubborn child. I wouldn't allow myself to be anything but angry. I just kept thinking about all of it over and over again. Gone were dreams of a happy future, banished were desires to return to normalcy. No, all I could think of was killing my father. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for eight years. That kind of anger chews at a person. It warps and twists your perceptions. You stop thinking that maybe you're wrong. The angry one is always the victim. It's a copout and a bad one at that.

That's what life is like when you're the angry one. You think the fact that someone hurt you gives you the right to hurt anyone else you want to. You act like you don't need anybody while you wallow in all that hate and rage. You like being angry and you're too busy doing it to see that you've already let them win. You don't get anywhere because deep inside you're scared to. The angry one doesn't want help. The angry one doesn't want to move on because then she won't be angry anymore. The angry one just wants to walk around and let the chip on their shoulder drag them down. Pretty bad, huh?

I look at Todd and I wonder how he survived it all. After all, if anyone has a right to be angry it's him. Sometimes I don't know whose childhood was worse. Could I really stand being verbally abused by everyone I know every day of my life? Things were okay in the asylum because I didn't have to make contact with anyone. I was in isolation but he was out in the cold, harsh world taking more abuse than I ever could. Todd Tolensky has every right to be angry especially at me. The weird thing is that he's not. It's strange. I caved in to my anger and let it consume me. He's not like that though. The more you swallow, the stronger you become. I feel ashamed sometimes that I wasn't more like him. You're better than me, Todd, and I'm the luckiest person alive to still have you.

"You okay?" asks Todd quietly as my grip on him reflexively tightens while another crack of thunder rattles the house.

"Yeah, just a little bothered," I tell him.

"You're safe," whispers Todd softly. His voice melts me. I'm not worthy of all the affection and love he shows me. I don't deserve it and it makes me treasure him all the more. I'm not the angry one, not anymore thanks to Todd. Being that didn't get me anywhere in the first place. All angry ones eventually stop being angry if they're lucky enough. Rage is like a fire; it gets out of control but eventually dies. I'm just lucky it burned out before I made a big mistake. I won't miss being the angry one. I won't miss having my hate gnawing at my stomach or clouding my vision with red. I was saved from all that and on nights like this I'm thankful more than words could express. In the end, maybe it's better to be a person than a walking stereotype, a caricature of yourself. I'm Wanda Maximoff and thanks to the love of someone special I'm through with being the angry one.