There were few things more satisfying than flying, high in the sky, at the speed of light. To be going so fast the only thing left behind was a trailing streak of color, to be so high up breathing was a little difficult (though she'd never admit it; once she did, she'd have to talk herself into descending, at which point she'd start to think about the project due next month she hadn't even started thinking about, and the mounting pile of laundry in the Professor's room, and a million other things on her to-do list).
Of course, there were times when even flying couldn't take the stress away. Times when the tottering pile of homework was too much even for her, times when the monsters seemed too big, times when he was downright insufferable. The longer he was in town, goading her with his inaction, taunting her with the grades that rivaled hers, the more and more the itch she just couldn't satisfy gnawed behind her eyes. Music couldn't soothe her, Jane Austen couldn't take her away for more than a few minutes before her mind started to wander back to forbidden territory. It was like he was right there, just under her skin where she couldn't reach, every second of every day.
The only thing that worked anymore was being with him. At least when he was right in front of her she had something tangible to attack.
The problem, of course, was that the more time she spent with him, the more that nagging fire burned and boiled her away from the inside out whenever she tried to catch a break. The more she caught him with that stupid superior half-smile, the more she felt his eyes on her, the more she sensed him, the worse it was when they were apart.
The unavoidable truth of the problem was…well, when she was with him…that was the only time she felt truly free. Free from that constant need to be around him and to stomp on him simultaneously, because he was there, there for her to argue with and talk to and sometimes just to look at.
There was a sick logic in that, but its sickness didn't make it any less true. If anything…it made him more desirable for that very fact. She was tired of being Blossom, the uptight, prim, proper, stick-in-the-mud, responsible, mature one. She wanted to scream, because she was capable. She wanted to rage and storm and pitch an outright hissy fit, because that's how he made her feel. She wanted to kiss him until he begged for mercy, because that's how badly she wanted to do something completely unexpected, something she wanted and needed.
That's how badly he made her want complete and utter freedom.
A/N: The first of one hundred Powerpuff Girls drabbles, just to get me oriented around the characters. I've never written for them before, so I want to be sure I can do it right. This one is for Blossom, and she's referring to Brick (because I believe in Reds, Blues, and Greens). I heartily blame the wonderful and twice-as-talented-as-I'll-ever-be sbj for convincing me to write for this fandom, even though she doesn't know I exist. Craig McCracken is the mad genius behind the Powerpuff Girls TV show and franchise.
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