Crystalline

~ Mutations are random, spontaneous errors that can occur during DNA replication. ~

“... I am an anomaly. My DNA, my mind, is not normal. I know very little of my circumstances, and only on the matter of the results my altered genome has had on my mental capabilities. To be quite blatant with you, Mr Stark, there’s a very real chance I could be the smartest person on earth today,” I paused, watching his face carefully. His thick brows were pulled together, his lips pursed. It was difficult to understand what he was feeling, however, it always was for me.

“If you know so little of your situation, how can you know your DNA has been altered at all?” Tony finally spoke, looking at me for the first time, eyes widened a fraction. Taking a deep breath, I chose my next words cautiously, linking my hands together in front of me.

“My parents were killed in a traffic collision when I was a teenager, 15 years and 72 days old, to be exact. Upon hearing this, I was left with their laboratory, their fortune and house, and a letter. Oddly enough, it was several weeks after I was given it before I opened it, and inside they told me the nature of my... mutation. They were deliberately unclear of the goings on of the experiment, but they made it quite clear that their actions were successful, but how successful they were unsure.”

Again, I tried to read his facial expression, but the creases on his forehead were not ones I could decipher. I squeezed my hands together, trying to provide some comfort, however unsuccessfully I knew the results would be.

“You are, I must admit, quite fascinating, Ellie, but this is the biggest company in America, and this internship receives thousands of applications on the first day it’s publicised alone. Kids are fluffed up and then studied into the ground to even have the chance to stand where you’re standing, and I guarantee you I wouldn’t even have to look past my front door step to find someone in the same circumstance as you. Tell my why you want this, ignoring all the fancy bullshit on your resume, what has driven you into this office?”

I had to fight to keep my jaw from going slack. Why did I need a reason to want to be here when I had more study under my belt that an average scholar in his mid-50s? I caught his eye, and finally noticed an emotion I recognized – amusement. Spurred on by his lack of faith, I squared my shoulders and once again arranged my thoughts.

“I have nothing in this world, if not science. My family is dead, and the only real thing I have left of them is in my head. I don’t have the means, or, as I loathe to admit, the experience to analyse my genome, or the physical and mental effects it has. I’m here to learn, not just about science and profession, but about myself,” silence met my final statement and my gut twisted. I’d got it wrong.
I could list off hundreds of formulas in relation to physics and biology, but nothing I have ever wanted to say to anyone important in my life comes out of my mouth the way it should. With a clenched jaw, I waited for him to decline my application.

“Thank you for your time, Ellie, someone will be in touch soon, you’re welcome to take the long way to the elevator, have a peek at my toys on your way out,” Tony Stark smiled, indicating to his door and waving a little, not waiting for my response before turning to his computer. I stared, dumbfounded at the man who continued to confuse me every time he opened his mouth. Starting, I turned and hurried from his office, the one with a mini bar near the window, and made straight for the elevator. I didn’t want to stay in that building any longer than I had to.

~

At home, I tossed my book bag next to the counter, got three feet away from it before I had to turn back and pick it up, placing it neatly by my desk to be sorted through at a later time. A tidy workspace is a tidy mind, I reminded myself, before going to curl up on the couch.

After my parents were killed, I didn’t want to go back to their house, logically the only valid reason for my hesitation is the distance from the city to its location, but every time I set foot in the doorway my heart would clench uncomfortably and my mind would stray. Obviously, the work that I did would suffer in such a situation. Thusly, I sold some software to a large company for enough money to buy a studio apartment not too far from Manhattan.

Now, three years on I was fresh out of college – for the second time. Admittedly, I’d been offered a few positions in a variety of places around the globe, but one place I wasn’t, was Stark Industries; the one place I’d been wanting to go to. Once again, despite logic, I’d held onto that notion until an opportunity arose, and I’d just gone and made a mess of that opportunity. If I could, I’d cry.

Instead, I elected to turn the heater on, and go about making lunch. Whilst cooking, I became mildly aware of a discomfort in my feet, and glancing down, I remembered why. When I had arrived, I hadn’t even bothered to take my shoes off. I contemplated going to change my clothes, absentmindedly calculating the time my soup would take to heat. Giving in to the now pressing ache in my feet, I headed for my wardrobe, quite conveniently placed next to the kitchen area.

The clothes in that wardrobe were the same ones my first, and only, best friend insisted I get several years previous. Her name was Cherry, at least, that’s what she insisted she be called, and I was never given an alternative name, either. We met while I was in my last year of my doctorate, when she tried to sell me study drugs; I told her I used banana chips to keep my focus, she laughed, patted my cheek and handed me a single pill. “Try this, you might be surprised,” Cherry had said. So I did – swallow the pill, that is. For some reason, she was shocked, staring with wide, pale eyes at me before laughing and tugging on my arm, pulling me along with her to another group of people. “You’re coming with me,” she giggled.

Cherry died 13 months, 12 days after that. She overdosed. Two days after that, I took as many pills as I’d calculated she would have had to take, and nothing happened. Nothing ever did. At the very least, I had come to the conclusion that my body was more resistant to chemicals and harsh substances, whether that was from conditioning from the testing conducted during my mother’s pregnancy, and my infancy, or my altered genes.

I placed the pencil skirt and blouse in the wash basket, tucked the pumps away and returned to my soup, in sufficient time to take it off the stove before it boiled, still thinking about Cherry. After she overdosed, I hadn’t even tried to make another friend. It made my ribcage ache, the idea of fumbling through conversation without Cherry. I had long since accepted that I wouldn’t be close with anyone again.

Shaking the past from my head, I washed my soup bowl, and headed over to my desk. If Stark Industries didn’t want me, I’d go somewhere else.