Asuka hasn't had an opportunity to fail at being a lover or a mother. She's certainly failed at being a daughter, though. She'd like to scream that the world failed her first, but she knows that's not true. If she wasn't a failure, she wouldn't be here, curled up on the floor of a dingy apartment, covered up by a towel and shivering. Her hands clench at the cloth,drawing it tighter and tighter around herself, as if she can shut out the world. She wants to cry and scream and break things. She wants someone to tell her that everything will be fine. She wants to kill the old men who have apparently turned her life into hell, who took away her mother.

She wants a hug.

A part of her wants Misato to comfort her and a part of her would take that, in this moment A way for all of the tension and horrible emotion that's built up inside of her to come pouring out. Catharsis. She's denied that, of course, by her own head and by Misato. There's no where for it to go except into anger and hatred and vicious self-loathing.

Why didn't she see any of this? Why didn't she understand? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Worthless.

"No," her voice comes out in a strained whisper. She's holding back tears again, throat tight, eyes aching. She thought she'd poured all of it out, but there's more, so much more, trying to pour itself out of her. A lifetime of resentment and anger and sorrow, all being brought to a head and she can't get it out. There's no where for it to go. No place for the energy to spend itself.

"Now I know who I have to kill."

What did they expect when they gave a fourteen year old girl the power of life and death?