Stephanie Brown (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ichoosefight) wrote2010-11-04 10:52 am
ichoosefight) wrote2010-11-04 10:52 am
18 - Text - Any time from Thursday to Sunday
[ooc | Throwing this up now for close friends who were interested in popping in. Depending on when you decide to talk to her/show up, her condition will be steadily improving in the direction of Monday, so pick a day based on what you feel like dealing with? Placeholders perfectly acceptable. Assume text responses take a while. ]
[ Private to Paddy ]
I got my very own corner. It's dark and full of blankets. I'm really quite fond of it.
...Any thoughts on things I can eat that won't make me nauseous?
[ Private to Tim ]
Smuggle me food? Or better yet, smuggle me an IV so I don't have to actually eat ever again.
[ Spam! For anyone brave enough to come and check on her. And look, you have a choice of days! ]
[ The moment she made it back to her room, Stephanie locked the door and barreled onto her bed. She was well enough to walk, but every part of her body still ached. Still, she was determined to seem strong. The whole way back she took special care to avoid running into anyone she knew. She didn't do anything to the drawing of what she had to assume were honeysuckle flowers, probably from Claire, outside her door. She locked the door and kept the light off, keeping as quiet as she could. Her room should look for all the world as though she wasn't there. That way she could pretend at times that she wasn't there at all, but in the CES, the library, the gym, or best of all her room back home.
Most of the time it wasn't so bad. Sometimes she would get out of bed and pace the room, try to work through her feelings about what had happened during the flood. She even took a shower at one point. Other times she would get depressed. She thought a lot about quitting, going home, even giving up the cowl and living the rest of her life like a normal person. When it got really bad she thought about quitting school, giving up both her vigilante life and normal life, living on the streets. Every time she thought about killing herself she opened up her Philosophy textbook and pretended to do homework.
The worst was the cravings. She cursed herself for not knowing who it was she got the damned stuff off of, for not having the courage to ask around and admit that she remembered everything. She even picked up all the empty bottles and both wine glasses from her floor and shattered them against the wall in a rage. The bathroom was the only part of her room that was spared any wrath, and then only because she needed a clear path to the toilet. She cut her feet on the glass a couple of times, but she barely felt it. That was Thursday.
She wanted it all to stop. She wanted to know who had done this to her (because how could she possibly have done this to herself?) and exact some sort of revenge. Most of all, she wanted the drug. She even remembered most of the stupid song he had sung to describe it to her. Zydrate comes in a little glass vial... Friday was spent huddled on her bed in the corner as she sung it under her breath, shivering and sweating and hugging the blankets she wrapped herself in. Saturday was better. She actually got to sleep, and spent more of her time cold than overly hot. By Sunday she was beginning to clean her room, mostly by shoving everything on the floor against the wall. Still, it was an improvement. She was getting better, day by day. ]
[ Private to Paddy ]
I got my very own corner. It's dark and full of blankets. I'm really quite fond of it.
...Any thoughts on things I can eat that won't make me nauseous?
[ Private to Tim ]
Smuggle me food? Or better yet, smuggle me an IV so I don't have to actually eat ever again.
[ Spam! For anyone brave enough to come and check on her. And look, you have a choice of days! ]
[ The moment she made it back to her room, Stephanie locked the door and barreled onto her bed. She was well enough to walk, but every part of her body still ached. Still, she was determined to seem strong. The whole way back she took special care to avoid running into anyone she knew. She didn't do anything to the drawing of what she had to assume were honeysuckle flowers, probably from Claire, outside her door. She locked the door and kept the light off, keeping as quiet as she could. Her room should look for all the world as though she wasn't there. That way she could pretend at times that she wasn't there at all, but in the CES, the library, the gym, or best of all her room back home.
Most of the time it wasn't so bad. Sometimes she would get out of bed and pace the room, try to work through her feelings about what had happened during the flood. She even took a shower at one point. Other times she would get depressed. She thought a lot about quitting, going home, even giving up the cowl and living the rest of her life like a normal person. When it got really bad she thought about quitting school, giving up both her vigilante life and normal life, living on the streets. Every time she thought about killing herself she opened up her Philosophy textbook and pretended to do homework.
The worst was the cravings. She cursed herself for not knowing who it was she got the damned stuff off of, for not having the courage to ask around and admit that she remembered everything. She even picked up all the empty bottles and both wine glasses from her floor and shattered them against the wall in a rage. The bathroom was the only part of her room that was spared any wrath, and then only because she needed a clear path to the toilet. She cut her feet on the glass a couple of times, but she barely felt it. That was Thursday.
She wanted it all to stop. She wanted to know who had done this to her (because how could she possibly have done this to herself?) and exact some sort of revenge. Most of all, she wanted the drug. She even remembered most of the stupid song he had sung to describe it to her. Zydrate comes in a little glass vial... Friday was spent huddled on her bed in the corner as she sung it under her breath, shivering and sweating and hugging the blankets she wrapped herself in. Saturday was better. She actually got to sleep, and spent more of her time cold than overly hot. By Sunday she was beginning to clean her room, mostly by shoving everything on the floor against the wall. Still, it was an improvement. She was getting better, day by day. ]