ichoosefight | 18 - Text - Any time from Thursday to Sunday

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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. ]

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[Well that's not worrisome at all. He starts pulling out the glass with the tweezers.] Distracted by what? Did you even feel it?

[ Well she feels it now. She hisses at every shard that comes out. ]

What do you think? Everything hurts. A little glass wasn't much - OW! - difference.

Now you feel it, [he grumbles. And he only grumbles cause he cares. Honest. He's as gentle as he can be, but that antiseptic is snot gonna be fun when he pours it over her foot.]

[ She's trying not to kick him unintentionally, but only marginally successful. ]

It didn't hurt when it was just sitting there. [ But then the rest of her starts to ache again and she pulls the blankets tight around her with a moan. ]

There was - something I wanted to tell you. What was it?

[She's hit him in the face with a brick. He can take a little kicking. Tim manages to clean and start wrapping her foot, though, so he glances up at her.] Don't remember?

I had it a second ago, I just forgo- Oh. Right. That.

[ She pulls the blanket up over her head like a hood, because it makes her feel safe, and stares pointedly at the wall next to her head. ]

Aboutthatwholememorylossthing.

[Really, the covering herself up was the first tip off. It didn't take a lot of effort to decipher what she said, not after hanging out with Bart for all those years. His stomach tightened a little, his gut trying to warn him.]

What about it?

[ This wall. Is just so fascinating. Look at it, Tim. It's not matte at all. It's got dimples and things. ]

It... may have been a bit exaggerated.

[Oh, yeah. Totally about as fascinating as the lying. Yep.]

How exaggerated?

I honestly don't remember getting out of bed that morning? There are some blurry spots from the drinking and the- you know. Drugs.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Well you weren't...you, at the time. [But. Jeez. Wait, drugs.] What did you take?

[ Yes. Yes, let's go with that. ] I don't-

He said it was called Zydrate. I'm not sure I believe him.

Who was it? I mean, normally and for the flood.

I have no clue. He had crazy dreadlocks and was singing about robbing graves. Second floor, if I remember right.

God, Tim, am I the only person who was recognizable for the damn thing? I don't even know who all I- [ Well crap. Now all you have is a shaking heap of sick blonde girl. ]

[Oh God this got worse, didn't he? He gave her a moment, checking out the other foot and taking care of that one too, if it was glass filled. But yeah that can only last so long.] Who all you what?

[ Oh please don't make her say it. ]

Stupid costume with its stupid skirt and the stupid handcuffs and- [ Uh oh, there goes her stomach again. ]

You just about done?

[He almost does, but. Then decides he really doesn't want to hear it. Oh God. Tim puts her foot down and nods, standing with both hands stretched out toward her.] Yeah. Come on, you should be in bed.

[And oh God he doesn't want to ask this part but he feels like he has to.] Steph, were...were you safe?

[ She drops the blanket. She's starting to get overly hot again anyway, and she needs both hands to get her back on her feet. ]

Yeah. [ She's starting to look a little like a tomato. ] Thank god for small favors.

[Tomato, what, he totally isn't even looking at her. Just. Gonna make sure he can get her to the bed.] Good. [Cause it'd just. Not be a good thing.]

I-- shit. I wish I really didn't remember. [ Her patience with life, it is running out. She lets him lead her to the bed and flops down on it, but she holds on to his arm. She doesn't want people to see her like this, but she doesn't want to be alone either. ]

[Well this is confusing. He hesitates, looks at the door, then sits down on the edge.] I'll stay for a little while, [He offers, and. Might half be hoping she'll refuse, half hoping she won't. It's very difficult to decide these things.]

[ Her hand just stays on his arm as she curls in on herself. Her shoulders start to shake, and- crap. It's another faze of depression. ]

I'm sorry about all this.

[Crap crap crap indeed. Tim puts his hand over hers.] It's okay. Really.

Don't tell anyone. [ She squeezes his arm, trying to at least sound like she's not crying. ] About the whole-- I don't want to remember.

[Oh God. He squeezes her hand, and nods.] I won't. Our secret, okay? We don't have to talk about it again, if you don't want to.

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