Rosalie Belvedere (beaute_endormie) wrote in bellumlogs, @ 2010-03-01 18:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | red riding hood, sleeping beauty |
Who: Rosalie and Boyd
What: A much needed talk
Where: Woman's shelter
When: Right after this
Warnings: Misery
It was a couple hours and a great deal of Scotch after Daniel had told her that she would just cause more problems by going to check on Boyd that Rosalie walked into her bedpost and suddenly decided her life needed order again. It really hadn't been so long since everything had seemed to disintegrate. Things were so complicated and twisted now. She didn't know exactly how angry Daniel was or if he would forgive her, and she couldn't fault him for being mad because she had lied and that had been a risk all along. He was living alone at Piedmont, learning to adjust again, taking care of Kat, and if the papers that had been everywhere were any indication, writing again. It was progress and it was great, but she knew that he didn't really need her there anymore. She still wanted to be friends, but as Ella and Vlad had pointed out to her numerous times, Daniel didn't really consider any of them to be his friends.
Boyd was more difficult to sort out. Rosalie didn't know quite where things had gone wrong there, and it was a convoluted mess now, with Daniel and Shane and her family, and who knew what else. It hurt, that she had left that night, because Boyd- Singer- had been her first friend in the building, but it wasn't so surprising. Not to Rosalie, who had found that the people she held closest were just as likely to leave as anyone else was. Then Shane had messaged that Boyd was missing and Daniel found out that she was at some women's shelter, and Rosalie didn't know what had happened, or why.
Peering hazily at in a mirror at what she knew was going to be another bruise, she decided to try to go back to what was easiest, and hope that someday, Boyd would come back and explain things. So in the morning, she hid her smudged and hurting eyes behind dark sunglasses, wrapped a scarf around the bottom of her face-- which was still black and blue in some places-- and ventured outside. The noise of the city made her head hurt, so she took a cab and tried to block it all out.
The shoot director took one look at her and sent her home. Lifting her glasses slightly, he clicked his tongue and shook his head at her. You are always so tired, chérie, go home and sleep. I don't want to see you again until you no longer look like a raccoon, d'accord? He touched the bruise on her forehead gently, and added, And be more careful when you drink. You don't want to damage that pretty face of yours. Now shoo. Rosalie could have cried, but she was too well trained to be as unguarded as that in public. She nodded silently, went home, and fell asleep, but woke up in the middle of the night, choking back a scream. Waking up suddenly like that was frightening, disorienting in a way that no one who didn't have a sleep disorder could ever understand.
Rosalie didn't go back to sleep. She couldn't. She talked to the new guy in 202 for a while, and it made her realize that she missed the city. It wasn't as cold as it could have been, and nine million people ensured that it was never very dark. Rosalie slipped into a coat and boots, wrapped her scarf back around her face, and just walked. She didn't realize she had a destination until she looked up and saw a street sign that was vaguely familiar. Boyd's safe house was on this street. Grateful that New York was so easy to navigate on foot, Rosalie counted down the numbers of streets and buildings until she found the women's shelter. It was grey and not very welcoming, and it made Rosalie sad that someone as bright as Boyd had had something happen to her that made this the right place to go.
The sun was just coming up and she tilted her head up further to avoid the glare off a nearby office building, making her scarf slip off of her face. Someone gasped beside her, and Rosalie spun, startled, to see a woman looking at her pityingly.
"Don't you worry honey, let's just get you right on inside."
Rosalie stared at her in confusion for a few moments before realizing. "Oh no, I'm not-" The woman had already taken her elbow and was hustling her inside. "But-" Didn't these people have to have some sort of consent?
"Give me your name, honey, and I'll let you go on to breakfast. We can get the rest of it later, you look cold." She looked at Rosalie, waiting.
"I haven't been abused." Rosalie tried to explain that she had just been thinking about a friend, but the woman's eyes traced the yellowing bruises under the blue fingerprints and up to her forehead, which had obviously happened more recently, and wasn't having it. Finally, Rosalie used her mother's maiden name and wrote her name down as Rosie Tilden. It was a name that she hadn't used in quite a while now, and it only worsened the situation. Miserably, she was led off to breakfast, and although she got a tray of food, she pushed it around instead of eating it. She sat alone, quietly, and tried to hide her face with her hair. These women had actual problems and difficult lives, and she felt like an impostor. No one in the room had vibrant red hair, so Boyd wasn't here anyway. Rosalie pushed her food around some more and contemplated just going back to sleep right here. Maybe she would wake up and be back in her apartment.