mk robinson wants to be a star. (hitjackpot) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-07-26 05:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | mary jane watson |
WHO Maddie Kate.
WHAT Reaction narrative
WHEN Memory plot.
WHERE Turnberry Place.
WARNINGS A little bit of everythang, nothing explicit though really.
She thought it was the pills at first, the darkness creeping in a sure sign that she finally took it too far, because that was the only logical explanation, wasn’t it? MK always searched for little fixes (or big fixes), and while on her “sick bed,” Adam wouldn’t let her within a hundred feet of any sort of alcohol. So, she turned to other methods. Having him, having Adam tucked away in her room with her, that worked when he was actually there, but when he was busy with his clinic or on the other side of the door, the memory of the good hours spent in his arms wasn’t enough. So, yeah, she turned to other methods like the prescribed vicodin and percocet that littered the bedside table. They didn’t make her euphoric or any sort of happy, but they did make her numb, and that was all she seeked at the moment. The first memory was a shock then, though not an unpleasant one. She chalked it up to hallucinations at first, vivid ones caused by the slight overdose, but it all seemed so real. She was the little boy aching for his parents, the one who wanted to cuddle that blue bear, and everything seemed so big to her. There was a spark of recognition, something small and bubbling in the back of her mind, and she felt relaxed. Happy, even. It was a good memory, but she immediately knew the redhead wasn’t herself, but the younger girl that inhabited her mind. Mary Jane. Somehow, MK knew the little boy was Peter without MJ even filling in the blanks. It was a good memory, their first meeting, and as the older redhead slipped out of the foggy memory and into consciousness once again, a smile crawled up her face. She reckoned maybe the pills lowered the wall between she and the younger redhead (though that didn’t quite explain why she saw it through the little boy’s eyes). As she slipped into the second memory, however, she knew it wasn’t just that because this person wasn’t connected to MK or Mary Jane, not really. MK didn’t recognize the owner of this memory, not at first, but as the vision moved on, MK made the connection. The conversation. The man she was talking to. Who the memory belongs to. A lick of anger shuddered through her, an emotion not Ainslie’s but MK’s, even as it mingled with Ainslie’s overwhelming regret and sadness. And, MK couldn’t help but not believe the woman’s sentiment that she was going to step back, that she was going to give up. MK knew feelings of regret like that, and those sort of things never went away. No one could simply brush them off. The irritation still bubbled, dragging her lips into a frown, when she woke up again, blinking hard as she stared a hole into the closest wall. Knees hugged to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her pale legs. The ache of her body finally overwhelmed the regret and anger just as her brain slipped into darkness again. This time, MK recognized the space immediately. The Waterhouse Clinic in Seattle. She visited the sterile procedure rooms plenty of times during the year and change with her boy, both as patient and support. But this was different, MK sensed that even before she laid eyes on her boy. And there was the desperation she felt pepper her voice, and the pleas shook through Adam’s body and into MK’s mind, and she couldn’t help the tears that prick her eyes. Rage blinded her, anger intermingling with MK’s own heartache, and when she came to, she screamed. Screamed and cried and sobbed and begged for it to all stop. For the entire world to skid to a halt. She hadn’t thought about him since Alexander snatched her up, almost knowing she was too fragile to dwell on the boy she lost, but it all swam to the surface now. The anger, the loss, the sadness. Her body shook from the uncontrollable crying and the anger still pulsing through her, and she knew, at least, that she couldn’t blame Adam for it anymore. He tried to help, Adam did, but her vigilante was too goddamn stupid and stubborn and moral to want to come back to her. Her sobs echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls, and she was even more ill-prepared for Wren. Wren. It was her fear and panic she felt, but MK could also feel her own heart shatter as the apathetic doctor relayed the news that destroyed her best friend’s world. And she regrets the anger she felt towards Wren more than anything, but she couldn’t shake the heaviness of Adam’s memory. Of the last time he saw her boy alive. The redhead was teetering on the edge for weeks, even before Alexander kidnapped her, but this was the final straw. Wren and Adam, the two most important people in her world right now, broken and destroyed, and she felt every lick of anger, every lilt of devastation. As Wren’s memory ended and the next began, MK could barely concentrate on it. She knew it was a memory geared towards Mary Jane, and she tried to allow the girl to take control for the moment as she curled into a tighter ball on the bed, deftly ignoring the sharp pains of her lingering injuries. They kept her grounded. Mary Jane, tucked away in MK’s mind and hiding from the pain like usual, picked up little details of the memory of the high school cafeteria with a smile and the bittersweet memory of little, broken girls playing dress-up. MJ enjoyed what MK couldn’t manage -- a time of innocence between two best friends. The younger redhead tucked it away for another rainy day (there were a lot) where she could remind her older counterpart of the good things she still had. But MJ stepped back into the shadows of Maddie Kate’s mind again as the next memory came through. The cut on her back stung as fresh as the wounds from Alexander, and as she followed through, that overwhelming sense of love the man whose memory it was didn’t make her happy. It made her jealous, and reminded her of things lost, and she knew who it was. She knew it, and MK wished that it could have stayed so simple for the two of them because that was what they deserved. It all proved to be almost too much, and MK didn’t even really recognize the final memory coming through. (MJ, meanwhile, had piqued interest and filed the memory of the slightly familiar redheaded woman away for when she finally managed to get to the door.) She only sobbed until it rolled into a panic attack, and she wasn’t sure of the dizziness was from the barrage of memories or from the fact that she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Consumed by Adam’s anger still lingering in her veins and her own heartbreak, she tangled herself out of the ball she curled into and pushed herself off the bed. Her heart hammered against her chest, her body pulsed with panic and rage and sorrow, but she knew she had to get out of this bed. To find Wren or Adam or anyone to remind her that the world wasn’t crashing down around her ears, even if that was exactly what it felt like. Hobbling slowly inch by inch, MK moved out of her bedroom and into the sitting room. The new space didn’t help quell her wrecked state, and as she shuffled through, she grasped on each surface to keep her stable. To keep herself from collapsing into a shattered mess. The tears, at least, had stopped, or at least slowed, as she laid her eyes on a brown business-sized envelope waiting on the inside of the door. One of the people at the front desk must have brought it up, MK reckoned, frustrated that the package hadn’t been picked up. With some effort, she stooped down to pick it up. It was addressed to her in unfamiliar, blocky letters, dated almost three weeks before. Curious. She blinked a few times, still overwhelmed by all the emotions storming inside her, but decides to hell with it. She made her way back to her room, and when the door closed, she slipped her finger underneath the tape and ripped. Inside was a DVD, innocuous and unmarked, but MK felt a cold chill run through her. Alexander had promised that he had proof... She couldn’t help the urge, and before she knew it, she was sitting down at the edge of her bed, watching as Alexander Pierce beat her and drugged her and assaulted her. The story that played out on the screen made everything just so much worse, if that was possible, but she couldn’t help but continue to watch it and feel herself truly crack from within. Eyeing the pills on the bedside table, she reached for a bottle and shook more tiny pills into her fist. That was it. She was done. Alexander hadn’t done it by himself, Briggs hadn’t done it by himself, losing him hadn’t done it by itself. It was a collective, everything that had happened to her finally piling up and bursting. She clutched a thin hand to her mouth to attempt to stifle the sob sneaking through her, but as the sounds of grunts and moans and cries billowed through the television, she slid down the front of the bed and onto the floor. She still held the pills in her hand, but just for a moment, and then downed them with one quick swallow before resting her body against the bed frame and sobbing again. Wondering how much further she had to descend before her world really ended. It didn’t feel like there was very much left at all. |