cv (ephemeras) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-03-13 17:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | gwen stacy, mary jane watson |
Who: Sam and MK
What: Sam makes things worse
Where: The hospital
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: This is miserable. You have been warned. All the warnings.
The cops never came. It was a blessing, really, since the motel room Sam had sliced her veins in had been filled with heroin. But the doctor who did her psych evaluation made a deal with her the next morning, once she was conscious and stitched and hurting so bad from withdrawal that she could feel it in the back of her teeth. Outpatient rehab, outpatient psychiatric treatment, all state mandated in order to allow her to leave the hospital without being committed. If she reneged, she would be in violation and they could press charges. It was, the doctor told her, the fact that she dialed 911 on her own that made him willing to risk it. She agreed, and she didn't even put up a fucking fight. She'd put herself in this situation by not following through on her stupid attempt; she was willing to let someone help her fix it now.
The new shrink was anti-meds, which meant the fucking pain from withdrawal wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and Sam wanted to die for completely different reasons than she had originally. It was almost a blessing, the pain that settled into her bones like crushed glass, because she could barely think around it. She could barely wonder where Neil was, and she could barely feel the shame of Louis' public outing of her shit, and she could barely notice the way she flinched when any of the nurses got close to her.
In short, Sam was a fucking wreck. She lied and told the shrink she had somewhere safe to go, just so they wouldn't keep her any longer. And she would find a place once she was out of the medicinal stink of the hospital. She would, seeing as they wouldn't release her otherwise. She just had no fucking clue where. She wanted to go back to Aria almost as much as she wanted the pain to subside, but she wasn't sure if that was an option. She wasn't sure Neil could handle her freaking out, and she pretty fucking positive he wouldn't sober up for awhile; she didn't want to make shit worse for him. Which left her with few options, seeing as Gwen had gotten her fucking fired. Louis was a big no, and Iris was possibly a bigger no. She couldn't do Liam, not when Liam could barely keep his own shit together, and she was pretty fucking sure she'd get in the way of Lin and Daniel, if she went to Daniel's place. That left her with near strangers, but maybe that was for the fucking best? They wouldn't try to hug her better, and they would let her scream her shit out on her own. Seven and Russ seemed her best options, but she still held hope out that things might work with Neil.
Sam was waiting for her release papers to get signed that morning, and pain made her jittery and unable to sit and just feel everything. She was dressed in a pair of hospital scrubs and a long-sleeved sweatshirt in nondescript grey, something the nurse had hunted up for her when she'd asked to have the bandages on her wrists out of sight. She was wandering the halls in hospital socks, listening to the rubber-dot soles squeak against the tiles, and that was when she saw the shock of red hair through the open door.
Sam stopped, bruises dark beneath her eyes, medical bracelet and bandages hidden beneath sleeves that touched her fingertips, and she knocked lightly on the open door with her elbow.
The last thing MK really remembered was hitting the ceramic tiled floor in Stark Tower, her knees betraying the rest of her body and letting her collapse in a tiny heap of red hair and bad decisions. After that, she recalled vague images, like a flash of blonde hair screaming, or the overwhelming urge to vomit, or the black goo creeping up her fingers. That was the last thing she remembered, and if she had actually died, and if there was some sort of afterlife, god, she would be pissed off. An overdose on some stranger’s bathroom floor? Other people might have expected it, some people might feed off it in a sick sense of schadenfreude, but she didn’t want that for herself. Even with all the macabre, suicidal thoughts and the blasé attitude towards her life, going like that didn’t really please her very much at all. She wanted to leave more of a mark. Not just some junkie on the floor surrounded by her own vomit.
But, she didn’t die, of course, because what kind of universe would ever actually give her a reprieve? No kind of universe, that’s what. And though it was the coward’s way out, though she didn’t really want to die so pathetically, it would have been easier that way. She wouldn’t have to face being so alone, wouldn’t have to face the demons clawing at her back. No recovery necessary, just nothingness, but maybe this was a sign that she had to do the deed herself. If she had done it purposefully, she wouldn’t be hooked up to a machine to help her breathe or so many IVs she felt like a robot. She could have done it right, and that would be the end.
The redhead didn’t wake up until late, late in the night, and because they weren’t sure what kind of damage she’d really done to herself, they kept her intubated overnight. Adam had gone by that point, so she didn’t actually even know he was there. Didn’t actually know anything that had happened after her world went black. She wasn’t a teenager, at least, anymore, which meant she was home, right? Or was that just another hallucination cooked up in her comatose mind. The nurses, with their preening looks and judgmental eyes, just shook their head when she tried to ask raspy-voiced questions when the tube was pulled out of her mouth. “Don’t try to talk,” they would say. “You’ve been through a lot, Ms. Robinson.”
A lot? They didn’t know the fucking half of it.
So, she laid in her bed in silence, slipping in and out of consciousness and feeling an overwhelming sense of deja vu, and stared at the door waiting. Waiting for the people who claimed that they loved her to show their faces. Waiting for the doctors to tell her she wouldn’t ever really be the same. Waiting for some psychologist to drag her off to rehab. But, instead, the door opened to reveal a familiar blonde, and MK knit her brows in confusion. “Sam?” she asked, voice a barely there whisper. She imagined her, obviously. The world around her was still sluggish and unreal and full of confusing images. Sam couldn’t be there. How would she know where to find her?
It reminded Sam of visiting Liam in the hospital when he'd lost his shit, and that had gone really fucking badly. Sam's walls had walls, and she hated being around vulnerable people almost as much as she hated being vulnerable herself. She approached MK's bed with the same careful trepidation she had back in that other hospital, and her body was all discomfort and tension in the line of her shoulders. "Yeah," she said, because it filled the silence, and she had no clue that MK thought she was imagining things.
As Sam neared the bed, memories came slamming back through a teenage filter. MK on the floor, red hair vomit-tipped and Adam acting like someone he loved wasn't dying on the fucking floor. She didn't have the strength to be angry, but she was pretty sure she was going to hate his fucking guts forever for that one thing. But, yeah, she understood that the woman on the bed might forgive his ass, just like she (herself) would forgive Neil for hiding in a bottle for the past week, even if it fucking hurt.
Sam pulled the chair Adam had vacated close to the bed as she neared, kicking it there instead of actually grabbing it with her hand, and then she sat. With the sweatshirt and the dark scrub pants, she didn't immediately look like a patient. No wires or strings, and her blonde hair in two, long braids. "Hey, baby. Do you feel like fuck?" she asked, because beautiful MK looked like ass, and Sam was only surprised that there weren't a million fucking paparazzi trying to snap pictures of the redhead.
MK blinked a few times as the apparition inched closer and closer to her bed, and she almost curled back in fear. Almost. A small, undamaged part of her brain whispered that Sam was a friend regardless of whether she was real or not. Sam had saved her, right? The redhead offered the other woman a shaky smile as she approached. She was too tired to make any sort of real connection about why Sam would be in the hospital, though she didn’t necessarily think that the blonde had come for her. Even in that state, she knew all about wanting to hide away from people who made you uncomfortable. Or people that waved your own vulnerabilities in your face.
MK’s lips twitched up for a second. “Yeah, I feel like fuck.” They’d cleaned her of the vomit, and someone had twisted her bright hair into a messy ponytail, but she felt like shit. She had to look like shit, too. She gave Sam a once over, pleased to see that she wasn’t eighteen anymore either. “You’re not a teenager anymore,” she said, voice whisper-soft, and she quirked an eyebrow as if to ask what happened before she just spoke anyway. “I don’t remember--after I hit the floor, it’s all...nothingness.”
"Yeah, no, being a teenager wasn't all it was cracked up to be," Sam said, and she was reassured that MK - completely fucked up or not - still sounded like MK. It was a stupid, surface thing to be happy about, but Neil didn't sound like himself, and everyone else was treating her like she was a timebomb. It was nice to be around someone who was as fucked up as she was (maybe more), someone who wouldn't shrink her for five seconds.
The comment about not remembering made Sam go quiet. Yeah, maybe it was a good thing that MK didn't know that the guy she was completely in love with was a seriously selfish motherfucker. God knew that knowing Neil was off drunk somewhere, even after she'd told him she was going to kill herself, didn't make her feel any better. Why would Adam's douchery make MK feel any better? So, Sam kept that shit to herself. Maybe they could have that talk later, when MK wasn't in a hospital bed looking more dead than alive. "The paramedics came, and they dragged us both to the hospital, baby. You were admitted, and I got sent to the slammer for possession, and then we ended up back through the door. I don't know how the fuck Adam found you, but I know he did," she said honestly. "Connor told me you were here." Which made it sound like she was just there to visit, but what the fuck ever. The last thing MK needed was shit layered on top of her shit.
If MK could have laughed without her lungs aching, she would have. But, her lungs still ached from being weaned off the machine, and even the tiniest scoff had her a little lightheaded. “Yeah, being a teenager fucking sucked. I knew I didn’t miss it for a reason.” She took a moment to breathe because that was a lot. A lot of words and a lot of thought, and MK wasn’t really capable of a lot right then and there. She was lucky enough to be carrying on a full-sentenced conversation with the blonde. The redhead blinked a few times as she tried to comprehend. “Adam was there? Was he at Stark’s, too?” A pause, knitted eyebrows, and a deep frown. “Are you okay? You weren’t in jail too long, right? It fucking sucks hard, the clink.” Another slow, deep breath, and her eyes closed for a moment before continuing. “Nurses said that he was around, but he’s MIA right now. I haven’t talked to him yet, I bet he’s fucking pissed at me. Who’s Connor?” she continued, face screwed up. She didn’t remember a Connor, even if she spoke to him briefly when they were all teenagers. How was she expected to remember when she could barely function at the moment? “Did you talk to Adam?” A series of questions all jumbled up, and she wanted the dots connected. Sam would tell her straight. She was grateful for that.
"Connor is Adam's brother. He's the one who gave me the news story on Adam bringing you here," Sam explained. And, yeah, she was so not going into detail about how shit had gone down at Stark. She ignored that question in the hopes that MK would just forget about it. The redhead looked like she was having a hard time following the conversation, and Sam was pretty fucking sure that she would forget. Yeah, sure, that was the plan. Don't tell MK her boyfriend's a douche, and Sam intended on sticking to it, at least until MK was on her feet again. "I haven't talked to Adam here, no. I've been dealing with shit." She shook her head. "Neil's drunk, and I was homeless until five minutes ago, and my brother decided to scream all over the fucking journals when I hung up on him. It's been a bitch. But I knew you were ok, because Connor said as much. And he doesn't say much, from what I can tell. He's just like his fucking brother that way." She looked around the room, as if she hadn't seen one that was exactly the fucking same for days. "How long are they keeping you, and what the fuck happens after?" Maybe it was too soon to ask that, but whatever. She needed to fill the silence with something, or she would freak the fuck out like she had with Liam, and that wouldn't help MK at all. And when it came right down to it, her own life was a fucking cakewalk right now compared to the girl in the bed.
A quiet groan. “It’s on the news,” MK stated rather than asked. Of course it was on the news. What else did she expect? She was surprised her sister wasn’t ringing the phone off the hook, though she didn’t expect her parents to give a fuck at all. Her mother probably shook her head and took it as a simple loss, and her father probably used the opportunity to cash in. Cry some tears, spins some tales, get a couple interviews in People or Us Weekly, anything to get a quick buck. She wondered briefly how many nurses and doctors had sent her up the river, but blinked a few times to return to the conversation. “Oh, baby,” she breathed, and she reached out to squeeze Sam’s hand for a quick second before retreating. It hurt to do anything. “Fuck your brother and fuck Neil.” Because, sorry, what? Neil should be groveling at Sam’s feet after what he did to her, and her brother should realize that screaming over the goddamn journals fucking sucked for people like them. “I don’t think I remember him mentioning a brother.” She remembered Logan, but she didn’t remember a Connor. A vague inkling of a conversation during that couple of weeks as teenagers, but her short-term memory was shit at the moment. Shrugging, she said, “Don’t know. Kinda just woke up. Adam probably knows, unless they made him step down as my doctor again.” They probably did, they loved their power plays, especially when it was someone as important (if you would call her that) as MK was.
She blinked a few times, then frowned, and looked at the blonde with confusion writ on her face. “What happened at Stark Tower, Sam?” She was avoiding, and maybe MK forgot she just asked the other girl. Short-term memory equaled shit, y’know.
Sam didn't bother saying that, yeah, it was on the news. MK was famous. Of course this shit was on the news. She thought about how much that would suck. She hated knowing that just a few people on the journals knew about her problems; she couldn't imagine what it would be like to make the tabloids. She was way too private to ever live MK's life, and she sure didn't envy the redhead now. "Yeah, well, I'll forgive Neil, just like you'll forgive Adam, even if neither of them fucking deserve it," she said, anger laced sadness slipping into her voice and a hiss as she pulled her hand back, fingers cold and not functioning right. The comment about Adam's brother just got a shrug. "Yeah, I don't know. I talked to him through the fucking door, and once we were here he asked if Adam was dating you, so, yeah," because that was all she knew about that.
Having no idea who MK's doctor currently was, Sam just shrugged again, and she was finding it easier to do a lot of that. It hid the way her skin crawled at even being here; she hated hospitals. But then that confusion settled on MK's features again, and Sam just sighed. Fuck if she knew how to deal with this, and she should have realized it would come up before she decided to step into this room in the first place. And fuck Adam for not telling MK what a douche he was. "You were touching the suit, and then you got all weird and start seizing all over the fucking floor. I posted on the journals, because my fucking phone wouldn't dial, and Adam came over to get the suit, while I called 911." Which wasn't a lie, even if it omitted Adam's major fucking douchery. She knew she should just out the bastard, but she didn't think MK needed that right now. The redhead didn't seem like she was in withdrawal or anything yet, but Sam could feel that ache in the back of her teeth, and if she could spare MK any extra hurt before that shit kicked in, Sam would.
“It wasn’t Adam’s fault?” It sounded like a question more than anything because what was she exactly forgiving Adam for? The suit? Okay, she should take the blame for all of that. She shouldn’t have offered that goddamn drink or needled at him the way she did. “The suit, it wasn’t really his fault. He couldn’t control it. Is that what you’re talking about?” A pause, then a thoughtful tilt of her eyebrow. “Is there something else I’m supposed to be mad about?” She frowned when Sam snatched her hand back, the fingers too cold to be right. She furrowed her brows then and pushed herself up on the bed a little. “What’s wrong, Sam?” A flurry of questions because a girl who couldn’t actually remember things correctly was full of nothing but them. The story of what happened at Stark’s penthouse didn’t feel complete, and she pushed herself up further to level with the blonde. “Sam,” she said, voice hoarse and head woozy. The IV pumped her with enough meds to keep her level, though she felt that ache in the back of her head. The itch underneath her fingernails. The urge for a fix whispered at the back of her mind, and nothing would help it. “Adam didn’t stay? After he got the suit, he didn’t stay?”
It took Sam a second to realize she'd probably fucked up by saying MK would forgive Adam. It wasn't a complete fuck up, because Adam had done enough shit that it would be easy enough to lie and say her anger was about exactly what MK thought it was. Yeah, sure, the redhead even filled that shit in herself, making excuses for the fact that Adam had tried to kill her or some shit. Sam would have just agreed, but MK was asking what was wrong a second later, and fuck if Sam wanted to have that conversation. Yeah, no, so when MK asked about Adam staying, Sam just shook her her, expression going sad. "Yeah, no, baby. He didn't stay. He just took the fucking suit and bailed. He didn't come back, not while I waited and not while I was at the fucking hospital." And now she was just babbling, because fuck if this didn't piss her off. And some of it was her own shit; she knew that. It reminded her too much of drunk Neil not calling her back or coming to find her when he knew she had a razor blade in her hand. "Connor could have taken the fucking suit. He offered, and Adam asked his ass to websling you to the hospital or something instead, when he knew it could fuck you up more. He didn't even want me calling 911. He could have stayed. He could have." And she realized, then, that she was repeating herself, and fuck she shouldn't have said any of that.
Before Sam even spoke, MK knew this was bad. This was really, really bad. The idea of Adam simply leaving twisted her stomach in knots. She had to be mistaken. she simply misunderstood. He told her he still loved her, that he wanted her to get better, that he wanted to help her. And, sure, he was probably upset about her overdose, but that didn't mean he would just abandon her, right? "No," she said with a violent shake of her head. Okay, he wouldn't do that, but the truth settled in through the fog, and Sam wouldn't lie to her, yeah? Why would Sam make something like that up, though maybe Sam didn't quite understand Adam the way MK did. Still, the hurt and betrayal tasted awful in her mouth, like bile and metal and rage. A lash of anger whipped through her, and half-propped up by a weak elbow, she snatched at the closest thing on her bedside table. The plastic tray of ice chips flew threw the air and crashed on the opposite wall before MK began to snatch out the IVs wrapped around her arms. And, she sobbed, oh, did she sob. A strangled, guttural noise that sounded more animalistic than former supermodel.
The frantic beeping alarms alerted a duo of nurses who rushed in to see what the problem was. The women paid no mind to the young blonde visitor, instead focusing their energy on restraining the redhead. "Stop it! I don't fucking want your help!" MK continued to tear at the tubes and at her own skin as the nurses tried to placate her. A white coat donned doctor came in with a needle which he slipped into the arm the nurses managed to pin down. The effect wasn't instantaneous, but MK slowly calmed down, down, down until she simply fell unconscious again without another word. It was only then that the nurses and doctors turned to Sam to ask who she was.
Sam had no response. She was in the corner of the room by the time the nurses came, far away from the redhead and her torn tubes and far-flung ice cubes. Sam was crying, but fuck if she even realized it, and she was backing away from that distant needle like it was meant for her. She wanted a hit, but she knew she couldn't have one of those, not now, not without ending up even more fucked up than she already was. And fuck this. Fuck, this. She ran out of the room without giving a reply, gasp and sob, and the reality that she would never forget the memory of MK freaking out. It was like watching her own insides get flipped inside out in front of her. Because she felt that. That same fucking scene; she felt it inside.