inkonstage (inkonstage) wrote in repose, @ 2016-10-26 09:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, marta flores |
[narrative: marta]
Who: Martashine
What: Screw this hospital
Where: Repose's hospital → above the tattoo parlor
When: About a day after she's found
Warnings/Rating: Injuries, bad coping skills (present tense verb usage)
She wakes up - or comes to - in a sterile white bed, only half able to see, with cannula-fed oxygen flowing into her nostrils. She can feel that her entire body is throbbing with ache and injury, but the painkillers being fed through her IV mean that she doesn't care.
She hates the hospital though. Hates the memories that come with it (fear, blood, panic, the numbness of after, the self-hatred as she watched the baby with Seven and no idea of how to be a mother. …Seven, who she misses with a choking pain some days). Hates the smell and the too-bright, low-saturation burning white of everything. Hates the sound of machines and hushed people and low announcements paging through the space. Hates the fake kindness of nurses and doctors as they look at her and judge behind their smiles.
Once she's awake, they give her the rundown of her injuries, the words filtering through to her brain past the haze of drugs and lingering shock. She doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to tell them what happened, refuses to talk to the police. She doesn't know the man that brought her in, has never heard the name "Atticus McVickers". Her excuse of what happened? She got mugged at the party, she didn't see the person in the dark and costumes. She has nothing to say. Nothing. She wants to go home.
And the thing is, compared to other people flowing into the emergency room, she's not that bad off. She's obviously injured of course, and looks like hell, but she's not bleeding (any more than a few of the deeper scrapes on her back that will take longer to scab over), there's no internal damage, and she doesn't require surgery. What she requires is rest and healing (and antibiotics). All of which she can do from a bed that isn't a trillion dollars a minute of money she clearly doesn't have. She makes herself just annoying enough of a patient that when she says she's refusing any more medical care, they only frown at her a little bit before arranging for her release. They make her pick up the antibiotics from the hospital pharmacy, and give her the run-down on how many ibuprofen she can take at a time. They tell her not to drive, to take it easy, to have someone help her at home. They tell her to come back in if anything worsens. She doesn't get any prescription painkillers.
Even though Repose is a small town, she manages to arrange a taxi to take her home, digging the cash out of her pocket and shoving it blindly at the driver without counting. It's more than enough money, and she can't handle trying to figure it all out at the moment. Her ankle is sprained and held steady in a hard-sided brace, but she has no cane and no crutches, and has to hobble into the building and up the stairs to her apartment.
Though all she wants to do is collapse in bed, she pulls up her computer out of its sleep mode to make sure nothing catastrophic happened at the party. It's hard to type with one arm in a sling (to help support her bone-bruised shoulder), but she manages to navigate to the forums to see Lip's message to her. Cursing under her breath, she types back a quick note, hoping it hasn't been long enough to make him start to worry, types another one full of injured anger, and then slumps over (carefully) in bed, the laptop open next to her but the glow doing nothing to keep her from tumbling almost instantly back into sleep.