the wounded gazelle gambit?
who: Kyle and Monica where: Monica's room when: mid morning
Monica was lying awake in bed. She was aware she needed to get going, get up, get dressed, and face the day. Buuut she didn't want to. Not really. She was going to have to take a look at the script for the first film and she just couldn't face it yet. Sighing, she stared at the ceiling, and recognized that her back ached slightly. Okay, she really needed to get up. Stretching, she got up, tossed her hair up into a messy ponytail, and stared at herself in the mirror. Ugh. She looked at her nightie, which was pretty much the same type of thing she always wore. Why didn't she have just some cotton comfy thing, instead of a long silk off white lace trimmed number? She wasn't impressing anyone in her hotel room. And yet.
Rolling her eyes at herself, she started toward the bathroom, intent on taking a shower.
Kyle walked through the door, rubbing at his eyes, head down and walking fast enough that he didn’t change his mind and stop to go back. His brain registered that there was carpet beneath his feet at approximately the same time that he walked smack bang into the woman in the room. “Shit, sorr… What the fuck?” he asked, looking wide eyed around the bedroom. What the hell? He’d just walked out the front door of the hotel - ending up in someone’s bedroom was not part of the plan! “I’m dreaming. I’m really, clearly dreaming.” First meeting Adam, who was being possibly even more clueless than before. Ending up in some strange place. Walking out. Now… this. Definitely a dream. “Ohmygod!” Monica cried when someone was coming out of her bathroom door. And they ran into her. “Oh! God! Ohmygod! Javier!” she cried, only remembering a second later that her bodyguard wasn't there, because she hadn't had him on retainer for a while now, wanting space before shooting started. She backed up fast, grabbing the first thing she could find, which was a lamp. She held it up like a bat, but the cord was too short so it stopped as she hefted, causing the cord to yank out of the back, the bulb to pop as it went out, and the shade to tumble to the floor. It was still light in the room, however, and she stared at him. “Don't come any closer!” she warned. Then she slowly took him in.
“God, what happened to you?”
Kyle stumbled back with a shriek of surprise as he was suddenly being threatened. He thrust both hands you, "Wait, stop! I... Please." He backed you until he hit the wall, wide eyed. At least the shock helped the tears to stop. Grease still a mess though. Split lip, tear streaked face. Yesterday's clothing.
He looked like hell. Like he'd been through a bad fight, or something, and she did see the tear streaks and red eyes, and blood – shit, there was blood. She dropped the lamp, and looked at him, taking a step closer. “I'm not—this is my bathroom! But are you okay? You...can I get you ice?” she asked, again, just about to call for Javier to fetch her things, but she remembered this time before she got to the part where she shouted for totally absent people.
"I... Are you gonna..." No, she'd dropped the lamp. Moving carefully and keeping half an eye on the girl, Kyle edged to the door he'd just come through. Beyond lay a bathroom. White tiles. Gold coloured fittings. Claw footed tub with a shower above. Normally, he would have loved the elegant retro feel of it. Right now, he was just massively confused. He was standing at the only way in. "I don't know how I got here," he breathed.
Monica really didn't know what was happening. This whole thing was confusing, and she sort of wondered if maybe she'd mixed a little painkillers and vodka last night. She didn't think so, though, she didn't do it often, and when she did, she usually felt kind of wrecked the next day, not just vaguely irritated with the world. She definitely didn't hallucinate. “Neither do I. I think I would have remembered inviting you in, at some point.” She paused. “You're not...you're not a fan, are you?”
Kyle frowned. "A fan?" He looked at the woman. She looked vaguely familiar, but no more than that. "No. Not a fan. You didn't invite me in. I... I woke up in this strange hotel and... I wasn't the only one. My.... this guy I kinda know... he didn't know how he got here either. And I just left. I walked out of the front doors - and out of your bathroom. Which sounds just as insane as it did in my head. I'm dreaming. Or I really did have a psychotic break yesterday and I'm really sitting in some padded cell somewhere and this is all in my head."
She looked just a bit disappointed when he said he wasn't a fan. Even if she would have been severely creeped out if he was, and he'd somehow gotten into her room looking like that. She reached up to smooth her hair self consciously, suddenly aware of her state of dress. His story sounded completely bonkers, but she nodded anyhow. “I see...different doors,” she said slowly. “...psychotic break?” she asked, wondering if she needed to run. He didn't look like he was harmful, but didn't they say that about serial killers? That they look just like everyone else? It was just also hard not to feel bad for someone who looked like he did, with that kind of kicked puppy motif happening. She backed up from him, but didn't make a show of it, instead making it look natural. “Can I get you something?”
“It would make sense really, if you think about it,” Kyle said, talking more to himself than to the girl before him. “If this was all in my head. The fact that I don’t know how I got here. Adam. Arguing with him. The tattoo – yeah, that would make more sense if it wasn’t really. Because… Who does that anyway? It’s just me. Projecting. Wanting to be important to someone. So, really, this isn’t strange – and it’s probably why you look so familiar.” He finally looked up and started talking to her. “I don’t know your name, or who you are, but you look familiar. Well, my head’s not going to make up someone new totally when they can just provide me with someone I probably met in passing or something.”
“I have been on television...a lot,” Monica said, thinking this guy was way off his rocker. She got to the window, and put her back against it, thinking there had to be a fire escape or something, right? Or, wait, she was on the ground floor. She could...climb out! Sure. “Soooo...probably it's that. Yeah. It's that. I'm definitely a dream, and you just...like remember me from some chick from one of those million crime shows, because I’m not sure you look like a big sci-fi fan...”
“Maybe I should have kissed him,” Kyle mused. “If this is all a dream, I should have kissed him.” He laughed a little, helplessly. “God, I can’t even do dreaming right. Harry was right – I am useless,” he added, reaching up and touching his lip. It had stopped bleeding long since, but it was still tender. He could feel dried blood on his chin, though not that much of it, thankfully. He looked up and across at Monica, “Do you think it’s ever okay to hit someone?” he asked her, his tone conveying that he was honestly asking a question.
She had been kind of hoping he would forget she was there. This whole thing was surreal, and clearly he didn't need her for his conversation. Or, apparently he did, when he turned a question at her. She answered reflexively, not having to think about the answer. “Now. It is never okay to hit someone,” she said. Then paused. “...it is never okay to hit someone unless you are defending yourself. I'm not a 'turn the other cheek' type.”
“Adam didn’t seem to think it was right,” Kyle agreed, nodding. “He was so mad that Harry hit me. But – I was freaking out about Nelson, you see. Ever since I found out he died, I’d been getting worse and everything just got to me. And Harry was trying to get me to calm down. So – he slapped me.” Kyle shrugged. “Not that it worked. I think it just made everything worse. Because then I was upset, and in pain, and bleeding. So, he threw me out and I ended up sleeping on a park bench and having this really weird, really lucid dream. Or maybe I died. Maybe I’m dead. Maybe I froze to death on a park bench in Manhattan.” He paused. “But – I don’t think it was actually cold last night. How cold do you think it has to be for someone to freeze to death?” he asked her, tilting his head to one side.
As she listened, she merely nodded, then decided, hey – if she was going to be a figment of his imagination in his mind? She was going to do it right. So that clicking into place, she stood straight, smiled, and all of the tension and fear melted away as she put her best acting into play. She'd done a stint as a dream anomaly on the show, she could do this. And if he was talking about people dying, she had best play it fucking well, because he was definitely scaring the shit out of her on a fundamental level.
But she was an actress, dammit, and she was going to act. And oddly, he asked her something that she thought she knew, if the writers on her show had done their homework. “It doesn't have to be intensely cold, and you can still get hypothermia, and if left that way, you could die. However, I would suggest, sir, that you are not dead. Touch your lip. Are you still in pain?”
Kyle did as she asked and touched his lip. He winced and hissed. “Yeah, it hurts,” he confirmed. He touched his right side, around his kidneys. “Hurts here are well. And here,” he added, holding a hand over his left ribs.
Monica looked at him, and felt a pang of sympathy, that warring with the terror. “Then you aren't dead,” she told him firmly. Then she frowned. “If he slapped you to calm you down, I'm guessing that was the lip – why do your ribs hurt?” she asked. “You look like it was worse than a slap.”
Kyle had decided this was definitely a dream – especially if he apparently wasn’t dead. He was happy that he wasn’t dead. That would have sucked. But, if it was a dream, there was no reason not to be honest either. It was just his subconscious working through some stuff. “When Harry threw me out, he literally threw me out. He grabbed me,” he explained, touching his upper left arm. “He dragged me through the apartment. I hit the corner of the coffee table. And the radiator in the hallway. The side table. Then the wall in the corridor. It really hurt. God, he was so angry. I’d never seen him like that. It was… It was… I was really scared.”
She'd done an episode or two that involved domestic abuse, and had participated in a campaign against it. She often participated in campaigns, another of which included gay rights, which this guy clearly was. She stepped closer to him, sitting on the edge of her bed and she patted it to indicate he should sit with her. “I'm sorry that happened to you. No one should ever have to go through anything like that,” she said, voice soft, soothing, sympathetic.
Kyle crossed to sit next to her, politely keeping some distance between them. "I overreact to things," he told her. "Something will happen and I'll just lose it. It was like that last night. My roommate, from college? Died last month, of a drug overdose. I've... not been dealing well with his death. And Harry..." Kyle laughed a little. "Things haven't been right there for six months. Guess really it was only a matter of time before something made him snap. And it was me. Last night. I couldn't stop crying. It had all built up and built up. We were meant to be going out to this big thing Harry had been planning for months. And I just... couldn't. I was sat on the couch and suddenly I was just crying, and I couldn't stop."
Listening, Monica kept her eyes on him, immersing herself in his story. “Everyone deals with death differently, and how it hits you isn't something you can control. He should have understood that you were hurting, and even so, it's still not acceptable that he hurt you,” she offered firmly. “You deserve better than to be with someone who was 'bound to snap sometime'.”
Kyle shook his head. "You don't understand Harry. He manages... everything. He organises my life for me, and all he expects in return is my obedience." He shrugged. "It used to work well for us. I was finding things stressful and he took that away. He always seemed to know best anyway. I trusted him. Then... I don't know. It stopped working. It used to make me feel safe and secure and loved, then it began to make me feel claustrophobic and trapped and limited. I guess I started pulling away, and Harry started trying harder to keep me where I was. But... I never talked to him about what the problem was. Not directly. It must have been so frustrating for him."
Monica gasped, and stood up, looking down at him. “Now you listen!” she said. “At no point is it okay for anyone to treat anyone like that! You are not a puppy, mister! You are a human being with feelings and dreams and no one should organize your life for you or expect 'obedience'!” she continued firmly. “And frustrating or not, you are the one who was bleeding and crying. You are the victim. Do not feel bad about his frustration for losing someone to control. That's ludicrous.” She put her hands on her hips.
"It's over anyway. I'm not going back. Adam said he'd send some friends round for my things." Kyle frowned. "No. He didn't. I haven't seen Adam for months. I dreamed him. He was part of this dream."
“Well! … Good!” she said, knowing that lacked punch. It was always harder to improv when you didn't have the whole script. She didn't know this script at all, considering she'd been tossed in with a crazy guy. “Or...not? I guess? It doesn't matter! Be done with him. Promise Miss Noc here you're done with this terrible 'Harry' person.”
"He's done with me, so I don't think I have a choice either way. But, sure." He coughed and pulled himself up formally. "Miss Noc, I promise I am done with Harry."
She smiled at him then reached out to nearly pat his head, but it only looked like there should have been contact, she didn't actually touch him. “That a boy,” she said with a satisfied tone. “Now drop the 'miss' part, it's way too formal. Anyway, you'll get over him and find some nice guy to hook up with, just you watch.”
"But... you said I should call you miss," Kyle pointed out, sounding confused.
“It was for effect, sweetie,” Monica said, standing straight and smiling. “Noc is fine,” she added, going for her character name. After all, she was playing a role now, wasn't she. “Anywhoo,” she singsonged. “You need some ice, and to take a nice, long shower, or take a bath, or something. Getting cleaned up is a good thing. It can be a fresh, scrubbed up, new you,” she paused. “Probably the ice after those other things,” she realized, gesturing back and forth with her hands as if rearranging words in front of herself.
Kyle looked at her, and then around the room. He felt the bed beneath his fingers. "This is the strangest dream I've ever had," he muttered to himself.
She clapped her hands together. “It sure is, isn't it!” she agreed wholeheartedly, with enthusiasm. “Now how about you go into the bathroom there, and I will try my best to get that other stuff taken care of!” she suggested.
"Oh...Okay," Kyle said, uncertainly. He hoped he would remember all of this when he woke up. He'd never had a dream where he knew he was dreaming before. "I... I'll just go into the bathroom then," he agreed. Standing, he walked over to the other room. He eyed the door that he had originally walked through, right after leaving the hotel through the front door. "I wonder where I'll end up this time," he said, then walked through the door. It was almost a shock to him that he simply walked into the bathroom and he turned round. "I'm still here!"
She was starting toward the door to the hall, then turned back around. “...yes you are,” she confirmed. “Where did you expect to be?” Stop talking to the crazy person...just leave the room, go down to the front desk, and have them call security. Does this place have security? Call the psych unit? A hospital? she argued with herself. The guy clearly needed help. She just didn’t know what kind, and she still couldn’t be sure if he wasn’t some kind of dangerous person. There were always episodes of shows where people take the side of the harmless looking ‘victim’ only to find out later they were really the predator all along. Hell, they’d done that trope about for billion times.
“I don’t really know,” Kyle admitted. “Not here? That’s a dream thing, right? Suddenly being someplace else. Because I was with Adam in the lobby. And then I told him that I was leaving. And I walked out the front door. And then I walked out of your bathroom.”
Monica nodded like she understood, even if that just rang the 'crazy!' bell all the harder. “Well, you're in there now. So, relax. Clean yourself up, okay? I'll get ice for you. Feel free to use anything in there, I've got some really nice products, high end.”
Kyle nodded and shut the door. He didn’t care that this was a dream – he wasn’t going to be undressing in front of a strange woman. Hopefully she would respect his privacy. “Strangest. Dream. Ever,” he muttered as he ran himself a hot bath. He found some bubbles and added those to the mix before undressing and sinking into the water. He closed his eyes, god but that felt good.
Monica did actually go get him ice, then she grabbed her overnight bag, made sure nothing of real value was left in the room and made a mad dash for the front desk. Someone had to be able to help. Yeah. She'd just call the authorities, and talk to the hotel staff, and it would all work out just fine, no harm no foul. Or something. Sure.