Peter Gabriel Kemp (father_peter) wrote in darker_london, @ 2014-03-15 05:04:00 |
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Current mood: | morose |
Entry tags: | peter kemp, tasha kemp |
Shadows (Peter, Tasha)
After having tea with Thomas, Peter excused himself to head to the hospital.
If these headaches he was having recently really were a recurrence of his brain tumours, he was going to have to go through a lot of crap before he was better. There might be chemo and pain and surgery again, or they could decide not to treat like the first time he had had it. The cancer had run its course and Peter had been unable to remember his family or even who he was by the end of it.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled his car into the RMMH carpark. The idea of slowly losing all memories of his family hung over his head like a storm could as he climbed out of the car and headed inside the building he owned and operated. There was someone he very much needed to see.
Tucked in the back of the residential area was a room which was usually kept locked for the inhabitant's own safety. Her mind had splintered after being played with too many times by demons and angels on a power trip and usually she had no idea where she even was. Some days were okay though, and she would be cognizant enough to realise she was in the hospital instead of stuck in the wreckage of the city of Delford, behind held captive by the demon Magnus.
Peter approached his daughter's door slowly, wondering if it was going to be a good day or a bad day today. He knocked lightly, keyed the code into the security box and when the lock clicked open, he let himself in. "Hello, Tasha, it's Dad," he said gently so she didn't panic.
Tasha's eyes swivelled over to rest on him but she didn't moved from her spot on the bed. She was sitting in the corner of it, leaning against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest.
Bad day.
The room wasn't large, but there was enough room in it for a chair, and Peter opted to sit there instead of crowding her on the bed. "You didn't touch your dinner," he said, glancing at the full tray of food beside her bed.
"Stop," Tasha hissed at him, her fingers scratching at her knees. "Stop talking."
As he let out a heavy breath, Peter frowned and then he nodded sadly. Every day she was in here he lost more hope she would ever really recover. She had been taken from them and held captive for a year while a demon made them all believe she was still among them; made Tasha believe she had still been with her loved ones until the demon grew tired of the pretense. And at first, after they had rescued her and Tasha had finally started to realise they were all real and she was really with them, things had been okay. She seemed firmly rooted in reality until one day at work she had just snapped and attacked a co-worker.
Since that day, more than a year ago now, she had been here. Her good days were far too few, and while Peter wanted her to come back to them more than anything, there wasn't much else he could do.
"You're all lies," she hissed again, glaring daggers at him now. "Lieessssss." She dragged the word out so long it seemed to disappear into the walls.
"Tasha, I'm really here," he said, feeling helpless. Seeing her like this always made him want to cry. Sometimes he had to sneak off to his office afterwards so he could sob into his hands in peace. This was his daughter and there was nothing he could do to save her from herself. How many people now had he managed to help and he was failing Tasha, miserably. "Please-"
She didn't answer him back, she just turned away, pressing her body up against the corner of the room so her face was hidden from him. Eventually he heard her sob out a plaintive, "leave me alone!"
There was no way he was going to force her to endure his presence if it was causing her pain, even if he wanted to be by her side as much as possible. He would try again tomorrow, like he tried every day, and would try every day until he couldn't any more. If the cancer ate away his memories like so much rust, he would try until he couldn't remember her face.
He stood and slipped out through the door, trying to do so quietly so he didn't disturb her further. Then he made his way up to his office, but he didn't feel like crying today. Instead he went straight for his desk drawer and he pulled out the bottle of whiskey he kept in there. The liquid burned his throat and Peter welcomed the feeling.
After several swigs, Peter texted Abby to let her know he was drinking and she should probably come scold him before he finished the whole bottle. Then, because it was well and truly in someone else's hands now, like a true adult, he tossed the phone aside and took another deep drink.