mk robinson wants to be a star. (hitjackpot) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-06-30 02:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | mary jane watson, spider-man |
WHO MK & Simon.
WHAT Waking up post-Alex.
WHEN After being rescued from the house in Barstow.
WHERE The no-questions hospital.
WARNING Language, talk of some dark stuff.
The heart monitor beeped steadily, the up and down line indicating a normal beat, and the noise created an almost soothing rhythm in the otherwise quiet room. It smelled of the same antiseptic that permeated through every inch of a hospital, that sterile, nauseating stench that reminded people of surgery and sickness and injuries, of emergency rooms and difficult times. The room was private and tucked away towards the end of the ward, and Maddie Kate Robinson was its sole occupant. Since her arrival, she hadn’t woken up, first unconscious from the injuries she sustained, then mercifully knocked out by sedatives the moment she arrived in her doctor’s hands. The damage was extensive, they could tell from a simple glance, but it wasn’t until they were able to perform a full examination that they realized the full scale of her injuries. Besides the obvious cuts and bruises littering her body, she suffered from dehydration and mild hypothermia caused by spending more than a week in a frigidly air conditioned room. She had lost a good amount of blood from two deep puncture wounds on her side, and the pale skin on her stomach was marred with cuts in the form of the name Alexander Pierce III. Doctors and nurses raised their eyebrows at this particular detail, but the doctors responded to money and didn’t ask a single question as to why the tabloid princess rolled into their hospital in such a condition. They simply carted her to a private room and hooked her up to a saline drip to combat the dehydration and monitored her closely. They also detected drugs in her system, a cocktail of sedatives and hallucinogens, but those would have to be flushed out gradually, the professionals assuming the drugs were administered throughout the week. Her chest rose and fell a little as she slept, and she looked almost peaceful there. As if she hadn’t just been put through hell. But as she slowly crawled back into consciousness, the bright fluorescent light burned through her eyelids, and her mind did not make the connection to a hospital room. No, she still thought she laid on the bed Alexander tied her to all those days before, and she finally awoke with a start, her body jerking and eyes snapping opened with a gasp. She immediately tugged her arms, but there weren’t any restraints to prevent the movement. Just the heavy weight of blankets to warm her body up. Blinking furiously, she looked around the room as best she could to try to figure out where she was now. She didn’t remember being moved, not at all, but she definitely wasn’t in that little room anymore. And her body ached, even through the sedatives and morphine, each wound an angry lick of pain amplified by her other conditions. Simon didn't know how MK was alive. When he'd found her, considering the cuts and how cold she was and the fucking scalpel sticking out of her stomach, he'd thought she was dead. She should have been dead. And if it hadn't been quicker to take her to the jet and fly her back to Vegas rather than hunt for a hospital in the area, he would have checked her into the nearest clinic and let them all get arrested. As it stood, he'd sat next to her on the plane and not talked to Wren and Luke. He'd removed the scalpel himself, and bound MK up as best he could with the first aid kit on the jet. He checked her pulse every few minutes, and felt the sinking horror of knowing the plane couldn't go any faster than it was going, and she might die on the way, and there was nothing he could do to change that. So he occupied himself with calling the hospital and arranging a large sum of money to be donated to them, enough to ensure someone was waiting on the tarmac with an IV and an ambulance as soon as they touched down, and that no one asked any questions. Even with that, the fact that no one asked about the fucking name carved into her stomach was a fucking miracle. And then there was the conversation he’d had with Luke on his way to find her, which he was trying not to think about, and the fact that he couldn't talk to one of his only friends anymore because he had made him responsible, he had made him an accessory to a murder and he hadn't even had the decency to lie about it. And yes, Alexander had it coming, but that wasn't up to them. And now he had blood on his hands, the same as if he'd killed the guy himself. He'd said this wasn't going to happen, that he wasn't going to be his father, that he wouldn't walk to same path he had. He'd said blood didn't mean anything, and now there was a body hidden somewhere and he knew who had put it in the ground, he'd arranged the cleanup and covered up the victim's injuries, he'd helped get them all to the scene of the crime in his stupid fucking jet. He felt sick, and a little bit numb, and like maybe he should just go, once MK was back on her feet. He was going to have to live with this, now - he'd let Alexander go and he hadn't put him behind bars. He'd pissed him off, and given him that much more reason to go after MK. He hadn't gotten there quick enough to keep her from getting hurt and fucking violated god only knew how many ways, and he'd helped cover up a murder on top of it. It couldn't go on. He couldn't go on. He didn't know how he was going to. And then he felt selfish, because this wasn't about him, this was about fucking MK who he'd fucking failed. If he hadn't felt like it would have been an even worse betrayal, he wouldn't have even tried to face her again. When she woke up at last, he was sitting in the chair next to the bed, watching the doctors go by like he had been for hours. He sat up when she began lifting her arms and blinking hard. "Hey," Simon said. His voice was hoarse, and he hadn’t slept since she’d gone in, but there wasn’t a scratch on him. He’d never gotten his chance to make his mark on Alexander. "Hey, MK. It's okay. You're in the hospital. We're back in Vegas. You're safe." She groaned again, the pain in her side growing exponentially with the slightest move, and it took a moment for her mind to register a voice in the room rising over the constant noise of the machine. All she could focus on was trying to figure out what was happening, what else had been done to her by that monster. She knew the aches of her body weren’t good, and the sting on her skin wasn’t good either. Those sharp stabs in her ankles, they couldn’t be good either. But she couldn’t see the damage without sitting up, and Simon’s voice distracted her before she had the chance to look. Instead, she turned her head towards him as quickly as she could (which, frankly, wasn’t very quick at all). Even through the fog of the drugs, she could tell he looked exhausted. “What--,” she started, but then stopped with a sigh. She couldn’t remember much of anything after Alex left, and she definitely didn’t remember anyone coming for her. Still, the corners of her lips tugged into a tired, watery smile. “You found me?” she asked, voice quiet and cracking as her eyes stung with tears. “You found me, you found me, you found me.” Her voice strained with each repeated word, and she reached up her hand, the one without an IV stuck in it to cover her eyes from the abrasive light and press at the tears coming. Simon dropped his head. Oh, god. He couldn't have fucked this up more if he'd tried to. She was here, and alive, and that was the only good news he'd heard today. He edged his hand across the comforter, placing it carefully on her shoulder. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I did." He hesitated a moment, then went on, slowly. "Wren and Luke helped, though. Luke was the one who told me where you were." He couldn't take credit for something he hadn't done, especially at the cost it had come at. "Everybody's safe," he assured her, since he assumed that would be her next question. She pressed against her eyes, roughly rubbing away the escaping tears. She was alive, and Simon had found her. She wasn’t in that freezing, small room anymore in the clutches of Alexander. She was safe now, even if that didn’t mean she was okay. Slowly, she lowered her hand and covered his on her shoulder. “Thank you,” MK croaked, squeezing his hand with her tiny fingers as she turned her head towards him again with a tiny curve of her lip. He looked burdened, exhausted, drained, and for a moment she forgot about her own pain (as much as she could) and frowned up at him. “You okay?” she asked, and maybe it was silly that she of all people would ask, but that was what MK did -- other people before herself. “Are they okay? Not just safe.” "I'm fine," Simon said, with a faint smile. It was far from the truth, but come on, that was not what this conversation was about. Wren and Luke it was a little harder to lie about. He hadn't spoken to them on the plane, but they'd both seemed like total messes. He couldn't say that, though, either. The last thing MK needed while she was recovering was to worry about the rest of them. "They're shaken up," he said. "But they'll be fine." He had no idea if that was actually true, but it seemed best to stay optimistic for her right about now. Simon glanced toward the door to see if anyone had ducked into the room while his back was turned, but they were still alone, at least for the moment, until someone noticed she was awake. "So..." he began, not sure how to broach the subject, but going for it anyway. "I talked to the doctors, and they're going to bring somebody in to fix you up 100%. Take the...words off, get rid of them, make sure there aren't too many scars, you know." It was funny, how he hadn't really thought about the fact that MK was a model until someone cut her skin up. The last thing he wanted was for what Alexander did to keep her from working. He'd hurt her enough without taking her career from her too. And, regardless of that - Simon didn't want his name on her. He didn't want to ever read or think Alexander's name again, if he could help it. He wanted it wiped from the face of the earth. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have your tormentor's name carved into your skin, but she didn't need that on top of everything else. Drug-induced state or not, MK didn’t really believe Simon when he said he was fine, or that Wren and Luke were fine either. Fine, in Seattle terms, was not very fine, after all. Simon might not have known that, but she sure did. Fine never, ever really meant fine. She also knew, however, that he was trying to save her from worrying while she was bound to bed rest. So, she returned his faint smile with one of her own. “Okay,” she replied quietly, even though she didn’t look very convinced. She would call Wren the first chance she got and really check in on them. At the very least, everyone was safe, and that was what mattered most at the moment. They could work on getting better. As Simon went on, she furrowed her eyebrows. Words? What was he-- and then, like a lightswitch in her mind, it clicked. Alexander and that scalpel. Oh god, that scalpel. From the angle she had been tied on the bed, she couldn’t actually see what the bastard was carving into her stomach. Only slight scratches and the streaks of blood across her stomach. Without a word, she let go of Simon’s hand, pushed the blankets down to her waist, and sat up with a hiss. The pain in her side begged her to lay down again, but MK wanted to see the damage for herself. Hiking up the hospital gown to expose the pale skin underneath, and her stomach lurched violently. “Oh my god,” she whispered, swallowing hard. She looked over at Simon again with horror and lip quivering. “That fucking bastard. He said...he said that I should be grateful he did it. That people pay for that kind of stuff to get done. And then--then he stabbed me because I wasn’t reacting the way he wanted.” Her body slumped again, and her head hit the pillow hard. Wasn’t it enough that he tortured her for over a week? He had to put a permanent mark on her, and that made her feel sick. Just to have a constant reminder of what he put her through. Simon was relieved that she was mad, weirdly. It was better than her being depressed or letting it really destroy her that way. But that didn't change the fact that he had no idea what to do or say when she started talking about what Alexander had done to her. His face briefly screwed up with rage that had nowhere to go - Alexander was dead, and he'd already done his damage. He felt impotent, angry and freaked out with nothing he could do. He felt, too, completely ill-equipped to deal with any of this. He wanted to comfort MK. He wanted to make it okay, to say the right thing, but he'd never been good with words or talking about feelings or any of that shit. No one had ever comforted him when he was a kid. The only way he knew how to fix things was to go beat up the person who'd hurt the friend who was crying. If that was off the table, he didn't know the first thing about when to talk, or how to listen, and it made him feel like shit. Because that person, the one who could talk it through, was who MK needed right now, and that just wasn’t him. "He's gone," Simon said, voice a little thick. He cleared his throat. "Alexander, I mean. We don't...know where he went, but Luke seemed to think he wasn't going to be trouble for anybody anymore." Now that was a thin cover story if he'd ever given one, but he had no idea how much MK should know. He wanted her to know that she was safe now, that he couldn't hurt anyone ever again, but she couldn't know what had really happened to Alexander. Simon wasn't pulling her into that whole ugly mess, no way. She didn’t want to burden anyone with the details of what happened during her time with Alex, especially Simon. He had seen what kind of state she was in, of course, but irrationally MK wanted to keep all the nitty gritty hidden from him. He didn’t deserve the heaviness. None of them did, of course, but Simon most of all. That he got pulled into all of this drama was just a circumstance of knowing them. She felt awful about it, and if she knew what he was thinking, she would feel incredibly guilty as well. MK wanted no one to blame themselves for what happened -- this was Alexander’s fault, and a little bit of her own. Not Wren’s, not Luke’s, not Adam’s, and certainly not Simon’s. “Yeah?” She was too mentally and physically exhausted to question what actually happened to Alex, but she seemed a little suspicious. After everything that Luke and Wren had said over the past few months, MK hardly thought they would just let him walk away. They had to have done something to make sure he stayed away for good. What that was, well, she didn’t want to harp on that right now. “I’m sorry, Simon. I’m sorry all this happened, and I’m sorry I wasn’t smart enough to stay away. I should have been.” She sounded angry, more at herself and the situation than anything else, and her voice cracked again. Frustrated tears began to slip down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have trusted him so easily. I don’t know why I didn’t ask how he looks or why I didn’t fucking think.” Simon's hand still rested on her shoulder when she fell back onto the pillow, and he squeezed, lightly. "Don't apologize," he said. "Seriously. This was not your fault. Okay? This is on that motherfucker who hurt you. This is him, not you. You didn't tell him to fucking torture you, he made that fucked up decision himself." His shoulders slumped. "I should have told you what he looked like. I'm the one who didn't think, okay? You did nothing to deserve this, fucking nothing." He shook his head. "It's not your fault you wanted to trust somebody. If you never trust anybody then the world's just a shitpile and you end up a lonely sonofabitch. You don't stop trusting anybody because this happened. That'd be giving him what he wants." Or wanted. He nearly slipped and spoke of Alexander in the past tense, but caught himself just in time. “No, it is my fault. I didn’t have to run right to him. I didn’t have to prove a point to Adam after he broke up with me at your party. After everything, I shouldn’t fucking trust people.” She squeezed her eyes shut hard, angry tears still spilling out of the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks. She never felt more vulnerable, more broken (except, maybe, when she lost him), and she absolutely hated it. Alexander hadn’t only damaged her body, he had wrecked her mind. MK couldn’t see how she could get better, couldn’t figure out what would help her. Good friends, she supposed, but she didn’t want to have them dragged down, too. Eyes popped open again, bloodshot and glassy, and rested his face for a moment. Yeah, friends like Simon might be able to help, if there was any hope at all. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “It’s hard to actually believe any of the bullshit we always spout after...well, after all this.” "Don't say that. Hey. This isn't your fault," Simon said. He felt helpless again. He could tell that nothing he said was going to change her mind, that it was just going to take time, but he still wanted her to be alright. He wanted this to never have happened, to not feel like he'd failed one friend and lost another, but it had, and all he could do was try to salvage from what was left. "Don't worry about it," he said, while he worried. "Look, I know you feel like this right now, but it won't last forever," he said lamely. It was true, but it still sounded fake. "There’ll be other people, decent ones you can trust. Not everybody is a psycho.” He smiled, faintly. It was hard to even imagine joking, but he tried all the same. “Next time you meet a new guy, you bring him around to me and I'll be dad. I'll put the fear of fucking god into him." MK appreciated his effort to make her feel better, but nothing he said -- or really, what anyone would say -- could assuage all the chaotic feelings of guilt and trauma and fear still resonating through every part of her body. All of this shook her to the core, if she was honest with herself. More than her time in Briggs’s clutches, more than the years of abuse, more than losing him. It felt different this time, like the damage was irrevocable. Like there would be more scars than the ones that marred the pale skin on her belly, something like the scars that littered her body during that night at the hotel. Permanent, but hidden. A secret. She looked at him for a long moment and silently wondered what he would be doing if he hadn’t ran into her in Passages, if they hadn’t managed to having a pair of comic book characters drawing them together. Reaching forward, she pressed her hand lightly against Simon’s cheek, brushing her thumb across his cheekbone. “I’m sorry you got into this mess.” And she was, really, because Simon didn’t deserve something like this, worrying about all this mess. Not at all. She worried her lip, and bloodshot green eyes took him in with a mix of regret and a strange something else. Gratefulness, maybe, or understanding. “Do you regret it? Meeting up in Passages that first night, I mean. Wonder if you’d dodge all this bullshit?” Simon sighed, running his teeth over his lower lip and catching them on his piercing, worrying it. "Don't apologize," he said again. There was no reason for her to. This wasn't her fault. It didn't matter if she'd made mistakes - she still wasn't responsible for this. "Of course I don't," he said, looking up at her, dark eyes worried. "You're my fucking friend, alright? You treated me like I wasn't totally nuts when we were kids and you had every reason to treat me like I was nuts. We're older but...that doesn't mean that's changed. That doesn't go away. You're still an awesome person, and I still want you around. It doesn't matter what fucked up shit happens." He slipped his hand from her shoulder, reluctantly. “You should get some sleep, man, you look wiped.” “You weren’t nuts, Simon,” she said, smiling slightly as she remembered their younger years. Even while the kids at school and in their neighborhood thought he was a loose cannon, MK never thought Simon was nuts, even as a kid. To her, he was always that good guy who was a bit of a victim of circumstances. Stuck in a shitty situation like she was. “Not so sure about now, though,” she teased, settling where she laid and letting her hand fall slowly from his cheek. “I’m not tired, I’m fine,” she assured, even as her eyelids drooped significantly with each word. “You need sleep, too. Promise me you’ll get some sleep.” It sounded childish, the demand, but MK couldn’t help it. She wanted Simon to be well, completely well. She needed him to be because if she couldn’t, at least someone could. Mumbling something under her breath, she closed her eyes and immediately dozed off, likely into a fitful sleep. Alex may have been gone, but the memories he left behind would circle like ghosts for the weeks and months to come. |