mk robinson wants to be a star. (hitjackpot) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-10-19 03:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | mary jane watson |
WHO maddie kate robinson.
WHAT a post-party narrative.
WHEN after the flash/mj meet-up.
WHERE passages, then the waterhouse/robinson abode.
WARNING the usual mk stuff! depression, talk of self-harm, etc.
The moment Flash turned away, Mary Jane was berated with a litany of new information from MK, an explanation of most of the aches and bruise littering MJ’s body. Full disclosure of what happened the night before on her side of things, and each new aspect had the younger redhead sicker and sicker to her stomach. She stood there where Flash left her, staring up at her forehead as she listened to each awful word and fought the urge to flip out right there. This was all her fault, that all of this happened, and she had no idea what she was going to do. Wracked with guilt and completely distracted, MJ’s mind was, for the first time in a long time, weaker than Maddie Kate’s, allowing the older redhead a window to take the driver’s seat. Instead of allowing her to wait for Flash, because that would not turn out well for her, for MK, MK forced Mary Jane to walk through the door out of New York and back into Las Vegas. After crossing the threshold, the first thing she did was press her fingers against her bruised neck. She could still remember in her last fleeting moments of the night before her windpipe being actually ripped out by someone’s hands. Her hand shook as she probed against the bruises and ridges of her throat, as if to make sure she wasn’t imagining it being back in its proper place. Her entire body ached, and she knew why. The burning man. Had she not escaped then, she would have died clutched in the fingers of needley flames. It might have been a better way, compared to what ended up happening, but the agony was too much for her to face. She could vividly remember the feel of the merciless heat against her skin, so much so that she had to run her hands up and down her arms to make sure she hadn’t caught fire again. It disturbed her greatly how much her body ached for the need of everything when she was that other-worldly creature. It was all that her mind could focus on as she slowly made her way out of Passages and into a cab back to her apartment with Adam. She knew she would beat him there, as Flash was probably still on his mission to help MJ feel better (which MK thought was surprisingly sweet), and she needed the quiet to help settle her nerves. As much as she could, of course. She was a shaking mess by the time they pulled up to the complex, and MK threw cash at the driver before he could ask anymore questions. (In the course of the drive, he had pestered her about the bruises scattered across her body, insisted on bringing her to a hospital or police station, and then proceeded to badger her about how much she looked like that ‘crazy-ass model who lost her mind a few months back’.) It hadn’t helped, his probing, and her hands shook so hard it took a few attempts to unlock the front door. She had died. Felt the blood gush out of her jugular and soak her chest and midriff. She couldn’t shake the sensation of the life rushing out of her, replaced by simple ending. Nothingness. Nor could she shake the relief of that all, of the end. The journey to it had been rough -- the fire and then the hemorrhage of blood -- but it had been a great relief at the end of the tunnel to not feel the pain or the breath enter her lungs anymore. As she placed her keys on the dresser and her eyes caught a scarring red streak among the bruises, she wondered if she could ever have the courage to do it herself. She busied herself with finding wine or bourbon or something to take the edge off of her, and after a while, her fingers closed around her pretty box of pretty pills. Shaking them into her awaiting palm, she thought again of that burning man and how close she had come to dying by his hands. But that wasn’t the only problem. No, she had let herself cheat on Adam, and that guilt overtook her especially in their shared home, especially as she drifted to their bedroom. She didn’t need the man on fire, no. She didn’t want to fuck him or whatever Adam would accuse her of. She just wanted to feel something like that again. Fire, passion, pain, the desire to live. That was it, wasn’t it? She wasn’t herself either. She loved Adam with all her heart, he would have to understand that. He would have to understand that she would never want to hurt him, even though that seemed to be all she was doing lately. It was then that she let out the strangled sob she had been repressing ever since she reemerged in Mary Jane’s consciousness. She screamed and screamed until her screamed dissolved into ugly, body-shaking sobs. It caused her to clutch at her chest, to push against the bruises to remind her that this was all still reality, and she fell roughly to her knees on their bedroom floor, back sliding down against the food of their bed. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them and cried until her head hurt. Dying, that wasn’t so bad, not at the moment, and it was something that she wanted for some time now, but letting Adam down again, now that had MK inconsolable. She stayed on the floor for a long time, well after the time where she suspected he would come home, colorful pills still clutched in her hand. She eyed them for a moment before taking them all down with a painful dry swallow, tears still streaking her cheeks and down her neck. The bruises seemed more pronounced now that she had crossed the door, but she couldn’t care less. She didn’t want to remember anything from that night, even when all she could see was the leather man’s bloody fingers and all she could feel were the warm, chapped lips of the man on fire. |