mk robinson wants to be a star. (hitjackpot) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-05-07 20:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | mary jane watson |
WHO MK Robinson.
WHAT Getting out and receiving a little present. (Narrative.)
WHEN Earlier today.
WHERE Prison --> the Wynn.
WARNING Wangst? Nothing really!
If a magic genie could grant MK one wish, she would ask that she never see the color orange again. Okay, so maybe it was trivial and a tad ridiculous, but it was the first thought that flashed over her mind as the guards came to collect her from her cell one last time. Not the orange of her hair, which bordered on a reddish tinge most days anyway, but the lurid, bright color that each woman wore at Florence McClure, the one that filled almost every drab corner of the gray institution with its obnoxious hue. The one that stabbed at her eyes whenever her glances lingered too long. It would be a reminder of the days spent there, like the bruises and scratches and sore muscles would be a reminder, too. Normally, someone with a high profile would have a close eye kept on her, but when kidnapping was involved, and a child was involved, all cards were kind of off the table. She wasn’t a target of abuse, mostly, more of fascination and desire, but that didn’t stop some women from taking a more aggressive approach towards what they want. And as she walked past the rows and rows of cells with the guards flanking each side, she could hear the catcalls and whistles that bombarded her for days now. She had played the sick little game, letting these women think she could be theirs, even while she tried her best to keep herself distant. When the detectives got a hold of her finally, they questioned her again, and she explained in vague terms her involvement in Gus’s kidnapping, and they took it for what it was. Wren, after all, had laid out the events of that day explicitly, and MK hadn’t said anything to contradict it. Before they released her officially, one of the detectives, the one that brought her in, warned her that he would keep an eye on her in that pseudo-threatening way that caused MK to roll her eyes in his face. Which, of course, perturbed the law enforcers enough to try to sit on her a while longer, but her lawyer, blessedly sent by Simon a few days before, made sure she was out before the end of the day. He was a firecracker, her lawyer, and she definitely decided to go to him if something else was to go wrong in the future. When something else was to go wrong. The photographers were already waiting outside the Wynn when they rolled up in the unmarked Lincoln Town Car. Only a few were there when she was released to snap the moneymaking shot, but word had spread that MK Robinson, supermodel and criminal, was finally out, causing the number of people to triple before she climbed out of the car. Sunglasses hid her puffy eyes, and long sleeves covered the marks that marred her pale skin, and while she didn’t look as glamorous as usual, the people ate it all right up. It hadn’t been decided by the public just yet whether she was a villain or a victim, but either way, her profile had exploded. One of the men shoving a video camera in her face asked what she felt about the whole ordeal. She smiled and inflected that same charming, husky tone she was known for and said, “It’ll make one helluva True Hollywood Story, won’t it?” It certainly would. She went immediately into the lobby, only stopping off at the desk for any messages or mail that might have been dropped off. An envelope from her sister awaited, and MK knew what was inside before she even opened it. Her fingers held it delicately, careful not to bend, as she made her way up to her suite sans the lawyer. (She sent him away, on the offer to call him in the morning to discuss the next move. They both felt like it would be good to discuss what happened further.) The space looked like it hadn’t been touched, though she wasn’t stupid enough to think they would just leave her things alone; the hotel staff must have cleaned up after the cops rummaged through the rooms. When the door snapped shut behind her, only then did she allow herself to succumb to the emotions threatening her for days. She stripped to her underwear, letting her clothes fall to the floor, and she sat next to the pile, and she cried and cried and cried. Cried until her head throbbed and her throat hurt. Cried until all she could think about was that stupid fucking shade of orange. She indulged herself for a while, letting the tears overcome her, before shaking her head. Get a grip, Robinson. A searing hot shower called, and she rubbed her skin until it was red, as if that would rid herself of the memories and marks and everything else. It didn’t, of course, and after dressing, she curled into one of the armchairs in the sitting area with a bottle of Jameson because she figured that would always work better. The envelope was in her hand, and her index finger slipped under the tight seal. Inside, there were a few pictures she requested Gina send her the week before. A picture of her niece, a girl with bright eyes and dark hair and a gapped smile. A picture of she and Simon as children, a copy for each of them. And, at the back, a picture of she and her boy, her vigilante. A younger redhead, one with much less weight on her shoulders, was leaning into his as he pressed a kiss into her hair. Her smile was blinding, innocent, and pure joy. MK traced a finger over the picture and tried to hark back to those happier times where all she needed was the boy she loved. Eventually, she decided to look through the forums on her computer. She was aware she needed to make a bevy of calls, but figured she could be allowed a little time to herself. She wanted to see how the world went on without her, if anyone else began to crumble, too. Like she had, like Wren had. But, instead, she came upon a .mp3 file filled with a message that had her shaking at the end of it. She’d never heard his voice before, but the contents pointed to no one else. Alexander. His words boiled underneath her skin like nothing she could remember in recent times. He managed to pick at her worst insecurities and her biggest fears and greatest worries all in one fell swoop. She felt nauseous as she mulled over the words and threats against herself and, more importantly, against Simon. Glancing down at the picture of their younger selves clutched in one of her hands, she bit down hard to stop the quiver and the threatening tears. She took another swig and crawled into bed (a bed disturbingly soft after sleeping on a hardened bunk bed for days) with bottle and phone in hand as she considered her options. It was silly to think that she could catch a break after all this. At this point, she was certain she never would. Prison, it seemed, might be the least of her worries. |