riley casteling is angrboða, not happyboða (griefbringer) wrote in monte_rpg, @ 2012-08-15 12:21:00 |
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Current mood: | stressed |
Current music: | Kyosuke Himuro feat. Gerard Way |
forty-four.
[warning for troubling themes.]
[In the hours following Riley giving Jon the out he needed to finally dump her and rid himself of the dead weight she'd become in his life, her decisions had not exactly been the smartest.Well, that wasn't entirely true -- much like the break-up itself, they'd been incredibly well-intentioned, just poorly executed -- but you'd never hear her admit it.
Let's recap:
- Realizing she shouldn't be alone after her conversation with Jon, Riley went to Jake and Aimon's.
- Drank more than she thought possible, propositioned Jake.
- Made out with Jake, who freaked out after he kissed her, and somehow was rendered immobile.
- Left Jake and Aimon's, got jeans stuck by the belt-loop on the banister in the stairwell, causing her to take a header down the stairs.
- Banged head off wall, discovered jeans got ripped bad enough to make them unwearable.
- Walked back to the woods in Jake's t-shirt and no pants.
- Tripped over some rocks, messed up ankle.
- Bear attacked her tent while she was trying to sleep.
- Went for a swim in the lake, nearly drowned.
- Discovered via word of mouth whispering that half the school thinks she's a heartbreaking slut and the other half just want nothing to do with her.
- Tried to go to the hospital, car wouldn't start, had to walk.
That last one wasn't so bad, unless one factored in the large egg-like mass that had swelled up on her right ankle. What started out as an uncomfortable pain was now bruised and possibly broken, causing irrational anger to well up inside Riley at having to deal with this on top of all the other shit fucking up her life. She wanted to cry, but she had far too much pride to truly believe that this was all a mess of her own making. Even now, as she sat in the lobby of Montenegro General Hospital glaring at the clipboard in her lap, there was a big part of Riley that could easily place the blame for all her woes on other people. However, try as she might, she couldn't make herself believe it.
All she wanted to do was admit herself to the psych ward for observation, since the events of her late Tuesday night and Wednesday morning had her convinced she had a subconscious death wish. However, a person couldn't just do that, they had to fill out paperwork. And she hated paperwork, especially when it asked uncomfortable questions. Describe Your Symptoms: the black type asked, as though it would be that easy.
Picking up the pen, Riley attempted to write a short -- and not entirely false -- statement. All she wanted to say was that she'd self-diagnosed herself with depression, but the pen kept moving across the paper. Soon enough, in her small, precise scrawl, were the words -- My life is falling apart. I ruin everything, and if I'm not careful I'll ruin myself.-- she could feel the urge to write more, but forcibly stilled her own hand, re-reading over her words and crumpling up the paper in a fit of pique. She couldn't do it. She couldn't admit she was vulnerable, especially not to strangers.
It didn't matter what she wrote.
Nothing mattered anymore.
She was a mess.
For the first time in this life, she just didn't want to be alive anymore.
Standing up as all those thoughts churned about in her brain, Riley took the empty clipboard back to the receptionist desk, took a deep breath as she gripped the pen tightly, smiled as unpleasantly as a shark, cleared her throat to get the receptionists attention, and began speaking in a dispassionate tone.
"My name is Riley Casteling, I'm twenty-three years old, five feet four inches, blood type O-positive, and a student in the Military program at Montenegro. I'm depressed, angry, potentially suicidal or at least willing to try, my right ankle is broken or fractured, and I can't remember when my last period was. I'm not filling out the fucking form, but you're going to admit me. If you don't, I'll stand here in front of you and jab this pen into my wrist until I pierce an artery and bleed out all over that nice white sweater of yours."
When she was done, the poor receptionist staring up at her wide-eyed, Riley emptied her pockets on the counter. Wallet, keys, butterfly knife, and smartphone all placed down neatly in front of her. "Feel free to call my brother, Reeve Casteling, he's my next of kin. Fuck, call whoever you want, I doubt anyone will give a fuck."
That being said, she turned around and walked back over to an uncomfortably stiff orange chair, sat down, and started to laugh.]