- (tinieblas) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-04-07 05:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *narrative, sam alexander |
Narrative & News
Who: Sam
What: Next steps
Where: Bellevue → Bronx
When: Recentish
Warnings/Rating: Language & Themes
News: Marvel NY's news runs a story about an armed robbery in the Bronx. A jewelry store's safe was cleared out by two recently released patients from Bellevue and accomplices. The male patient and accomplices have been apprehended, but pursuing officers claim the female disappeared around a corner. Two cops were critically injured during the robbery, and there is an ongoing search for the blonde, who was registered at Bellevue under the name Sam Alexander.
It took four days of smiling pretty and nice or whatever, before the doctors were willing to let Sam switch to outpatient treatment. She said all the right shit, and the yellow walls smiled at her. Ok, not like that, because she wasn't really fucking nuts, but yeah, the point was that she was good. On pizza day, Sam stood in line and didn't fight with the woman who insisted she was being looked at weird, and she didn't even get out of her bed when her roommate insisted the FBI had come for her. She didn't scream when the orderly cornered her after breakfast, and she was perfectly fucking nice to the guy in group who insisted she was his sex slave. She was good to the nurses. She swallowed every fucking pill they held out in a paper cup, and she didn't give the doctors shit when they talked to her. She admitted to having shitty parents, and she admitted to fucked up relationships. She copped to using, and she lied and agreed with all the mood disorder shit that they said.
In short, in those yellow-piss-vomit-scream filled halls of Hell, she was fucking perfect.
Almost.
She had roof privileges now, because smiling pretty was payment for all kinds of shit, and she met a patient up there who was getting out - Luis. He said he was done with this shit, and he and his brother were going to knockoff a jewelry store in the Bronx. They wanted someone pretty to go in first, a girl, because people were less scared of women than they were of Puerto Rican guys covered with ink, yeah? Sam agreed, as long as she got some stones, and it was all fucking worked out. They would wait until she got out, and she spent every free fucking moment planning, thinking, whatever. Whatever take she got, she couldn't shoot it up. Fuck, no. She had to make sure she never ended up in this kind of shithole again, and she had to make sure no one ever had the fucking power over her to make it happen. No more people making decisions for her, and she had a mind of her own, yeah? Fuck everyone else, and she was more than a little angry. Because out there, everyone was probably fucking thrilled that their little problem was locked away. Messy Sam, just turn her over to the fucking state. She can't hurt herself there, and no one needed to feel responsible. Well, fuck that shit. No more.
And on day four, they let her out wearing the same filthy overalls she wore in.
She went to the address Luis had given her. There, Luis and his brother finished planning the take on the small shop in the Bronx. The shop made their own jewelry, mostly religious medallions for the gangs in el barrio, and they had gold and stones in the safe. Sam didn't fucking care what they did, and she didn't care what they sold. All she cared about was that Luis' brother's girlfriend worked there. The door had a buzzer, and no fucking way the girl could get away with opening it for one of the Boricua boys, but she could open it for the little blonde, and Sam could let the boys in.
And that was exactly what happened.
Six pm, and the owner was at dinner, and shit went as planned - almost.
Sam had a bag full of gems from the safe, and the boys were ready to go. The girlfriend let herself get grazed in the arm, so she wasn't implicated. Piece of fucking cake, yeah? Until the fucking shopkeeper across the street called fucking 911. Silent sirens, and the cops were outside by the time anyone realized what was happening. They split, cops on their tails, and Sam had no fucking interest in jail, yeah? No fucking way. The fucking cop following her was yelling for her to fucking stop. Stop or he'd shoot, and Sam ducked into the closest fucking doorway as bullets flew and grazed her hip. Just in time, yeah? And she tumbled into the hotel hallway with the entire fucking take of jewels still in her possession, and only a sore fucking hip as payment.
In her defense, she waited a little while, and then she opened the fucking door, knowing it never dropped her in the Bronx. But one fucking look at the internet within the door painted a grim fucking picture. Two cops were seriously injured, like they might not wake up or whatever, and Luis and his brother had been apprehended. Yeah, she stepped right the fuck back out. No, not going back there. No way she was going to jail. And the fucking store had insurance or whatever. All fucking stores had insurance, and she needed those fucking gems more than some rich jeweler, yeah? Because she wasn't going back to a fucking nuthouse, no matter what anyone said.
She'd buy herself a life and, yeah, ok, she'd check in. But no fucking way was she telling anyone where she was, not right away. This shit wasn't happening again, and this shit always happened when people got too fucking wound up in what was good for her and what wasn't. It wasn't going to happen again. She just needed to repeat that to herself over and fucking over. It wasn't going to happen again.