It's time for a swap! (roomsswap) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-06-08 08:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, plot: swap |
Plot Swap: Reveal
Who: Marta.
What: Reveal - Swap plot
For like sixty seconds, everything was fucking fine.
Ten seconds in. Eyes still closed, but with the understanding that the hotel did its bullshit, but that for once she hadn't come out the other end like some thing that had been shoved through a motherfucking meat grinder. Yeah, ok. She was fine.
Thirty seconds in. Huh, and maybe this shit was ok. She had a lot of experience with crap, but the night before hadn't been crap. Yeah, ok, so maybe there was some fucked up shit about getting off in a body that wasn't her own. But, all things considered, it wasn't bad.
Fifty seconds in. She stretched, and she hadn't opened her eyes yet. Yeah, no, not yet. She felt sore, but sure, that made sense. Fucking wasn't exactly something she did these days. And about that, it had been years, yeah, but Neil was back in her life now. It was weird to think of someone actually kind of being there or whatever, and ok maybe that was guilt kicking in, but-
Sixty seconds in. She sat up.
She noticed the room first. Ok, so a cell at Arkham. No big deal. She wouldn't fucking panic. She worked here now, yeah? She wasn't a patient anymore. She would just get dressed and-
Get dressed and-
The air was cold on her skin. But ok, not panicking, not panicking. It was just the hotel's fucking sense of humor. She would just grab the sheet off the cot-
She looked down, and the blood was fucking everywhere. Blood, and she was naked, and she pressed her hands to the narrow birdcage of her chest and tried to feel through the blood for whatever was making her bleed everywhere.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, not again."
There wasn't anything. No injury, nothing beneath the blood, but she was bleeding. She was bleeding, and she could still that blood at the edge of a scar that was fucking years old. The hotel and its fucking games, and she reached between her thighs as she scooted back to the corner of the bed and wedged herself there. Sticky, and oh, fuck, she was just starting to realize how sore everything was everywhere.
Rock.
"Wasn't me. Wasn't me. Wasn't me. Wasn't-"
She rocked, wedged against that corner, and this was so fucking familiar. No, no, no she wouldn't fucking unravel. She wouldn't. She was past this. She was past this shit. She wouldn't.
Rock. Rock.
She sucked in air, but it wasn't enough for panic-suffocating lungs. She hugged her knees to her chest, and she pressed her forehead to her kneecaps. The skin wasn't broken anywhere. It wasn't broken anywhere. It would be ok. She just needed a minute. She needed a minute. Just until the morning guard patrolled. Just that long.
Rock. Rock. Rock.
And Sam, Sam was glad the cell door was closed. Yeah, yeah, ok, she was glad the cell door was closed.
Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock.