Narrative Who: Sam What: Narrative Where: Between Arkham and home When: Recently Warnings/Rating: None
Arkham was monotony, yeah? Repetitive. Cell, to treatment room, to cell. She was used to being on the other side most days. Normally, she was the one with the clipboard and no real understanding of how anything fucking worked in the minds of the patients that came and went like the tide. No one stayed in Arkham, and no one was actually rehabilitated. It was just a jail for prisoners who were too fucking crazy for actual jail, and everyone knew it.
She remembered real Arkham. The one before this fake one, and it had been worse. Crane and his love of sticking needles in patients and then waiting so see what happened, like pharmacopoeia was some kind of personal circus and all the patients were in three rings especially for him or whatever. He'd made them do all kinds of shit, and then he'd made them relive it. He'd reminded her of Ian, of that locked fucking room and the white shirt with buckles he'd kept her in. She never forgot that shit, no matter how many drugs they pumped in her.
But this Arkham was different. Yeah, it was still fucked up, but it was fucked up lite, yeah? And she walked out after a week of aversion therapy with legs that were a little shaky, but not nearly as bad as they would've been back in that other Gotham.
She had her work schedule for the next week in the pocket of the muted slacks she'd been wearing when she checked herself in, and she walked home. It was only a few blocks, and she liked the fresh air after being locked away from it for days at a time. Smog and soot, but she didn't give a shit, and she dug the pack of cloves out of her jacket pocket and lit one as she walked.
She'd heard rumors while she was in. Rumors about the Donovan Family being done or whatever. The heir was gone, and the Falcones were picking at what was left like vultures. She wasn't surprised, and she'd had a week to deal with the fact that Neil hadn't ever gotten in touch after the mall thing. She mourned but she'd only had him back for like a month, and she'd been torn down and built back up so many times in the five years she'd been gone that she could get over this too. She was used to loss, yeah? No big thing, and you just move on. She kept telling herself that.
A quick check of the journals told her that Joey was in town, and Tessy too, and Lou was still crashing at her place. She probably needed to tell him about Neil, yeah? Unless he already knew. And Callum was there now too, and maybe she needed to tell Russ about her fight with Marina, and Ben was looking for her, which probably meant shit was wrong with Liam. And it all felt like too much to deal with after being turned inside-out for a week.
Halfway home, she stopped. She found a bench, and she messaged someone instead.