- (tinieblas) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-02-15 15:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | !ocean's eleven, *narrative, sam alexander |
Narrative
Who: Sam
What: Wishes
Where: Seven Hills
When: Leading up to V-Day and to nowish
Warnings/Rating: All Sam warnings apply
Days out of general population: Three.
Ok, so it was an annoying as fuck slap on the wrist for a little bit of fun in a bathroom, but Sam was fairly sure Pearls had sucked some nasty cock to get the punishment that high. She had to give credit where credit was due, and being all alone the days leading up to Valentine's Day was a fucking blessing, yeah? She would've gotten in more trouble out there, with those housewives and white-powder debs. She was antsy, nervous. Scared, she was fucking scared. And it wasn't the kind of shit anyone could talk better. It was the kind of scared that only serious distractions could touch, and however pissed she'd gotten at Cris for saying she wanted to get a hit and hook up in an alley, that was so the fucking case right then. There wasn't much that could touch this kind of scared, and as the hours neared it just got worse, and all the anti-anxiety pills in the fucking world couldn't touch this shit.
She paced. She wanted a tar ball. She wanted a fuck. She wanted out. All she had? Was a gift basket with informative bullshit and XOXO.
And these assholes didn't care if she screamed or banged on the fucking door, and tick tock went the clock.
And then morning came, and something changed. The anxiety was still there, and the thrum was still there, beneath the fucking skin and bright fucking neon. But she couldn't put a name on it. It was just energy, yeah? Just anticipation, and it made her jittery, but she wasn't scared. And she knew it had to do with wishes; she wasn't a complete fucking moron. She remembered asking for something, just like she remembered asking for the scars-
She tugged at the snowy scrubs. Sleeves, collar, and how had she gotten that-
But there wasn't anything there. And, yeah, ok. She could dig this. If they'd just open the fucking door and let her have some fun, she could deal with this.
When the shrink came around Sunday afternoon, Sam wasn't a huddled fucking mess in the corner of the bed. No rocking. No back to the wall. None of that bullshit. And the shrink was an asshole, yeah? But he wasn't impervious to a young girl's sweet pleading? All Alexander, that bullshit. Batted eyelashes, and it was like when she took Russ for that 5k back in the day. And she didn't realize it, but the thing she'd forgotten? It was hella wound up in her mind with another dude and another trauma. And that shit? Gone too, without her even asking for it to be. She could feel it all there, just out of reach. But fuck if she was reaching for it. She was so not fucking reaching for it.
The only thing she reached for was Mr. Shrink's pants. Because, yeah, no trauma? No trauma made for a wild, wild girl.
She was out of isolation before dinner. Take that Pearls.