Brenna Lawson (_antiheroine) wrote in the_next_step, @ 2009-05-19 05:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | brenna lawson, terry cassidy/siryn |
Shattered, Saturday afternoon (open, if someone wants to tag on)
Brenna didn't break down when the Blackbird landed. She didn't break down making sure everyone got to the medbay. She was still riding on endorphins from kissing Ethan and adrenaline from the escape. She'd held his hand the entire flight home, sitting near the back of the plane where the extra jump seats were, and by the time they were home she was dozing on his shoulder.
She didn't break down until she found herself in an isolated exam room, telling Hank that she needed to be tested for STDs and given emergency contraception (though she'd been on birth control the entire time). He'd given her a shocked look and she realized how sweet the man was, how much he still believed people were good even though he'd now seen firsthand what humans sometimes did to mutants. She broke down knowing he needed to examine her to make sure there was no permanent damage, and it was at that point that shock set in. The numbness spread up and over her like a static blanket shutting out reactions and emotions, shutting out any ability to give Hank more than one-word answers in response to his questions. She was thankful he tried to make it as short and painless as possible, listened as he discussed the fact that there was bruising and tearing, and he gave her something to put in her bathwater to ease the process of healing.
Wraithlike, she floated back upstairs and into her bedroom, removing her clothing as she went. She put the knife and the crucifix on her dresser, took her own jewelry off and placed it carefully in the cedar box where she kept her trinkets.
The bathroom lights seemed harsh like the ones in the medbay but here she took stock of the damage, bruises and cuts and all. Most of the blood that was still on her wasn't hers and a quick shower removed it all. She let the water drain before she ran a bath, added some of the liquid Hank had given her. He'd told her not to make the water too hot so that she didn't hurt herself further but she felt the need to damn near boil herself and only a small sound of pain escaped her when the heat touched between her legs. She curled her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, rested her head on her knees, and apparently she had the capacity to cry because she did so now, long, wracking sobs that made her feel like she was going to come apart. Everything she'd hidden away during the week of captivity came out, all the hate and the helplessness of knowing that she couldn't fight back, couldn't stop what was being done to her, not with the threats against those she cared for. She cried all the tears she'd kept inside so that Sarah wouldn't be more afraid than she already was. She cried until the water turned cool and she had no more tears left.
Brenna dressed again in soft black clothing, replaced her jewelry and knelt in front of the altar in her room. It was done in black as well with a red cloth, almost like a runner, a hammered silver bowl, red, black and white candles, a smooth river stone and a black raven's feather laid on top. It struck her how she'd always seen the Morrigan as a goddess of strength and perseverence, always cultivated those things in her, and now she had another thing in common with her goddess as a woman wronged, a woman abused. She'd threatened Chuckles with that anger, that rage, that vengeance, and now she sought the goddess's aid in coming to terms with that display of power. The ritual calmed her, centered her, gave her something to focus on aside from the blackness inside of her that wanted to consume her.
When she was finished she felt a little more stable, a little more sane, not quite so lost. She gathered up her dirty clothing and left her room, barefoot, to toss the things into the trash bins outside. She didn't want to see any of it ever again.
She sat down on the back steps, digging her toes into the grass at the bottom, and let the warm air wash over her skin. She was far from okay, so far from equilibrium, but she'd taken the first steps.