Genosha - One of Many
Oct. 23rd, 2011 09:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
just_a_phaseGod, she hates being awake.
It's the worst thing she can imagine, being solid and trapped instead of phased and free--and all the worse because she knows they're fussing over her because she just miscarried a baby (a baby, her baby, Piotr's baby, does he know? What are they doing to him, are they telling him?) and she know, from what she hears, that once she's recovered they're trying again.
She won't cry in front of them, though. Never. They don't get to see her tears. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you came into the world this way. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
It's too much, too much constant touch, and she hates it.
She notices a shadow over her and turns her head, best she can, to see Dr. Keller. He's Canadian, young, and, if he wasn't an evil bastard, she might say attractive.
All she sees is her baby's killer. Keller, killer--it fits.
"I know you're uncomfortable." His voice is sickly sweet. "I have something for you. It will help you. You'll be," and his pause should have warned her, "better. Feel better."
He places the capsule in her mouth. "It's a little bitter, but chew it anyway. Let it rest under your tongue for a while, then swallow."
She almost spits it back in his face.
But she's tired, so tired, and everything is hell, and so she does what he says.
That's the first mistake she makes.
Oh God oh God oh God, she needs--
She needs stimulation. Something to rub against. She can feel her back desperately arching, except she can't remember why she can't reach anything, and then the straps are burning where they touch her, and it's almost enough she forgets about the throbbing between her legs.
Almost.
Everything after that is pictures and light and sound and scent, that scent, on her own breath and in her nose, and she can see Keller watching her and she knows, she knows, he's enjoying this, and she thinks he's getting off on it, but she can't even be angry.
She's terrified, and she needs release, and the sounds and the smells make her feel sick, and she thinks she's crying.
And all she can think is, I hate you at the world.
She can't even look at Keller when she comes down. She's never felt like this before. Used and dirty and very small.
"See? You forgot, didn't you?" And that's true. "You'll take one twice a day. And if you don't," and the sing-song quality to his voice makes her want to vomit, but so many things do right then, "I'll just put it in your IV drip." His hand passes, so gently, over her hair, and she can feel the tears slipping free. "There, now. Until we're ready to try again, you won't have to remember. Isn't that nice?"
Piotr, my Piotr, where are you?
Keller walks away.
And she tries to suck the tears back into her eyes and forget.
It's the worst thing she can imagine, being solid and trapped instead of phased and free--and all the worse because she knows they're fussing over her because she just miscarried a baby (a baby, her baby, Piotr's baby, does he know? What are they doing to him, are they telling him?) and she know, from what she hears, that once she's recovered they're trying again.
She won't cry in front of them, though. Never. They don't get to see her tears. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you came into the world this way. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
It's too much, too much constant touch, and she hates it.
She notices a shadow over her and turns her head, best she can, to see Dr. Keller. He's Canadian, young, and, if he wasn't an evil bastard, she might say attractive.
All she sees is her baby's killer. Keller, killer--it fits.
"I know you're uncomfortable." His voice is sickly sweet. "I have something for you. It will help you. You'll be," and his pause should have warned her, "better. Feel better."
He places the capsule in her mouth. "It's a little bitter, but chew it anyway. Let it rest under your tongue for a while, then swallow."
She almost spits it back in his face.
But she's tired, so tired, and everything is hell, and so she does what he says.
That's the first mistake she makes.
Oh God oh God oh God, she needs--
She needs stimulation. Something to rub against. She can feel her back desperately arching, except she can't remember why she can't reach anything, and then the straps are burning where they touch her, and it's almost enough she forgets about the throbbing between her legs.
Almost.
Everything after that is pictures and light and sound and scent, that scent, on her own breath and in her nose, and she can see Keller watching her and she knows, she knows, he's enjoying this, and she thinks he's getting off on it, but she can't even be angry.
She's terrified, and she needs release, and the sounds and the smells make her feel sick, and she thinks she's crying.
And all she can think is, I hate you at the world.
She can't even look at Keller when she comes down. She's never felt like this before. Used and dirty and very small.
"See? You forgot, didn't you?" And that's true. "You'll take one twice a day. And if you don't," and the sing-song quality to his voice makes her want to vomit, but so many things do right then, "I'll just put it in your IV drip." His hand passes, so gently, over her hair, and she can feel the tears slipping free. "There, now. Until we're ready to try again, you won't have to remember. Isn't that nice?"
Piotr, my Piotr, where are you?
Keller walks away.
And she tries to suck the tears back into her eyes and forget.
