Post by Jackie Clovis on Mar 13, 2019 4:58:55 GMT
The whiteness of the room was oppressive. Each surface cut at her, keen as an ivory scalpel, slicing away with anti-septic indifference. Seated at the edge of the examination table, hands in her lap, arms braced across her knees, Jackie tried not to smell the chemical, as pervasive here as in all places of healing. Whether from the past nights events, or else the last nights libations, the stench seemed especially cloying to her, though it beat the alternative. White flashed before her eyes, the iron reek of blood flared in her nostrils and she felt, her horridly clarity, the oily slickess of it all over her skin. The remembrance fizzled a moment later, leaving behind an after image that seemed burned into the back of Jackie's eyes. She shuddered and dragged her arms up, hugging herself around the stomach as she waited for the nausea to pass. Little by little, the bile sank back down, the sour burning it left a bitter compliment to the sting of disinfectant that filled her nose. At least she wasn't dying.
Straightening up, Jackie checked her side for what might have been the hundredth time since waking, fingers probing softly around the hidden bandages beneath her borrowed patient's gown. She winced, then cringed.
'Yup, still hurts.'
We should have killed him.
Jackie's fingers, on their way back from their indiscreet prodding, curled slowly around her thumb and squeezed until the joint groaned.
"Shut up." she hissed softly, the sting of tears immediately blurring her vision, "Just go away. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with." Her throat, already raw from the past night, started to ache all over again, like at any moment she might start to sob.
The other didn't say anything, but Jackie could practically taste her brooding satisfaction and, deeper, her hunger for what she'd been kept from doing last night. What Mae had ended up doing in her stead.
A quiet rattle from the otherside of the wall shocked Jackie back from the brink. With the wide-eyed skittishness of a snow hare, she looked toward the sound. After a moment, a silhouette, made indistinct by the frosted glass, drifted by the examination room's one door. She spent another ten seconds staring at the door, waiting for the figure to come back, sure they must have heard her talking to herself, but they did not. More than likely they had not. She wasn't important enough to eavesdrop on. Jackie deflated, breathing out a breath she'd not realized she'd been holding.
"What should I do?" She asked the room, cupping her face in her hands, then, as her clumsy fingers ignited the cut across her scalp, immediately regretted it. Hissing again, Jackie jerked her hand back and her head up, and was immediately subjected to a wave of dizziness and an acute darkening at the corners of her eyes, a concussion's loving parting gift.
'Weak.'
Weak, the girl inside her agreed.
Jackie didn't even have the energy to deny it.
Sliding off of the exam table, bare foot flinching off the cold tile floor before she found the nerve to settle her weight on it, Jackie made for the door. With one hand pinching the back of the gown shut, the damned thing felt awfully breezy, and trying not to think about how she had nothing on under it, what with her clothes having been ruined with a combination of blood and grey matter, Jackie took hold of the door handle. She was just about to slide it open for a furtive peek outside when she heard a voice on the otherside.
"...-othing serious. Quite remarkable really..." It sounded like the Doctor's voice. Jackie froze. Who was the doctor talking to then? A lovely face and luminous green eyes slashed across her vision, someone else's memory pressing itself upon her own.
'Mae'
"The ribs will be a bit tender, and she will have to look after the concussion, but otherwise she's no worse for the wear. Probably she would have been fine on her own."
Jackie cringed, looking down at her own ribs through the gown, feeling the ache there, over top of which a might sharper slash of fire still burned. She guessed her bonecharts were back, and that it really was just a cracked rib after all.
Something inside of her twisted in mild annoyance at her body's frailty. It took Jackie a moment to realize the ironic feeling was not her own. Closing her eyes and bracing against the door, all thought of escape forgotten, she pressed down at the feelings coiling within her, trying to untangle her own wounded hurt and guilt from the Other's peevish irritation that being shot should actually hurt at all.
Straightening up, Jackie checked her side for what might have been the hundredth time since waking, fingers probing softly around the hidden bandages beneath her borrowed patient's gown. She winced, then cringed.
'Yup, still hurts.'
We should have killed him.
Jackie's fingers, on their way back from their indiscreet prodding, curled slowly around her thumb and squeezed until the joint groaned.
"Shut up." she hissed softly, the sting of tears immediately blurring her vision, "Just go away. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with." Her throat, already raw from the past night, started to ache all over again, like at any moment she might start to sob.
The other didn't say anything, but Jackie could practically taste her brooding satisfaction and, deeper, her hunger for what she'd been kept from doing last night. What Mae had ended up doing in her stead.
A quiet rattle from the otherside of the wall shocked Jackie back from the brink. With the wide-eyed skittishness of a snow hare, she looked toward the sound. After a moment, a silhouette, made indistinct by the frosted glass, drifted by the examination room's one door. She spent another ten seconds staring at the door, waiting for the figure to come back, sure they must have heard her talking to herself, but they did not. More than likely they had not. She wasn't important enough to eavesdrop on. Jackie deflated, breathing out a breath she'd not realized she'd been holding.
"What should I do?" She asked the room, cupping her face in her hands, then, as her clumsy fingers ignited the cut across her scalp, immediately regretted it. Hissing again, Jackie jerked her hand back and her head up, and was immediately subjected to a wave of dizziness and an acute darkening at the corners of her eyes, a concussion's loving parting gift.
'Weak.'
Weak, the girl inside her agreed.
Jackie didn't even have the energy to deny it.
Sliding off of the exam table, bare foot flinching off the cold tile floor before she found the nerve to settle her weight on it, Jackie made for the door. With one hand pinching the back of the gown shut, the damned thing felt awfully breezy, and trying not to think about how she had nothing on under it, what with her clothes having been ruined with a combination of blood and grey matter, Jackie took hold of the door handle. She was just about to slide it open for a furtive peek outside when she heard a voice on the otherside.
"...-othing serious. Quite remarkable really..." It sounded like the Doctor's voice. Jackie froze. Who was the doctor talking to then? A lovely face and luminous green eyes slashed across her vision, someone else's memory pressing itself upon her own.
'Mae'
"The ribs will be a bit tender, and she will have to look after the concussion, but otherwise she's no worse for the wear. Probably she would have been fine on her own."
Jackie cringed, looking down at her own ribs through the gown, feeling the ache there, over top of which a might sharper slash of fire still burned. She guessed her bonecharts were back, and that it really was just a cracked rib after all.
Something inside of her twisted in mild annoyance at her body's frailty. It took Jackie a moment to realize the ironic feeling was not her own. Closing her eyes and bracing against the door, all thought of escape forgotten, she pressed down at the feelings coiling within her, trying to untangle her own wounded hurt and guilt from the Other's peevish irritation that being shot should actually hurt at all.