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Post by Jules on Aug 29, 2008 20:54:19 GMT -5
It had started with a needle she'd procured to fix a hole in her favorite blanket. Her stitches had been surprisingly neat, and it had been nice to focus on something else for a while. Because of course, she was propped up in bed with a mound of pillows since she was still incapable of sitting up on her own. But when even she had to concede she was done, and she'd tied off the thread and examined her work carefully four times (were the third and fourth stitch a little uneven?).
A desperate kind of boredom washed over her then, like it always did nowadays when she wasn't obsessing over something. One could only read ever single last word in a magazine so many times. Or count the tiny little flowers on her quilt so many times (several recounts had been necessary to make sure).
It had been innocent at first, honestly. She'd pulled up her pant leg to expose her thigh (the only part of her leg she could reach without flopping over) and poked it with the slender needle. Nothing. She might as well be poking a cork board. Her hand felt the slight resistance of what was supposedly her flesh, but her mind no longer made the connection that the dead hunk she was prodding belonged to her in any manner. She poked herself a little harder then, saw the little drop of blood well up against her sickly skin. From there it wasn't hard to make a myriad of little red dots as far as she could reach all along her thighs. But she didn't stop with just a little poke after the first dozen or so. No, she dipped the needle as far in as it would go while still being able to come back out.
Hundreds of angry red eyes on dead flesh that wasn't hers. But then she remembered the dagger tucked up her sleeve and had pulled it out. It was cruelly barbed, like a saw-fish's snout. At first, it had been innocent, but at the sight of her pin-cushioned legs she couldn't help but feel a useless fury at the dead hunks of meat. How dare her body betray her this way?
No, they weren't her legs anymore. They were just things she carted around, half of her was a vegetable. She dropped the dagger smoothly into her right thigh, forcing it deep enough to pin her to the mattress beneath her. By no actual planning on her part, but perhaps quite luckily, she'd missed the femoral artery.
Mary sank back on the pillow, actually feeling better. After a few minutes, weakness due to blood loss started to affect her. She knew she'd have to take care of it in a little while. But not just yet. She could survive another little while.
It was the most connected she'd felt to her legs in weeks.
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Post by Miss Jack on Aug 29, 2008 21:27:16 GMT -5
He went earlier than he usually did, for no reason other than he just felt like he had to. He regularly checked on her, as often as he could without turning into a total mother hen. He would have anyway in another hour or two, but something said now, so he went now, wondering even as he rushed.
He swept aside her flap in one jerky motion, moving inside without any sort of preamble, like usual. He took in the scene with his typical cold precision, landing at last on the dagger sticking out of her leg. His eyes flashed and he strode forward, ripping it free, and sending it whizzing into a sidewall. He grabbed a nearby blanket, ripped it in half, and pressed it against the now gushing wound.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled.
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Post by Jules on Aug 29, 2008 21:36:32 GMT -5
There had been a half-hearted attempt to hide it when he'd come in, but there wasn't really a point and besides she was beginning to feel dizzy. She yelled when he ripped it out in anticipation of pain as the barbs hacked cruelly at her flesh, but of course there was none. "It's all the way through." She advised as he pressed the blanket to the top of her leg while blood still gushed out the bottom.
What was wrong with her? That was an incredibly stupid question to ask. "I'm paralyzed." She muttered and crossed her arms. Mary would've dealt with the wound in a minute had he not come striding in here all high and mighty.
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Post by Miss Jack on Aug 29, 2008 21:59:01 GMT -5
"Shit," he cursed as he realized she was right. He lifted her lifeless leg, working the blankets around it to form a crude sort of bandage. He would have to sew it soon, but not until she realized how big of an idiot she was.
"What's wrong with your head?" he revised viciously. "You could have bled to death!" Overreacting? Maybe just a smidge, but this was a typical reaction to fear for him.
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Post by Jules on Aug 29, 2008 22:14:53 GMT -5
"I was going to fix it myself." She said softly as he continued to growl, opting to not answer what was wrong with her head just yet. She wasn't entirely sure herself. Mary had watched him lift her leg, but hadn't felt his hands, or the tightness of the blanket, or the warmth of the blood. It might as well be happening to someone else.
"I don't know." She said slowly, after a moment. "I wanted to see if I would feel it, I guess." Mary looked away from him then, towards the wall closest to her.
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Post by Miss Jack on Aug 29, 2008 22:55:47 GMT -5
Vince sighed, not answering at first. "I'll be back," he said, standing up. The entrance flap fluttered in his wake. He returned only a minute later, needle, thread and antiseptic in hand.
He positioned himself next to her and turned her on her side. "I'm always stitching you up," he grumbled, needle between his teeth. "This will hurt," was the only warning he gave before dousing the wound in alcohol on both sides.
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Post by Jules on Aug 29, 2008 23:25:00 GMT -5
But of course, it didn't. She watched him blankly as he treated the wound, "I wish it did." She hissed with a certain disturbing sincerity. She wiped a hand over the mostly uninjured thigh, smearing the droplets of blood produced by the precise needle work she'd made of it.
It wasn't even half over, how long she had to remain like this and she was already doing horribly. "Vince, I can't take this." She muttered softly, not really caring if he heard since it wasn't like he could do anything about it.
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Post by Miss Jack on Aug 29, 2008 23:36:10 GMT -5
Vince faltered in his sewing, pressing his lips together. Sometimes even he wasn't proud of his callous thoughtlessness. He pushed the regret aside, however, knowing Mary would care less for his apology, and continued his task. He pulled one thread particularly tight and paused, throwing a whiskey colored glanced at her face. "I don't know what to do," he admitted quietly.
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Post by Jules on Aug 29, 2008 23:53:06 GMT -5
Although it had been the answer she'd been expecting, she couldn't help the growl of frustration. Vince had an answer for everything. Why did this time have to be different? And of course, because life wasn't embarrassing enough having to count on Vince for so much, she began to cry, angry, frustrated tears.
"Me either, but I...can't Vince. Look under the left leg." She spoke about them like they weren't associated with her, no more then a piece of furniture in her room. "It's a bed sore."
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Post by Miss Jack on Aug 30, 2008 0:15:30 GMT -5
Women and tears. They didn't even know what it was like to have to sit there and watch it. It was like blackmail. They should never use it, unless they really, really had to.
"Mary," he said, the softness of his voice surprising even him. "There isn't anything else to be done. The fairy godmother is re-making her wand as quick as she's able," though, since it was nigh impossible for him to be to nice, he added with a touch of annoyance, "Or so Jack informs me."
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Post by Jules on Aug 30, 2008 0:36:26 GMT -5
"Not fast enough." She snarled, wanting to punch something, anything, wanting to scream, wanting to run away. She felt restless but all she could do was rest, and it made the skin she could still feel crawl unbearably.
"I can't stay still for six months, Vince." She brushed away the tears harshly, nails scraping her skin she was so careless. The slight pain was almost welcome. It was good to feel something, anything. She was itchy, her arm was itchy. Mary scratched and it viciously, digging in her nails, breaking the skin but continuing to maul it. The pain and the ensuing endorphins were both soothing.
She knew she must've looked crazy, manic, ridiculous, but she didn't care. Still working away at her arm, Mary shook her head. "I just can't. Tell that Fairy she needs to work quicker."
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Post by Miss Jack on Aug 30, 2008 0:58:40 GMT -5
Vince snatched her hand away from her arm, honestly concerned. He kept her hand gripped in his, giving her a hard look.
"Don't do this to yourself," he commanded in his "I-am-your-superior-officer" voice.
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Post by Jules on Aug 30, 2008 1:05:01 GMT -5
Mary clenched her fist and shot a cold glare at him. She felt desperately like kicking out her feet, like throwing a full-bodied tantrum. "I can if I want. You won't be here all the time." She sounded almost angry about the latter. But that was it, wasn't it? He could visit her when he chose, bring her food when he chose, and although he'd been really good to her, even she had to admit that, it was like a stab in the gut everytime he got up and walked away.
It wasn't like her to freak out so badly over things. But this was different. This was too much like being put into isolation for the Typhoid Fever. This was too much like what Mary Mallon had had Nightmares about.
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Post by Miss Jack on Aug 30, 2008 1:48:44 GMT -5
He scoffed. He brought his face right next to hers, matching her glare easily. "I'll be here all the time if I say I will," he said coolly. "And I don't care if you're bitter, nasty and unreasonable in your tantrums. I can take you at your worst."
Puh-leease. He practically invented the cynical 'drive away those that would care for you' schtick.
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Post by Jules on Aug 30, 2008 2:05:03 GMT -5
"You don't care about much, do you Vince?" She hissed nastily, willing to attempt to prove him wrong. Just so he would leave her alone. Her arm was still itchy. His face hadn't ever really been this close to her, and she raised her free hand threateningly.
"Leave me alone. Don't think I won't."
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