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Post by Jules on Sept 1, 2008 1:43:21 GMT -5
Mary hadn't been doing so well since their altercation. Childishly, perhaps, whenever he came by she hid under her blankets and refused to budge until after he left. Only part of it was that she was still furious at him. The other part was to hide the fact that she'd etched onto her arm an intricate, Indian-Bride style design, except she'd used a needle instead of henna.
Not that she still believed he would care, but he'd probably think her an even bigger idiot if he saw it. It had taken her a while. First shallow cuts to make sure it didn't scar if she wasn't happy with it. Then deeper ones when she was content. It wound around her arm up to the elbow, leaves and vines and buds, the blossoms were made of clustered words as fine as any master Illuminator's work. Mary knew it was obsessive, a little strange, but then again, she'd never exactly been normal.
She was lost in her work, the elbow area particularly hurt, so she didn't notice it was almost the time at which Vince dropped off her lunch and then stalked away without another word. The needle, which probably could use a cleaning, was pinched between the thumb and index of her right hand while her right arm was twisted awkwardly to give her access to her elbow.
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Post by Miss Jack on Sept 1, 2008 2:01:13 GMT -5
Vince never knocked anymore, mostly because even if he did, she'd tell him to go the hell away, and also because he liked to use any chance he could to annoy her. It wasn't fair for him to be the only in such a sour mood.
He was surprised to see her above her blankets for once. A shred of maturity, perhaps? Ah-- no. She just hadn't seen him, preoccupied with.... His lip curled and his eyes narrowed. The cuts into her arm were still red and raw, pulsing and likely to get infected. But the last time he'd lashed out at her for hurting herself, it had gotten thrown back in his face. If she wanted to tear up her body, that was her business.
He dropped off the food, making a point of keep his eyes averted.
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Post by Jules on Sept 1, 2008 2:23:04 GMT -5
Mary looked up just in time to catch the curl of his lip before he looked away. Disgusted him, did she? Wiping the needle on the rag on her lap she poked it through the collar of her shirt and glared at him. Placing her throbbing arm in a more comfortable position, she, like always, lost control of her tongue.
"Don't walk away from me." Her voice sounded like it was carved of ice. "Don't you dare." She felt herself slipping. Sanity hadn't always been her strong point in situations like this. At the moment she was just a touch unbalanced, even she recognized that. "I can't. Don't you get it? I'm in a prison, I don't get to make my own choices anyone. I'm an invalid, a cripple."
Mary wanted to stop, some part of her tried to still her tongue, close her mouth, but it was like a snowball gathering mass as it rolled down the hill. Word-vomit.
"You can walk away whenever you want, and it's not fair. I can't do anything. I'm crawling out of my skin I'm so bored. You took care of me just fine, but you don't spend a single a single extra second then you absolutely have to. You don't care, you just feel guilty. Well let me fix that for you too. It was my own damned fault, okay? It's not like I don't know you're not Mr. Friendly, not really. But would it be so hard for you to find me a wheelchair, take me on a walk? Or is that much time spent with me too much for you to bear? You can't just leave me in this bed."
Once again tears spilled over and finally she stopped talking, Mary dropped her face into her hands, hunching forward. It had been a stupid move, the muscles in her lower back unable to support her, she pitched sideways and fell off her bed. She still wasn't used to being paralyzed.
Mary lay there and cried harder, muttering something that might have been "Don't touch me." But all the ice was gone from her tone.
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Post by Miss Jack on Sept 1, 2008 3:07:18 GMT -5
He felt the muscles in his shoulder and back go hard and still. He wanted, mostly, to walk away from this, but he couldn't. Even as he told his feet to move, they went in the wrong direction, toward her. "Don't be stupid," he chastized softly, picking her sobbing form into his arms and placing them both onto her makeshift bed.
"Mary," he began carefully. "If you want a wheelchair, I'll get you a wheelchair. If you want me take you on a walk, I'll take you on twenty. I'm not a caretaker. I don't do sympathy, and half the time I leave you alone because that's what I would want. And why would you want me to walk you around when you're angry at me for walking to begin with? If you need.... someone else, that's fine. I want you to have what you need, to be... happy."
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Post by Jules on Sept 1, 2008 3:22:57 GMT -5
The crying softened, if only so she could take in the odd, odd noise of Vince speaking more than a sentence at a time. Or of him being this close to her. And to top it all off, what he was saying. She was quiet for the longest moment, sniffling softly as the sobbing dried itself up.
"I..." She studied his face, held his gaze, wiped her eyes---gently this time---of tears. "I...didn't know." She said softly. It wasn't like she was completely stupid. Even if it meant having to swallow her words, Mary could admit that Vince did care about her.
"I don't want someone else, I want you." Mary realized how that sounded, but she didn't correct herself or become flustered. "I'm...sorry."
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Post by Miss Jack on Sept 1, 2008 3:32:29 GMT -5
His insides squeezed slightly, thought it was not entirely uncomfortable. It was an odd feeling, to be wanted. He was still holding her, and two pieces of bandage uncurled slowly from his hands and came up to wipe her cheeks dry.
He glanced at her arms, for the most part curbing his frown. He pointedly phrased his command into a more request like form. "I want to put disinfectant on those."
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Post by Jules on Sept 1, 2008 3:49:40 GMT -5
Perhaps it was a mix of natural endorphins, weariness, relief and happiness. Maybe it was because she was still a little unhinged. It could have been his simple act of wiping her cheeks dry. Whatever it was, if asked Mary would have been mostly at a loss to explain it herself. But she did it anyways, she propped herself up on one elbow and placed a short, sweet kiss on his lips before laying back down like nothing had happened.
Mary even laughed and continued the conversation. "Of course you do. It's probably not a bad idea. Looks pretty nasty, huh?"
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Post by Miss Jack on Sept 1, 2008 4:02:57 GMT -5
The sudden feel of her lips over his, surprisingly soft, and just a hint wet from her tears, was so unexpected he entirely missed whatever it was she said after that. He stared at her, frozen. Dear Ra, he could still feel it. Tingly.
He blinked and at last snapped out of it, his expression turning cool, composed. He raised an eyebrow, almost amused in his rough, dark way, and decidedly bewildered. "I'll be right back," he said slowly.
When he returned, he carried a bottle of perhaps his worst disinfectant in his arms. She would wish her arms were paralyzed as well as her legs.
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Post by Jules on Sept 1, 2008 4:10:37 GMT -5
"Mmmph." She responded as he left. She felt a little like she was drugged, like someone has injected her with something. Mary laughed softly at the image of Vince's face, staring and confused. Like he wasn't entirely sure what a kiss was.
Although when he came back with the disinfectant she couldn't help but wince a little, even if she had been welcoming pain as of late. The stuff was nasty, and she'd only ever put it on a small cut. Over all these scratches and abrasions and the welts from before, it wasn't going to be just a quick, healthy, stinging.
Mary pushed herself up best she could and then proffered her arms as though for arrest. "Do your worst." She said and then, for the first time in a very long time, gave him one of her signature grins.
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Post by Miss Jack on Sept 1, 2008 4:16:16 GMT -5
He snorted. "Famous last words."
He undid the top with his teeth, but paused, studying her for a moment. "Why don't you use a painkiller?" he suggested.
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Post by Jules on Sept 1, 2008 4:19:20 GMT -5
But Mary shook her head. She didn't want to feel dead in her arms as well, not even for fifteen minutes, not even still being able to move them. "I can handle it." She said with confidence. Sure it was going to hurt like hell but at the moment that was a whole lot better then feeling nothing.
"I know it's going to hurt." She said preemptively trying to knock down more arguments. "A lot. I don't mind."
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Post by Miss Jack on Sept 1, 2008 4:24:14 GMT -5
"Mm..." He made a noncomittal noise, not really agreeing with her, but allowing her to make the decision anyway. Even so, he took the hand of the arm he wouldn't be working on and hooked it onto his own arm. She'd want something to hold on to.
Taking a clean cloth, he dumped a generous amount of the disinfectant over it, and without warning (anticipation made it worse), ran the sopping rag over her carved arm.
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Post by Jules on Sept 1, 2008 4:31:21 GMT -5
It was like being burned ten times over, like being skinned. Her eyes watered and her hand clenched involuntarily on his arm as her teeth gritted and she hissed. He did a thorough job of the cleaning and even when he was done, the sensation was not. But she still didn't allow herself relief. She bit her tongue and held onto his arm tightly and squeezed her eyes against the pain and it passed.
Mary shook out her arm, looking at the skin which was was surprised hadn't been disinfected away. It was red and angry looking, the cuts inflamed but clean, although the slight stirring of air caused by her movement set it to stinging again, although not as bad.
"See?" She said, offering the other arm that had no design except a series of long, deep gashes she'd created thoughtlessly with her nails when she'd first discovered the dysfunctional method of self-therapy. "I told you I'd be fine. It's not that bad."
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Post by Miss Jack on Sept 1, 2008 4:38:12 GMT -5
"You'll live," he agreed, albeit reluctantly. Her nails were pretty formidable weapons, as he was coming to discover.
He did the same to the other arm, and then asked, though he knew what she would say, "Are you alright?"
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Post by Jules on Sept 1, 2008 10:23:27 GMT -5
The pain was less this time, these wounds were older and fewer. She didn't hang on as tightly, but she didn't exactly let go either. Was she alright? The disinfectant had hurt but probably because she'd been at risk of something crawling in, and it hadn't been anything she couldn't handle. But still...
"No. Not really." She was holding onto him now more for support in remaining in a sitting position. It was the most upright she'd been in a while. "Did you know that there are seven hundred and twenty four flowers on this blanket? Or that the word 'the' appears one thousand one hundred and seventy six times in the latest issue of that magazine?" She laughed a little, bordering on hysteric again.
"I'm going crazy, I think."
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