Author: Your-hollywood-tragedyx3 PM
I'd rather just fall right off of your floor and come beautifully undone.' Sequel to 'Waste away.' Now it's recovery time, but can Alex make it through, or will she fall right back through the cracks again? R&R please. May be a pairing later on...Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - A. Cabot - Chapters: 10 - Words: 13,258 - Reviews: 38 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 10 - Updated: 10-16-09 - Published: 08-25-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5330748
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's note: So I told you all that I would have a sequel, as shitty as this start may be, I have it up regardless. Shout outs will start with the next chapter, and I think it's important that I note this is still in Alex's point of view, beginning from when she collapsed at her home, to now, when she's found and so on. Actually, it's more of a recap then anything(which is what's in italics), and really begins with her waking up. So please continue to review, let me know what you think, and if you have any ideas and i'll try and incorporate them into here as best I can.
I can feel everything and nothing all at the same time. My heart's beating wildly in my chest and as I try to make my way back to my bed, I feel my heart start pounding wildly again. I hear someone, two people rather, shouting my name from a distance, begging me, pleading for something, but I can't quite understand what. Their voices, features are all foggy, and just when I think I'll be able to get a better view, a better understanding, everything goes dark and stops. I feel no pain anymore, my heart is no longer pounding wildly and the thoughts in my head have now disappeared. Nothing. I hear nothing, see nothing, am nothing. Is that a problem?
From the moment my eyes flutter open and I groan miserably, I want to shut them again. The pounding in my head's grown back, worse then before, and my entire body is sleek with sweat. My breathing has grown shallower, more calmer then what it was before, which is good, but I can't for the life of me tell where I am or why the hell I'm laying in a bed that isn't mine, in a room that isn't mine. I look around, trying to put things together, figure out just what's going on.
When I notice the machines, it clicks. The beeping from one of them, showing my heart rate on the screen, is rather annoying and I can feel the anger bubbling in the pit of my stomach. How in the hell did I get here? In a hospital of all places! I hear a knock at the edge of a door frame and look up, finding a worried and relieved, Olivia at the door. Her eyes are wet and red, face flushed and stained with dry tears. She enters silently, not waiting for a response from me because she knows I won't be able to give one from the state of shock I'm in, and pulls up a chair beside the bed I'm still stuck in.
I hold my breath as she speaks, unsure of what to do or say. Her voice cracks, but it's audible.
"You really scared us you know, me in particular." I swallow back the lump in my throat and advert my eyes to the blanket that's covering my frail body. I pick at it, unable to look at her. My eyes burn with tears that won't fall and I'm itching to get out of here. She continues a moment later. "Alex...talk to me. Please? Just tell me what's going on!" I bite down hard on my lip without knowing and she adds on again. "All I know is what the doctor told me, god Alex-we almost lost you again! Why are you doing this?" She choked out, brushing away a few stray tears. I sniffle, unaware that I myself am crying too and shrug.
I still refuse to look at her because I know I'll lose it if I do.
"You're in bad shape." She adds. Her body's shaking furiously and she's damn near sobs, but she keeps talking none the less, and I let her because what else can I honestly do? I lost all my control the moment I hit rock bottom, the moment I ended up in this hospital, tied down to a bed I don't want, in a life and a body I don't want. Can't they see that I wanted to die? "The doctor said the lining of your stomach is almost completely ruined due to self-induced vomiting, and that your weight is dangerously low. And to top it all off, your entire body is filled with cuts and old scars, some new that haven't healed over. She even had to stitch up one on your wrist because it was so bad! How you managed to live through the amount of blood you've lost is beyond me, but you need help. Whether you want it or not, you need it because I'll be damned if I lose you again!"
It's been a week, a long week full of conversations I don't want to have and food they try to get me to eat without vomiting up. When I go to therapy, I'm forced to listen to others bitch and moan about how they hate themselves. I scoff, and pretend to listen when really my mind is elsewhere. The walls are painted a piss yellow, and the room smells like death. Then again, when you have 20 or so odd girls who've starved themselves or vomited every little thing they ate up, for numerous years of their lives, you tend to take the smell of 'death' perceived as normal. The man assigned to our group, our therapist-I mean, calls himself Chaz. He's old, in his late 50's, fat, and bald.
His face holds only one position, that smug, shit eating grin on his face that tells us he's either on happy pills or a child molester. Funny thing about it is, I should be able to tell if he diddled little kids, seeing as I'm an ADA yet when it comes to this bastard, I have no idea.
I guess because of the fact I don't care. I don't care about anything but getting out of here and away from this shit hole known as New York. But then again, that too, is the problem. Where could I run too without being found? The only solitude I could ever had is within myself and now it's gone, so in all honesty, I'm beyond fucked. Well, I guess now that I'm stuck here, I have some time to figure it out.