|Giving You Hell
Author: Jersey Wolf PM
Post-Movie, AU. Tom's having a pretty good day save for being a bit achy and of course stuck in a mental hospital. However, he receives a visit from someone he's been hoping to never see again. As you can imagine he doesn't react very well.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama - Thomas & Angela - Words: 3,130 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 04-11-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8014794
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: And now back to your regularly scheduled P2 goodness. I've had this idea in my head for a long time, so it's nice to finally have it out of my head. So, yeah, seems I've decided that decency can go to hell. Enjoy.
Monotony is how things go around here. Staring at the ceiling until I can feel my mind turning even more into mush. Usually I have the capacity and enough shit for brains to go out to the common area to commiserate with my fellow loonies, but today…today my back hurts. My back hurts and my brain is mush. I don't think I can handle myself let alone other people. Of course I'm never alone long in here. Always gotta check up on us people. Us specimens. Make sure we're playing or part and entertaining ourselves in a productive manner.
"Mr. McKnight, it's time for your medication."
Ah, good morning, Jeremy. Right on time. Aren't Tuesdays when Kathy gives the medication? Hmm…maybe she's busy sleeping off a bad fuck or something like that. I don't know what normal people do anymore. I'd get up faster but with my back on the bed and my legs propped up on the wall it's kinda hard to feel motivated to move, so I just open my mouth and loll out my tongue. I trust ol' Jeremy here understands what that means.
"Very funny. Now, sit up please. I brought you some toast, and you're going to take your pills. Right?"
"Right-o," I reply, all teeth and flash. I got this system all worked out. There's no sense in fighting it anymore. Just ends up with me getting fucked over more so than I already am, and you'd think that'd be impossible, but hey, the world's a really weird place. Rolling over I land uncomfortably on my neck before righting myself to sit on the bed.
First my back, now my neck…I'll be dead by lunch at this rate.
"Good," Jeremy smiles, and man he's got dull fucking teeth. Someone should tell him to brush more. My teeth are sharp, but at least they're clean. "Glad to see you're in such a good mood. You'll need it for your appointment today."
"Appointment?" Jesus, I sound like an idiot, but seriously, appointment? Days melt together here, but I know when I'm scheduled to see the mighty head shrinker. No, I have another week until I have to get poked and prodded. What the hell is this appointment?
"Oh, yeah, you have a visitor."
I don't know why, but that gives me a bad taste in my mouth. Nobody visits me. No one that needs to be announced anyway. And what's with the guessing game shit? I'm crazy. You don't mess with that. I'm imbalanced. Don't make me play head games. I'll mess you up. You'll catch my crazy. Jeremy's not very smart is he?
"And who's that?" I ask, doing my best good, little, patient, voice. They eat that up. The "good boy" thing. Makes them think they're making progress with me. Perhaps they are, but I don't like the idea of having someone "fix me".
"You'll see soon enough. Now, come on. Eat and take your medication, or I'll never leave you alone." Smiling, I figure there's no reason to be defiant and eat the terrible excuse for toast, and honestly, how do you fuck up toast? I have no idea. And up course, like the wonderful patient I am I take my pills and try to ignore the chalky taste left in my mouth. "Thatta boy. I'll let them know you're in your room." I nod, hearing, almost feeling, a faint buzzing noise in the back of my head as I listen to the sound of conversation outside. It's all I ever hear when it comes. White noise. Keep talking all you want. All I have in my head is that damn white noise.
I figure this'll all be nothing and return to sprawling on my bed, closing my eyes and pretending it's comfortable. I can feel a spring or two that'll give out, but hey, it's better than sleeping on the floor. Or maybe it's not. Really wouldn't know. Haven't tried.
And my back still fucking hurts. Jesus Christ.
I hear the door open, and I guess that means I'll have to stop pondering stupid shit about beds and turn on the "personable". Like a switch. On. Off. Sitting on my ass, feet on the floor, smiling like the good citizen I am. A real boy scout. Scout's honor.
And I tell ya, that act doesn't last long as I spot who it is in the door. There are two people, but I don't care about the one I don't recognize. The one I can't believe is there is the one I do know, and it makes my skin prickle. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, and of course boobs enough to smother a man. I know this because I've seen them, and honestly I'd hoped never to see them again.
Fucking bitch. What's she doing here? What fucking right does she have to be here? What's she gonna do? Pull some PR shit and tell me she forgives me to make her seem like the bigger person. The heroine they want her to be. Perfect. Enough to make you sick isn't it? Still, that doesn't tell me who Dipshit Harry beside her is. Definitely not her boyfriend. No way. Ice queens don't date. They don't feel.
"Ok, Ms. Bridges, I'll be right outside," says the dipshit with his fucking tacky suit jacket blazer something or other made out of ugly ass polyester or maybe cotton whatnot. Point is that fucking thing is ugly. And even though it's so fucking ugly I can't take my mind off that bitch. Call me whatever names you want, but I'm still fucking mad at her, and why shouldn't I be? Yeah, I did some shit, but she did some shit right back. And now I'm fucking stuck in this hellhole and she's here just staring at me with my wrinkled clothes and back pain.
Well, I might as well be a good host.
"Oh, hello, Angela," I smile, and she says nothing. She looks like she's trying to burn a hole in my head, and I swear she's shaking. "Something the matter? You look flighty…like a bird. A starling maybe?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"I said shut up," she says, and she looks like she's mentally beating my head in. "I'm not here because I want to be."
"Something we have in common," I snort. She has no response to that, and I take advantage of the silence. "So, why are you here anyway?" Jeez, I almost sound genuinely interested. Maybe I am. My head's hurting, and I can feel the effects of sedative starting to work on my thoughts.
"Therapy." I half think she's spitting something out the way she says it. She's not looking at me, but I'm fixating. I can't help it. It's my nature to do so. "One of the steps I have to take. Come face to face with my fears. Maybe even forgive you. See that you're just human."
"You shouldn't have to learn that," I reply, and I hadn't expected to sound so nasty. Also, what's with this forgiveness shit? I called it. Called it a mile away. I'm just that good. She's clearly still mad at me. What am I? A show? "Kinda hard to see me as a person if I'm just a step though, don't ya think?"
"Be quiet. I don't want to talk to you. This is all your fault anyway."
She…she what? My what? I couldn't tell you why, but that just really pisses me off. I should have expected to hear that, but I guess I'm still able to be bothered. Along with the whole "forgiving me" shtick, which is complete bullshit, this is all just so ridiculous. I swear something just broke like that stupid metaphor with the camel and the rice.
Sedatives have nothing on this kind of rage. It's not energetic, but it's sharp. "It's all my fault. Bad, bad, me. And you don't even want to be here? Oh, you poor, poor, thing," I growl, leaning forward. She moves back, and shit, that feels fucking fantastic. You'd better be afraid of me. Facing your fears my ass. "Having to come here and see me. How unfortunate and time consuming and taxing on you. Must suck. Always the victim, aren't you?"
That's right. Glare at me. Curse at me. She doesn't though, and I'm a bit disappointed. I want reactions. Responses to my behavior that aren't part of a script and mangled by "professionalism" and distance. She's just standing there. Giving me her "kill face". I figure I might as well work with it since it's what I've got.
"I feel so bad for you. What can I do to help you? Maybe I should just up and kill myself. You'd like that wouldn't you? Wouldn't have to bother with that damn annoying little fact of my continued existence. I am so fucking sorry." There should be sarcasm Olympics. I've been training. I'm the king of being facetious. You know what facetious means ya bitch?
And I'm not even done yet. I'm picking up speed. Can't stop now. An object in motion…
"Actually, no…no, I'm not fucking sorry. I'm not fucking sorry for you. You have to go to occasional therapy sessions? It's an inconvenience? Oh, sad…woe and agony…fuck you. My life is an inconvenience. To you. To this hospital. To the world. Kind of sucks now that I know it. Sucks even more that I can't even delude myself into not acknowledging that anymore."
She starts to speak, but I'm on my feet before she can get a word out. Fuck, that hurts my back, moving so suddenly, but I bite my tongue to keep from whining. I may not have much strength in me these days, but I know how to be threatening. The back of my skull hurts with an approaching headache, but I can't stop. I don't want to. I suppose I've wanted to say these things for a while. Wanted to let out my frustrations. I would have tried in the multiple meetings to Captain Head Shrinker, but I know he won't understand and can't.
Even if she doesn't want to she understands. As much as I hate it I know she's the only one with any capacity to get it. A different perspective, but she knows…she knows the shit heap that is my mind.
"What's it like? To have a chance to be normal?"
"Normal," I repeat, slowly so she understands. I'm closer to her, but she hasn't reacted. She's staring at me now though, which could have something to do with the fact that I'm only two feet away, give or take. "I can never be normal. Can't be it. Can't look it. Thanks for that, by the way," I continue, scowling with my half a face. That's an exaggeration, but it feels like that. Half a face. Half a perception.
"You look horrible," she says coolly as if it will deter me. She's making a point of looking me in the eye. Showing me that she's not afraid of me. What a shame. She has every right to fear me. Making her believe otherwise isn't solving the problem. I'd tell her so, but I can't imagine she wants any of my advice.
I don't think anyone wants my advice for that matter.
"I hadn't noticed," I reply, rubbing my back with one hand. "You look like a frightened sheep. How's the flock doing? Hard to get that information now that my disguise doesn't work anymore." I let my jaw hang open a bit and loll my tongue slightly off to the side, panting like a dog and smiling like it's the best damn joke I've ever made. It might very well be. The noise seems to bother her, so I make it louder. Short, raspy, hungry, breaths. People always said my teeth looked like fangs anyway.
"Stop it!" she says, fiercely might I add. It's strange to think that at one point that ferocity drew me to her. I have some weird tastes. I do as she says, but that sort of cooperation does not come without price. I silence myself, close my mouth, and I lean forward, palm flat against the wall. I can see that her face is red, her heart pumping out anxiety as well as blood. She's giving off heat, and against my wishes I kind of love the feeling. It's so cold in here all the time. Both the building and the people. It's nice to feel something warm every once in a while.
I feel the brush of fabric against fabric, and muscles stiffening against mine. I must have moved to the point of touching her. I hadn't noticed.
"I'm not gonna hurt you…" I whisper, frowning slightly but refusing to move. Recognition is all over her face. Her eyes narrow, and she scowls at me. I mean what I said though. Even if I had intentions to hurt her I'm just too tired. Too worn out from all my "crazy business". Besides, if I did anything I'd likely be tackled and stuck in the ass with some sedative I'm sure is going to just kill me one of these days. And I'm already achy. She can't hurt me either. Mutual non-threat.
"I hate you."
"Angela," I say, more of a hiss really, "I can't say I'm all that fond of you either. Now, get out of my room. I have no desire to help you with your therapy. With your recovery…you see…" I pause, moving my face closer, easy since I can still feel her shirt against mine, and either through defiance or fear she hasn't moved away from me. "I really just think you're a real bitch for coming here and acting so fucking high and mighty, like you're doing me some great personal favor by gracing me with your presence. Saving face. Forgiving the sinner like the good little girl you are. Bringing yourself one more step closer to being 'back to normal'. That must be nice."
"Get away from me."
"I will. Honestly, I just wanted to make sure you got all that because I think you're a real cunt, and I'm making it a habit of being more honest these days. How do you think it's working out for me?"
She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, looking dumbstruck, and I allow myself to feel victorious. However, I made the mistake of forgetting that this woman's a fighter.
"Asshole," she replies, stepping hard on my foot, digging sole into my skin. I yelp helplessly and shift back, pulling my foot back to me. Irritated by the pain and the sudden coolness of the rest of the room. One of the nurses is coming over, escorting her out of the room, and she's smiling. She's fucking smiling. I practically snarl, but I opt for silence and make my way back over to my bed, favoring my foot. My fucking foot. It's going to be awkwardly bruised now. Well done, Angela. Picking on me when I'm down seems to be a strategy of hers.
I'm still sulking when Jeremy comes back into the room. He looks curious and concerned. Mostly curious, and I can't blame him for that. I'm usually so well behaved, except for when I'm not.
"Yes?" I smile, rubbing my foot and feigning calm like a goddamn pro.
"What did you do?" He's using his "adult voice" which irks me because I'm older than he is. Probably smarter. Well, maybe. I don't know.
"We were just talking and she got mad. I don't know what set her off," I lie. "Look at my foot. She dug her heel into it. And I'm the one put away in a box. She's the one who's out-"
"You, watch it," Jeremy chides, and as I've been conditioned I shut my mouth and nod because I'm not just well behaved. I'm the best behaved, when the mood suits me. "Now, I'd imagine you're not going to want to do much walking are you?" I shake my head and look pathetic, clinging onto my foot as to tell him to take it from me. "Alright, well, if it keeps hurting let me know, and I'll get you something for it." I nod again and out the door he goes.
As soon as he's out I relax my face. Smiling felt weird. It doesn't describe how I'm feeling accurately enough. It can't show my pride. My uncommon relief. I have expelled some unholy demon, and I feel righteous. Most would say my words and actions were in bad form, but I'd argue that the whole world is in bad form. Why should I act any differently?
I roll onto my back and close my eyes. I'm aware of my back pain again, but it's familiar and comforting. I block out the sound of people outside and eventually my foot stops hurting as long as I don't move it. I'm tired again, but I'm not as displeased as I was before. Despite my head starting to buckle under the weight of the medication's effects I'm entertained by my own actions.
Sometimes it just feels good to give people hell.