Raleigh Harper / Emily Watkins (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
callmeemily) wrote2014-06-22 11:16 pm
callmeemily) wrote2014-06-22 11:16 pm
Can I pay you tomorrow for recovery today? (Dated Monday, 9:45AM) TW: Mentions of Violence/Torture
Trigger Warning: This thread contains mentions and descriptions of violence and torture. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to tweet @thestarsplay for clarification. Thanks!
--
In the end, she'd handled it herself.
Raleigh didn't have family, didn't have an emergency contact. She'd watched Levi be loaded onto the gurney, and she limped to follow him - but one of the EMTs sat her down and took one look at her, and she was on one as well. She's got no phone - and she doesn't know anyone's phone numbers off the back of her hand, so she goes alone.
Concussion, hairline fractures in her left wrist (her fault) and right cheekbone (not her fault), bruised ribs - bruises all over really, and the 7 inch long cut along the bottom of her foot, from her heel to her toes -- had stitches.
Which meant she had crutches.
She knew she had to be at the hospital to get the stitches, but what she didn't know - or didn't expect, really, was that they were expecting to keep her. They were expecting to keep her, and she couldn't do it. She couldn't, not and keep thinking of Les' words. Of Joseph's, of her own. She'd been through it, after she'd fallen into the basement of that rotted old house. Two days, she'd been down there, and half the people who visited her informed her that They didn't even know she was gone.
Raleigh can't live through that again.
That's why she checks herself out once it's all done, the stitches and the lectures and the questions. That's why she heads back into town - the clicking of the crutches something that's entirely old hat to her, given her leg - and she's thinking about tomorrow. About working, and she draws herself up short before she sits heavily on one of the little tables outside the coffeeshop, nevermind that she hasn't bought anything, that she looks like a wreck and that she's wearing scrubs for pants and a cheap flipflop on her good foot because the exceedingly nice nurse realised that they had to cut her jeans off of her, and she had no shoes - her hoodie had blood on the sleeve and the hem, oddly brown now, but she hasn't realised it.
She sits, and she can't help it as she starts to cry, her free hand still holding the crutches so they don't clatter onto the ground.
--
In the end, she'd handled it herself.
Raleigh didn't have family, didn't have an emergency contact. She'd watched Levi be loaded onto the gurney, and she limped to follow him - but one of the EMTs sat her down and took one look at her, and she was on one as well. She's got no phone - and she doesn't know anyone's phone numbers off the back of her hand, so she goes alone.
Concussion, hairline fractures in her left wrist (her fault) and right cheekbone (not her fault), bruised ribs - bruises all over really, and the 7 inch long cut along the bottom of her foot, from her heel to her toes -- had stitches.
Which meant she had crutches.
She knew she had to be at the hospital to get the stitches, but what she didn't know - or didn't expect, really, was that they were expecting to keep her. They were expecting to keep her, and she couldn't do it. She couldn't, not and keep thinking of Les' words. Of Joseph's, of her own. She'd been through it, after she'd fallen into the basement of that rotted old house. Two days, she'd been down there, and half the people who visited her informed her that They didn't even know she was gone.
Raleigh can't live through that again.
That's why she checks herself out once it's all done, the stitches and the lectures and the questions. That's why she heads back into town - the clicking of the crutches something that's entirely old hat to her, given her leg - and she's thinking about tomorrow. About working, and she draws herself up short before she sits heavily on one of the little tables outside the coffeeshop, nevermind that she hasn't bought anything, that she looks like a wreck and that she's wearing scrubs for pants and a cheap flipflop on her good foot because the exceedingly nice nurse realised that they had to cut her jeans off of her, and she had no shoes - her hoodie had blood on the sleeve and the hem, oddly brown now, but she hasn't realised it.
She sits, and she can't help it as she starts to cry, her free hand still holding the crutches so they don't clatter onto the ground.
no subject
She's needed this, it seems like, since she was fourteen. Since she's been in pain, and alone, and she trusts Joel. They both have secrets, they both have a lot of secrets, but there's a form of doing good that she is grateful for, that makes this okay, and after today - after everything that's happened...
"You're a good person," she says it low and quiet, a statement of fact. Something she thinks he needs to hear more often, and something she believes deep in her soul.
no subject
"So are you," he says. "Not someone who's forgettable by any means, no matter what was said." She was lied to and it's not that simple, he knows it isn't, the words inside her head will echo for a long time to come, but he'll be there to tell her they're wrong whenever she needs him to.
"Have you seen Spencer? I- I don't have a lot of room at my place, but you shouldn't be alone. I can go with you to his house, I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."