029. And I've Got Twenty More Minutes of Pain
Subject: Final Fantasy 7
Character: Sephiroth
Theme: #29
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Needles
The needle goes in right next to my elbow. The Professor has no trouble finding the vein; he does this so often I have track marks and scars like bullseyes for his aim. It's my left arm this week, a stupid, small thing to be happy about, but I'm glad anyway as he tapes the tubes into place.
When he turns away to fuss over the IV, I slowly slide my free hand under the thin mattress where I slipped my book when I came in.
I'll wait until he's started the drip and stepped outside before I pull it out, though. I know he doesn't approve of the books I like reading, adventure novels, gil-and-dime store stuff. The IV means the check-up is almost done. Means I'll be free of him and on my way back to SOLDIER soon. There's just one bag attached this week, so I estimate twenty more minutes.
I'm much better at flipping pages with my right hand. My left isn't quite co-ordinated enough to hold the book and turn the pages without dropping it.
The IV is cold. Ice pricks its way along my veins, into my fingers. They feel numb and tingly at the same time, like the limb's asleep. The tiny stabs work their way back up my arm, into my shoulder, and I'm starting to have a hard time concentrating on my book.
I bite my lip and curse the Professor under my breath. He could at least do me the courtesy of telling me when it's going to be one of these days. They happen about three times a year, but not regularly, and when I'm in here every week it's hard to keep track anyway.
The last one was back... back in the spring... Ow. It's getting hard to think as the stabbing sensation gets worse and in my neck and in my head and pounding and ow.
I look at the bag. It's empty, and the ice in my arm is no worse than anywhere else, my whole body is freezing. It was three days down last time. Won't let him keep me this time. Tear out the needle, rip the tape, can't even feel it. I have work to do.
I'm dimly aware that I'm not rational, and on some level I'm watching myself tear at the laboratory door without feeling that I'm the one doing it. Dissociation, I recall the word from the science texts.
Get out get out getout GETOUT.
This isn't good. They're going to send someone in with tranquilizers soon, I'm sure, and I'm tearing at the locked door without a hope of getting...
Is that...?
The hinges on the door give and I don't even have time to really think about that before I'm running and wishing I could stop myself because this is just going to hurt more when they catch me.
Ah, and there's the tranquilizer shot. It's an agonizing wait for the thick, slow cotton to overtake the ice in my veins, but finally I feel myself dropping off. It's so numbing I don't even feel the steps on the way down.
Character: Sephiroth
Theme: #29
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Needles
The needle goes in right next to my elbow. The Professor has no trouble finding the vein; he does this so often I have track marks and scars like bullseyes for his aim. It's my left arm this week, a stupid, small thing to be happy about, but I'm glad anyway as he tapes the tubes into place.
When he turns away to fuss over the IV, I slowly slide my free hand under the thin mattress where I slipped my book when I came in.
I'll wait until he's started the drip and stepped outside before I pull it out, though. I know he doesn't approve of the books I like reading, adventure novels, gil-and-dime store stuff. The IV means the check-up is almost done. Means I'll be free of him and on my way back to SOLDIER soon. There's just one bag attached this week, so I estimate twenty more minutes.
I'm much better at flipping pages with my right hand. My left isn't quite co-ordinated enough to hold the book and turn the pages without dropping it.
The IV is cold. Ice pricks its way along my veins, into my fingers. They feel numb and tingly at the same time, like the limb's asleep. The tiny stabs work their way back up my arm, into my shoulder, and I'm starting to have a hard time concentrating on my book.
I bite my lip and curse the Professor under my breath. He could at least do me the courtesy of telling me when it's going to be one of these days. They happen about three times a year, but not regularly, and when I'm in here every week it's hard to keep track anyway.
The last one was back... back in the spring... Ow. It's getting hard to think as the stabbing sensation gets worse and in my neck and in my head and pounding and ow.
I look at the bag. It's empty, and the ice in my arm is no worse than anywhere else, my whole body is freezing. It was three days down last time. Won't let him keep me this time. Tear out the needle, rip the tape, can't even feel it. I have work to do.
I'm dimly aware that I'm not rational, and on some level I'm watching myself tear at the laboratory door without feeling that I'm the one doing it. Dissociation, I recall the word from the science texts.
Get out get out getout GETOUT.
This isn't good. They're going to send someone in with tranquilizers soon, I'm sure, and I'm tearing at the locked door without a hope of getting...
Is that...?
The hinges on the door give and I don't even have time to really think about that before I'm running and wishing I could stop myself because this is just going to hurt more when they catch me.
Ah, and there's the tranquilizer shot. It's an agonizing wait for the thick, slow cotton to overtake the ice in my veins, but finally I feel myself dropping off. It's so numbing I don't even feel the steps on the way down.