Post by Eden Morgan on May 7, 2016 15:19:17 GMT -5
“You," he said, "are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain.”
― Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls
― Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls
April 20, 2016
New Orleans: River Oaks Hospital
“This seems a little--” Jet Somers searches for the right word with a hand waffling in the air. In the chair beside him, Cypress Morgan snorts and shakes his head.
“It a lot fucking sooner than any of us expected, Doc,” he supplies, grinning at Jet's chagrin. The doctor seated across the desk from them clears his throat.
“Yes, well, when we admitted Ms. Morgan, we were unsure of the timeline for her recovery. Whereas with traditional medicine, there are rules and typical paths that things follow; not so with medicine involving the psyche. Sometimes recovery is an extremely slow process, punctuated only by the smallest of changes that push us to continue. Consider a statue before it has become that art it bears inside it; the shapeless form takes on what it is intended to be through care and careful work. You may not think the tiny slivers of rock falling are effective, but they are, and one day because of all that careful work, you'll see the beauty within.”
Cypress blinks.
“I ain't here to talk about some fucking statue, Doc, I'm here to find out you're absotively-posilutely sure about my sister being released.”
Dr. Bramlet's expression doesn't change.
“Your sister, Ms. Morgan, was like that rock at first. She was extremely difficult to get through to and then we had a period of time where it looked like nothing was working-- until suddenly it did.”
Jet and Cypress share a look.
“Yeah, and that's where we have some questions. How do you know she isn't just playing you? She's really good at it,” Jet speaks up, putting voice to their concerns. Dr. Bramlet clasps his hands before him on the desk.
“I'll be perfectly honest with you two gentlemen- I can't know for sure. I will not tell you she is completely cured, no one is ever completely cured and it's dangerous to believe they ever are. What I can tell you is that Ms. Morgan has opened up completely and expressed... distaste... for her former actions. She has been a model patient for the past two months and has participated in any and every therapy we devise for her without complaint. She's helped with others as well. She is now voicing her desire to leave this place, that she's ready to return to the world. I have agreed with the provision that she continue her therapy sessions outside of the facility several times a week. I've already taken the liberty of setting her up with an associate of mine here in New Orleans.”
“So this could all be a scheme,” Cypress grumbles, gritting his teeth in annoyance. Dr. Bramlet stares directly at the large man.
“Mr. Morgan, I said I can't tell you that for sure, but what I will tell you is that if this is a scheme, then your sister has become a far better actress than she ever was before.”
“Great,” Jet mutters to himself, feeling the hope inside war with the doubt.
“You go on and help Jez finish up getting the apartment ready. I'll bring her home,” Jet waves Cypress off as the President of the Devil's Most Wanted swings a leg over his custom chopper. The engine roars to life, Cypress watching Jet for a moment.
“I want to believe everything's fine now like I know you want to. But--” Cypress allows his words to trail off, his thoughts not needing to be voiced to be understood by the other man. Jet gives a half smile.
“Yeah. But.”
Cypress nods and backs his bike out of the parking space beside Jezebel's black Denali Jet had borrowed to bring Eden home. Jet watches him drive off for a moment, his mind a war with all the thoughts in his head. He heard the door swing open behind him and then close, wheels turning slowly on concrete. He closes his eyes, briefly considering just walking away and not looking back. No one would blame him.
“Jet.”
The sound of his name opens his eyes. It hadn't been a question, it was a definite statement. There was no inflection, no emotion he could identify in the sound of his name coming from her. It had been so long since he had heard it from her with anything other than sneering contempt. Hesitantly, he turns around to face the woman responsible for so much pain and heartache.
Eden Morgan stands just away from the doors of River Oaks Hospital, sunlight pouring over her dark, wavy hair. Jet stares in shock. The last time he had seen her in this place, she had been unresponsive, paler than usual, her hair lank, eyes dull. Now, the bright blue of her eyes beams from a face that, while still pale, is full of a health and vigor long since unseen. She casts her eyes down and then looks around nervously. Finally seeming to decide something, she looks back at him and flashes a blinding smile in his direction. The smile falters and she clears her throat, awkwardly aware of the distance between them.
“I uh--” she shifts a bag on her shoulder with one hand, the other clasped around the handle of a suitcase on wheels. “I owe you an apology. I owe a lot of people an apology,” she gives a little laugh, stumbling over her words as she looks down at the cement walkway again. She glances up, squinting her eyes in the glare of the sun. “But I also owe you a thank you. For doing this for me. To me. For me,” she finishes and gives a little nod.
Jet closes the distance between them, hugging her tight, hope blooming through him that the woman standing before him was the woman who had once been his best friend.
April 26, 2016
Chicago: UGWC Offices
Eden stands before the door of the Creative Director, giving a soft rap with her knuckles, wondering if it can even be heard over the booming laughter of her brother and his VP inside the room.
“Get your ass in here!” is yelled back, Eden suppressing a smile as she turns the knob and enters. Cypress gives her a satisfied smirk, propping his boots up on the desk, Chaos crossing his arms and watching her quietly. It had been his way since she'd come back. He hadn't been unfriendly but he hadn't been welcoming either. He was cautious, and she couldn't really blame him after everything she'd put him through.
She also wouldn't belittle him and what she'd done to him with an apology. He deserved more than that.
“Didn't I tell you? Prime fucking spot for a return!” Cypress crows, well pleased with the events of No Holds Barred. Eden takes a seat before his desk and shrugs, smiling a little.
“Yeah, the fans seemed to enjoy it. And I have to admit, it felt great to get back out there.”
“There's a lot of speculation going around. Which Eden is back, is she going after Jet or Travis, is she going after the World title, or 'Vain' and Killian, is she coming back at all or was that just a stunt. I think the best thing to do is to keep them wondering.”
Eden watches her brother soberly.
“I think you're wondering some of the same questions, Cyp.”
Cypress grunts.
“I'm not gonna lie, sis, I'm not entirely sold that you're all better--”
“Good. Because I'm not,” Eden interrupts him, Cypress' eyes narrowing.
“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks suspiciously, Chaos tensing beside him. Both men's interest on the woman before them. Eden doesn't wilt beneath their rapt attention and accusatory stares.
“It means exactly what you think it does. I'm not 'all better' and there is no answer to 'which Eden is back'. I'm back, and so is everything I am. The good and the bad.”
“It was too early for you to leave, I knew Bramlet was lying--”
“He didn't lie, Cyp. It was time I left. I needed to leave, I-- I need to be back here, in this business. I don't want a feud with anyone. I don't want a title shot given to me. I want to start in the opening matches and work my way up. I have to make this work for myself... here, in this business, and out there in the world,” she points a finger, indicating outside. Cypress' glances at her pointing finger briefly, his eyes fixing on the nasty 4 inch line of scar tissue running over the underside of her wrist down her arm. Seeing the direction of his gaze, she lowers her hand back to her lap and takes a breath.
“There is no 'cure' it's just a steady process. It's why I have therapy sessions multiple times a week, whether that's here or back in New Orleans. I know I'm not 'all better' and that's a good thing; you should start worrying if I said I was.”
Cypress watches her for long moments, the tension easing out of his Vice President beside him. Quiet fills the room and where before such silence made Eden twitch or flinch, she now sat calm and waiting. He gives a low grunt.
“I hope you didn't expect that I would go easy on you and just hand you opportunity after opportunity.”
She shakes her head.
“I never expected that, Cypress, nor do I want it.”
“Good. Because this will be a complete restart for you. We've got a lot of new faces since you've been here, I think it will be good to put you with them starting off. No history, no anything there,” he moves some papers around on his desk before picking up a pen and jotting something down. “I'm planning on the week we return a match between the Anarchist and Ushida. You'll be in that match as well. Any problem with that?” He eyes her carefully, Eden shaking her head.
“No. None at all.”
“Good. Now go on, get out. Probably still have some unpacking to do,” he grumbles as he leans back in his chair. Eden nods and gets to her feet, giving a quick glance to Chaos and then back to Cypress.
“Thank you, brother.”
She turns and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.
“Whatdya think, C?” Cypress asks, his eyes still on the door. Chaos pauses a moment, running a hand over his bald head.
“I don't know, man. I just don't know.”
“Me neither,” Cypress responds, the two men lost in silence.
March 1, 2016
My head won't stop its pounding. The nurse says the new medication they put me on should help, but I think it was the last medication that's causing it. I can't think straight and they want me to write in a journal?
Of course they fucking do.
I've often thought I was alone in my life, but I've never been more truly alone than I am right now. Sometimes I think it's the greatest thing ever and I never want it to end. Others I want to run headlong into a wall and bash my brains out against the brick.
I start to wonder if I've always been here. Time is almost irrelevant in a place like this and at the same time everything runs on time. It's a meaningless necessity. Have I always been here and everything else has been a dream? It feels like it until the guilt sets in. The harshest punishment is knowing everything you've done and knowing you did it with the intent of hurting or destroying as many lives as possible.
Some never asked for it or did anything to deserve it.
They warn you that being isolated like this, cut off from the outside world, will cause your mind and soul to dredge things up and force you to deal with all of your unfinished business from your old life.
It's when that happens that I wish I actually had always been here.
Maybe I belonged here long ago.
My head won't stop its pounding. The nurse says the new medication they put me on should help, but I think it was the last medication that's causing it. I can't think straight and they want me to write in a journal?
Of course they fucking do.
I've often thought I was alone in my life, but I've never been more truly alone than I am right now. Sometimes I think it's the greatest thing ever and I never want it to end. Others I want to run headlong into a wall and bash my brains out against the brick.
I start to wonder if I've always been here. Time is almost irrelevant in a place like this and at the same time everything runs on time. It's a meaningless necessity. Have I always been here and everything else has been a dream? It feels like it until the guilt sets in. The harshest punishment is knowing everything you've done and knowing you did it with the intent of hurting or destroying as many lives as possible.
Some never asked for it or did anything to deserve it.
They warn you that being isolated like this, cut off from the outside world, will cause your mind and soul to dredge things up and force you to deal with all of your unfinished business from your old life.
It's when that happens that I wish I actually had always been here.
Maybe I belonged here long ago.