Post by Eden Morgan on Nov 1, 2009 13:35:23 GMT -5
The scene we open to is… well it is what it is. The important thing is the person or people within the scene, which happens to be a kitchen, rather than the scene itself, right? Right. The person in this particular scene is one we haven’t seen in quite a while, a one Miss Jezebel Saint. Here she sits at a table with her head in her hands in what we can assume is her own kitchen, as there are empty beer bottles lying haphazardly all over the table in front of her, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the sideboard, and a fully empty bottle of Captain Morgan’s beside it. The ashtray looks as if it has had its fill of cigarettes and their ashes and is protesting by overflowing, two empty packs of cigarettes strewn in the pile in front of her. The only really clean area is the one directly in front of her, where sits a pristine piece of paper and a pen, contents of said paper thus far unknown. A sigh and her fingers ruffling through her bright red hair are enough to let us know that Miss Saint is not asleep or passed out, but is in the midst of some dilemma of thought.
How the fuck did I get here? And I don’t mean here as in this physical place, but HERE. It was all going so well and now… now I don’t even know my own thoughts. And everyone understands this, everyone apparently except Old Lady Cunt Rot. I was figuring things out and then that old bitch has to call and demand to know when I’ll be back in the ring, and when I’m speechless by her requests for it to be soon, she sends over this goddamn paper for me to sign.
Thoughts running through her mind, Jezebel throws herself back in the chair, causing the two front legs to come up at the sudden movement. She throws her long red hair out of her face with a huff, her eyes never leaving the blinding white of the offending paper. She reaches for the pen, her hand closing slightly before touching it, as if expecting an electric shock upon contact. With a sigh, she pulls her hand back and instead digs in a pocket of the jeans she’s wearing for a fresh pack of cigarettes. Pulling it out, she packs them against her other hand before ripping the cellophane off and, withdrawing one, places it between her lips. She slings the pack carelessly onto the table and then pulls out her lighter, the tips of the cigarette glowing a bright orange briefly. The lighter meets with the same fate as the cigarette pack and she settles back in her chair, her eyes on nothing in particular, her mind deep in thought.
Am I really ready to get back in that ring? My body seems sound enough, but what about the rest? I’m not so sure. Jet. Jet would say no. He keeps bitching at me that I need to go see a fucking shrink. Doesn’t he realize that I had enough “therapy” at the hands of that bitch Torres? That the thought of going to see someone who wants nothing more than to get in my head and change me scares me shitless? And if he isn’t bitching about that, it’s about my choice of stablemates. What he doesn’t understand is that they are my family. He wasn’t the only one to come for me that dark night, they were there also. Klaus, Nate… Salem.
The mere thought of his name causes the next drag on the cigarette to be an extra long one, the cherry flaring brightly.
Salem. Where is he now? Whose bed is he in? That fucking bitch, Lilith’s? He says it’s all a misunderstanding, but is it? When I left the hospital, it sure didn’t seem like it. I can’t believe I actually felt guilty for the things I said to him that day after I found out about his marriage. But then, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had Nate drive me around to apologize to him? And what do I find? Lilith sitting on his fucking bike, the two of them talking? And he was jealous of Nate and couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t believe nothing was going on? What the fuck?! I should have known better than to let another man into my life like that… but he was different. And I thought… I thought there was something more there. I thought a lot of things.
Jezebel leans forward again to shove the butt of her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, reaching for the pack and drawing another out, lighting it before wiping her face in frustration.
I thought Salem would always be here. He’s not and hasn’t been in weeks. I thought Raenius was someone I could count on. He’s not and probably never has been. Did he know what HE was doing to me in that hell hole? Does anyone really? I know they know my injuries and what caused them, but do they know that I can barely stand for my head to go under the water when I take a shower because I think I’m back in that fucking tank? Stretching in the morning is something that most people enjoy, waking up tired muscles and bones, but for me it’s pain, like being struck by lightning. A goddamn middle schooler could drink me under the table now after that wonderful dialysis I was put on, which I’m lucky I didn’t die from. And the wonderful doctor with her Rorschach cards and shock therapy. I still see those cards behind my eyes when I close them. HE added the best touch to that, filling some gloves with broken glass and sliding them on my hands so that when I was shocked, my hands would clench up and the glass would drive in.
She pauses to look at her hands, the cuts healed, but the new scars pink and tender, running all over her hands and making them look like a Frankenstein body part.
And HIS voice, always near me, always mocking. I can still hear HIM whispering in my mind. HIS voice is always with me and no matter what I do, it won’t leave. I turn around expecting HIM to be right behind me, but it’s all in my head again. I’ve been told no one can find HIM, but I know where HE is, where HE’s been this whole time… HE’s in my head.
Remembering her time in hell, her hand shakes as she reaches forward to flick the ashes from her cigarette, raising it again to her lips. A creak in the floor causes her to visibly jump and she turns haunted eyes to those of her worried daughter’s.
Havyn. The only constant thing in my life. If it weren’t for you, I would have wanted death even more than just the fleeting thoughts I had then. I wonder if you know that?
“Mommy… are you okay?”
The little girl draws closer to her mother, dressed in a pink fluffy robe and equally fluffy slippers, her red hair, so like her mother’s, all a mess from sleep. Jezebel sighs.
“Mommy’s just trying to decide some things sweetie.”
Havyn pauses.
“Like what?”
Jezebel hesitates before answering.
“Well… Mommy’s boss called and wants to know when I can come back to work. She wants it to be soon, and I have to sign this paper if I agree, which is what she wants.”
Havyn bursts into tears and runs to Jezebel, throwing her arms around her mother, her little body shaking with the force of her tears.
“No! I don’t want you to go back there, I don’t want to lose you again, please Mommy, promise me you won’t go, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me, Mommy!”
Jezebel’s already pale skin grows even paler, a few tears slipping down her cheek as Havyn hiccoughs and sobs against her, her words coming out slurred and hitching as she begs her not to leave.
I can’t do this. I’m not ready to go back. Physically I am, but… there’s more than that. Everyone thinks I’m doing so well, but they have no idea.
She strokes a hand through Havyn’s hair, shushing her, comforting her and trying to quiet the girl who is already grieving for a mother lost. Jezebel pries her daughter away from her to look into her eyes wet with tears.
“Okay Havyn. Where do you want to go?”
Havyn sniffles, but in her eyes is a determination that belies her age.
“Away.”
Jezebel hugs her daughter again.
“Then away we’ll go.”
How the fuck did I get here? And I don’t mean here as in this physical place, but HERE. It was all going so well and now… now I don’t even know my own thoughts. And everyone understands this, everyone apparently except Old Lady Cunt Rot. I was figuring things out and then that old bitch has to call and demand to know when I’ll be back in the ring, and when I’m speechless by her requests for it to be soon, she sends over this goddamn paper for me to sign.
Thoughts running through her mind, Jezebel throws herself back in the chair, causing the two front legs to come up at the sudden movement. She throws her long red hair out of her face with a huff, her eyes never leaving the blinding white of the offending paper. She reaches for the pen, her hand closing slightly before touching it, as if expecting an electric shock upon contact. With a sigh, she pulls her hand back and instead digs in a pocket of the jeans she’s wearing for a fresh pack of cigarettes. Pulling it out, she packs them against her other hand before ripping the cellophane off and, withdrawing one, places it between her lips. She slings the pack carelessly onto the table and then pulls out her lighter, the tips of the cigarette glowing a bright orange briefly. The lighter meets with the same fate as the cigarette pack and she settles back in her chair, her eyes on nothing in particular, her mind deep in thought.
Am I really ready to get back in that ring? My body seems sound enough, but what about the rest? I’m not so sure. Jet. Jet would say no. He keeps bitching at me that I need to go see a fucking shrink. Doesn’t he realize that I had enough “therapy” at the hands of that bitch Torres? That the thought of going to see someone who wants nothing more than to get in my head and change me scares me shitless? And if he isn’t bitching about that, it’s about my choice of stablemates. What he doesn’t understand is that they are my family. He wasn’t the only one to come for me that dark night, they were there also. Klaus, Nate… Salem.
The mere thought of his name causes the next drag on the cigarette to be an extra long one, the cherry flaring brightly.
Salem. Where is he now? Whose bed is he in? That fucking bitch, Lilith’s? He says it’s all a misunderstanding, but is it? When I left the hospital, it sure didn’t seem like it. I can’t believe I actually felt guilty for the things I said to him that day after I found out about his marriage. But then, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had Nate drive me around to apologize to him? And what do I find? Lilith sitting on his fucking bike, the two of them talking? And he was jealous of Nate and couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t believe nothing was going on? What the fuck?! I should have known better than to let another man into my life like that… but he was different. And I thought… I thought there was something more there. I thought a lot of things.
Jezebel leans forward again to shove the butt of her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, reaching for the pack and drawing another out, lighting it before wiping her face in frustration.
I thought Salem would always be here. He’s not and hasn’t been in weeks. I thought Raenius was someone I could count on. He’s not and probably never has been. Did he know what HE was doing to me in that hell hole? Does anyone really? I know they know my injuries and what caused them, but do they know that I can barely stand for my head to go under the water when I take a shower because I think I’m back in that fucking tank? Stretching in the morning is something that most people enjoy, waking up tired muscles and bones, but for me it’s pain, like being struck by lightning. A goddamn middle schooler could drink me under the table now after that wonderful dialysis I was put on, which I’m lucky I didn’t die from. And the wonderful doctor with her Rorschach cards and shock therapy. I still see those cards behind my eyes when I close them. HE added the best touch to that, filling some gloves with broken glass and sliding them on my hands so that when I was shocked, my hands would clench up and the glass would drive in.
She pauses to look at her hands, the cuts healed, but the new scars pink and tender, running all over her hands and making them look like a Frankenstein body part.
And HIS voice, always near me, always mocking. I can still hear HIM whispering in my mind. HIS voice is always with me and no matter what I do, it won’t leave. I turn around expecting HIM to be right behind me, but it’s all in my head again. I’ve been told no one can find HIM, but I know where HE is, where HE’s been this whole time… HE’s in my head.
Remembering her time in hell, her hand shakes as she reaches forward to flick the ashes from her cigarette, raising it again to her lips. A creak in the floor causes her to visibly jump and she turns haunted eyes to those of her worried daughter’s.
Havyn. The only constant thing in my life. If it weren’t for you, I would have wanted death even more than just the fleeting thoughts I had then. I wonder if you know that?
“Mommy… are you okay?”
The little girl draws closer to her mother, dressed in a pink fluffy robe and equally fluffy slippers, her red hair, so like her mother’s, all a mess from sleep. Jezebel sighs.
“Mommy’s just trying to decide some things sweetie.”
Havyn pauses.
“Like what?”
Jezebel hesitates before answering.
“Well… Mommy’s boss called and wants to know when I can come back to work. She wants it to be soon, and I have to sign this paper if I agree, which is what she wants.”
Havyn bursts into tears and runs to Jezebel, throwing her arms around her mother, her little body shaking with the force of her tears.
“No! I don’t want you to go back there, I don’t want to lose you again, please Mommy, promise me you won’t go, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me, Mommy!”
Jezebel’s already pale skin grows even paler, a few tears slipping down her cheek as Havyn hiccoughs and sobs against her, her words coming out slurred and hitching as she begs her not to leave.
I can’t do this. I’m not ready to go back. Physically I am, but… there’s more than that. Everyone thinks I’m doing so well, but they have no idea.
She strokes a hand through Havyn’s hair, shushing her, comforting her and trying to quiet the girl who is already grieving for a mother lost. Jezebel pries her daughter away from her to look into her eyes wet with tears.
“Okay Havyn. Where do you want to go?”
Havyn sniffles, but in her eyes is a determination that belies her age.
“Away.”
Jezebel hugs her daughter again.
“Then away we’ll go.”