Mutual Repair (Actual Roleplay)

[Renn Skye]

(Nicoledashorty Sea Serial Lover Nalakitty01)


Life isn't always easy. In fact, most of the time it's not easy at all. It's hard. It grinds you down until you crack and shatter, then expects you to find a way to put yourself back together again. But sometimes we can't make it on our own. As we stumble and fall there are those who rest beside us, who help us up, who stumble forward with us into the unknown. These are the stories of people who are cracked but not broken, still trying to struggle through the mess called life. These are the lives of people who have broken, but are mending. These are the histories of the people who help them back up, and sometimes find the strength to stand themselves by supporting others.


--


Basically I want this to be a giant hurt comfort roleplay. I want to see characters who are bent, but not entirely broken. Who have been through hell and are slowly making their way back. I'm looking for about ten characters, including my own, who are in a support group as they recover from traumatic events in their lives. You could be recovering from an overdose, or loosing a family member, it's really up to you. I just want to see how these broken people can help each other move on with their lives.


In terms of rules,

• No godmodding/powerplaying please
  
• Don't be a jerk (your character can be a jerk, that doesn't mean that you have to be)
  
• Use common sense
  
• Use spell check, and try to re-read your posts or at least give a good solid effort
  
• I'm not asking for novels, but I'm going to have a one paragraph minimum - this is a semi-literate to literate roleplay
  
• Feel free to curse, just block out bits of it (for example, please write sh*t/sh!t/sh1t/s**t or something along those lines instead of the actual word)
  
• Romance is a-okay, and even encouraged, but if it goes higher than a pg-13 rating please take it to PM or e-mail, or fade to black
  
• Try not to be a drama llama
  
• If I feel as if you are being detrimental to the roleplay or to your fellow roleplayers I will give you a warning. If such behaviour persists I will ask you to leave.
  

Signups and OOC found HERE


Roleplay starts below this post 

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"Physically speaking he's… recovering. Not perfect, but he will be. I doubt he'll even limp once he's fully healed."


I'm right here, you know. I can hear you. You don't have to talk about me like I'm not in the room. I'm right here, damnit.


"He's incredibly lucky, considering."


Lucky? You call that lucky? I killed someone. Killed them dead and I'm still here stuck seeing his face laughing one second and then smeared across truck grating the next and you call me lucky? That's not luck. That’s- I don't know what it is, but it's not luck. It's definitely not luck.


"Yes, we only had to reconstruct his knee and bolt in a rod to help repair his shin. We might even be able to take out the rod, some day, if he heals well enough around it. Remarkable. The damage could have been much worse."


Yeah. They could still be picking up pieces of me along the roadside. Still be cleaning me off their windshield. I could have hit it from the other side, taken myself out instead. I wonder, did they have to scrape Daniel off of their fender? Are there still bits of him ground into the asphalt from where he was torn apart? I should be strewn out on the highway like that, not him. I wish he were here instead of - no. No, that wouldn't be fair. Not instead of. With me, but I guess I don't get to ask for something like that. That I was with him, then. That they were picking up pieces of me, too, instead of standing out side my door talking about me like I'm not even here. Not aware.


…I wish I wasn't aware. At least then I wouldn't have to see people's looks when they visit me. Hear the sympathy in their voices, feel the blame from some of them, the pity from all of them. I wouldn't have to try not to scream every time they tell me that it wasn't my fault because it was, and I know it was and no one wants to kill their own fiancé but I did and we all know I did and can't you just blame me already and be done with it? Look at me with disgust for killing your son, don't- don't look at me like you feel sorry for me for loosing him, like I'm in the same boat as you. I'm not, I killed Daniel, not you, not any of you, me. Just me. And the sooner you remember that and get on my back about it the sooner I'll be able to hate myself properly, without people telling me I shouldn't.


"He should be released today, right?"


And the voices continued, oblivious to the turmoil inside their patient's head. Oblivious and just outside the door and talking about him like he wasn't even there.


"Yes, his parent's weren't in the area so his sister's coming to pick him up, I guess."


Released. The word stung almost more than 'lucky' had. You didn't let a killer go free - you stuck him in a cell until he rotted. But they were releasing him. Sending him home to be taken care of. To be coddled. To be told that it was okay when it was anything but. You're better. Go home. We fixed your leg that should have fixed everything else too, right?


"Have they come to sign him out yet?"


Oh god. Home. How would he even manage home? Home was where Danielwasn't, now. Where he had been, where they had been planning to be for the rest of their lives together - a much shorter time then Nick had originally thought. The idea of returning to his apartment - of returning to it alone, with no smiling black haired boy to greet him with a kiss and to start making dinner with only to give up and go out because neither of them could cook… the idea of returning home to silence instead of a warm hello, of finding his bed empty save for himself, twice as big as it needed to be… it terrified him and suddenly he found himself reaching a state of panic. No. No, he couldn't go home. There had to be more wrong with him, they had to run another test, do another surgery, he couldn't go home. He couldn't.


"Not yet, but they said they were on there way. I'm sure he'll be signed out and on his way back home in no time."


There was no home to go back to. That apartment was nothing without Daniel in it. How could they take him back to something that wasn't there?


Nick felt his whole being just sort of fold into the bed as he waited, eventually hearing a new voice approach the other's outside his door, the familiar tones of his sister ringing clear through the opening.


Oh. Company. That was… exactly what he didn't want right now. Not that he had a choice, of course. Nick looked up, his expression slate-blank, a far cry from his normally lively and laughing green-gold eyes. His mouth was set. Not into a frown or a line or a grimace, just set. Sitting upon his face, dragged down by gravity and a lack of the will necessary to make it form an expression. When he looked over Kaia the wiped clean, empty nature of his normally highly expressive eyes spoke of the fact that he wasn't looking at all, not seeing, not caring to try and see, just turning in the right direction and going through the motions because that was what was expected.


"...hey," he pushed out eventually, the tone soft, and just as drained as the rest of him. He tried to force a smile, but only managed a slight twitch in his cheek muscles, a barely visible raise in the right corner of his mouth that faded back into the set nothingness that he had held before. It barely reached his nose, there was no hope that it would have travelled far enough to visit his eyes.


"Come to take me -" he couldn't get it out. Oh, gods, he couldn't even say it. The word stopped halfway out, catching in his throat. Home. No home without Daniel, so no home to go to. "...back?" he finally finished, the word strained and tense as it forced it's way out of his throat, the b awkwardly morphed out of his attempt at an h. "I'm pretty sure everyone's sick of me staying here. You got stuck with me, hunh?" The tone of his words was a sad attempt at conversation and it fell, but not flatly. Like the clamour of a cat falling onto a piano's keys it started high, forced positivity, then clattered down to the depths of his loss before rising back up to the blank, empty plateau that had been his existence the last several days.


"Actually I'm taking you to group," Kaia announced, and Nick felt his heart sink further. Group? Therapy? Yeah because a few people sitting in a circle would understand what it felt like to kill his fiancée. As if. He looked up at his sister and made no motion to suggest he actually cared.


"And once you're done with that I'm taking you back to my place and we'll just repeat it until you can get up and live on your own again," Kaia finished, undeterred.


She helped Nick into a chair - his leg was too screwy to walk on yet, even in the cast - and wheeled him out. Having already signed him out at the front desk it was merely a matter of getting him into the car.


The drive was long, almost longer than his stay in the hospital had been, and the wheel up into the building was longer. Kaia helped him get into position in the still forming circle, leaned down to his ear and whispered that she'd be back in an hour to get him, and slipped out of the room. So here he was, surrounded by people who didn't know him at all, expected to get better talking about his feelings.


Joy.

 

[Lori Williams]

Brielle woke up after a painful experience of having a baby. She saw in the room across to her, a nurse holding a new born baby. HER new born baby. She had given birth to a child! It was absolutely insane! She was EIGHTEEN, for God's sake! Bri tried to get up, but couldn't. Her mother and father came in, but she tried to kick them away. They had abandoned her when she needed them the most. When her mother tried to kiss her forehead she turned away and tried not to cry. "Why, why are you here?" She asked, barely making out the words. Her mother looked nervous. You could see the guilt in her eyes. "We're going to send you somewhere, special." She said softly. "Where? An asylum?" Brielle said cruelly. She could never forgive her parents for what they did to her. When her body got it's senses back she sat up and only one word came out of her mouth. "Why." It was the same question that she had asked herself ever since she was due to have Beth. Yup, Beth. It was what she wanted to name her daughter. Brielle's father walked up to her and sat beside her on the bed. "Me and your mother, We, were scared that you were growing up too fast. That you were running away from our grasp so soon." He went on and on, but Brielle knew that they had abandoned her from pure hatred. She could feel the way they had left her alone. The memories flew back all the time, and now that it was over, they decided to waltz back into her life? NO WAY! They ruined Brielle's life, and it was already a living hell. When the doctor came in again her parents had to leave. It is embarrassing for the doctor to see you cry, but what she was feeling was uncontrollable. The doctor explained that she was leaving the hospital soon and wouldn't be able to see her daughter anymore. Although she thought of Beth as a mistake, it was hard to think that they would be apart for so long. "Where am I going?" She asked. The doctor answered. "It's some place peaceful, where you will be able to heal your scars." He said. Heal scars? She always thought that the scars in her heart were impossible to heal. Brielle had always depended on love and guess where her boyfriend that gave birth to Beth is. SHE DOESN'T KNOW! Because he left her when she told him. It is sad, but true.


The car ride wasn't very long. It was about an hour or less. When she arrived she was surprised to see many people. There was an empty seat beside a boy so she sat down (Nick). "Hi. My name's Brielle. What's yours?" She asked him.

 

[Renn Skye]

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"I can help you with that!" Darien was quick on his feet as he got up to help the woman who was setting up the trays of food for the groups meeting. He quickly grabbed the tray from her, moving it over to the table and returning for another. This process repeated quite a few times until the table was fully set, at which point he quickly grabbed a few of the offered pastries and went to find himself a seat.





These meetings were a godsend, truly. Going hungry was terrible, and while he could usually find something in a number of dumpsters this food was fresh and good and clean and, most importantly free. Darien had stumbled across these meetings eleven months ago and was more than grateful for the shelter and provisions they provided, which is why he was here again. He took up his usual seat, across the circle from the moderator, and started munching down, doing his best to hunch his shoulders and look like he didn't quite want to talk about whatever was wrong with him.





The fact was there wasn't anything wrong with him. At least, not wrong enough for him to be here. His parents hated him and he was living with a man who got beat up on every day that ended with a y (and ended up hitting back when Warren wouldn’t and getting his fair share of punches meant for the other for his efforts), and he was gay in a world that didn’t exactly love the way he looked at other men, but that wasn't problem worthy enough to be coming here. But he needed the food, and he liked the people and he couldn't bring himself to not come. And so he showed up a little early every day and helped set up and he sat through meeting and didn't say a word unless absolutely required - which, thankfully, he wasn't - and then left a little late after helping pack everything up. It wasn't exactly the most honest way to do things but it worked, he got fed, and these people had one more person to offer their story to, one more person to help them hold up. That was something.





He was halfway through his first danish when a tall latina dropped herself in the chair next to him and he looked up, startled. But - oh, it was just Lorena. He hadn't seen her for some time, what had- ...oh. Oh. Her face was a mess of black and blue and she was wearing a thick scarf despite the heat in the room. Again, then. A rage boiled in Darien's gut that anyone would allow themselves to be hurt that way, and that someone had dared to hit her again. He liked Lorena. She came here often enough she was practically family, and every time she came back beaten up and just as broken as she had been before they'd patched her up again he wanted to find the b@st@rd who'd put her in this state and break his face in. Much like with Warren he didn’t understand why she just couldn't find herself a good man, but until she did he often found himself wishing he could protect her from everyone who'd ever wanted to hurt her.

 

[Shy Shadow]

Bree went into her sisters room and combed her hair. She always used her sisters room when she needs some time to be alone in the house or she needed to get ready. She was 18 and not once in her life had she had her own room. Right now she slept on the couch in the living room, not the ideal place to get changed. She looked and made sure that most of her body was covered, or at least the parts that had scares on them. Her older sister was at work right now and so was her mother. It was only her and her father. She shoved her old mp3 player in her front hoody pocket. She slightly open the door to see her father had fallen asleep on the couch, beer bottles piled down on the floor near his feet. He was snoring loudly and drool dripped from the edge of his mouth.


Bree tip toed passed her sleeping father and to the door opening it slowly and quietly. Then she dashed out the door closing it and sticking her head phones in her ear beginning to walk. She was suppose to meet Michel. They always meet at Bob's Arcade , it was a place were people would usually stay clear of, it was a place of trouble, but it was a good place to go if you knew the people. Bree stepped inside not having to pay the 10 dollar fee. The place reeked of cigars. She saw Michel playing pool at one of the tables. Everyone was beating that he would win. The other people that were beating against him, were either foolish or new here. He made the last winning shot and everyone handed over there money, after taking the wad of money he turned and saw Bree.


"Hey, just finished winning yet another game," he smiled at her shoving the money in his pocket.


"You said you had a surprise for me?" Bree asked him as she let him lead her out of Bobs and down the street.


"Yeah here," he said and had a excited face pointing and the building.


"What's in there?" Bree asked not understanding why he was so excited, her face looking board.


"There is a group," he said still all cherry.


"A group... Like that therapy crap?" she asked harshly.


"Yes like therapy... Come on don't look at me like that. At least give it a try, you might find that you like it. I mean I can't be the only person that you open up to. You need to talk to other people." He said with big eyes.


"So other words you are trying to get rid of me."


"No, no, no not at all, you know you are my best friend and I love you like a sister but this will help, Please try it... For me," he said and she let out a big sigh.


"Fine," she groand and looked at the building.

 

[EdithSpeaks]

Cyrus wasn't happy about this 'therapy' thing, but he was rarely ever happy anymore so there really wasn't much difference between this and daily life. Still, he'd made his decision and when he made decisions he usually made it a point to stick to them, so here he was. As soon as he stepped inside, he took a seat in one of the uncomfortable folding chairs, crossed his arms, slumped far down enough to just let his head fall back over the back of the chair, and closed his eyes as if he would take a nap. Talking to people wasn't something Cyrus was good at anymore, not outside of the interrogation room.


When he heard the sound of a body falling heavily into one of the chairs nearby, he cracked an eye open enough to look, and fought down a grimace when he saw Lorena. He'd been here less than two months, and he already knew what sort of trouble she got into, even after she'd been here and then left, thinking herself 'fixed.' ". . . Do I have to arrest someone?" He asked, but his tone didn't hold much surety. He wasn't supposed to be a cop here. He was supposed to be the grieving father and widowed husband.


*******************************************************************************************


Arian wasn't very comfortable thinking of himself in 'therapy'. Still, if anything could stop the constant pain and misery he'd been in ever since - Incident, his brain labeled it The Incident with capitals and sometimes italics - he had to try it. He had dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep, and his clothes weren't strange in themselves but were wrinkled and basically looked as if he'd picked them up off his floor after a few days of them lying there. his hands, wrists and arms were dotted with paint - black, midnight blue, maroon, dark green - and he tugged his sleeves down a bit to hide the worst of it, tucking his hands into his sweatshirt's pockets as he walked into the building.


There were already people sitting in the circle, though the session hadn't started, and he felt awkward even though he'd attended once or twice already. Still, he took a seat with the group and did his best not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. Half the reason he'd hid his hands was because they shook, because he would run them through his hair or back and forth over his knees if he didn't trap them this way. He still hadn't gotten past the withdrawals, which was most of the reason he hadn't slept. He hoped being here would help motivate him to not go back to those things and just ride out the tremors and general horrible feelings of it all until it was over.

 

[Renn Skye]

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/red_dress_by_snarkies-d6ait60.png.9d2f54fcf894bb3430640c1d8b843bb7.png" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="3416" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/red_dress_by_snarkies-d6ait60.png.9d2f54fcf894bb3430640c1d8b843bb7.png" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

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Everything hurt. Of course, 'everything hurt' pretty much summed up every other last few days of every other relationship she'd ever been in, so that wasn't saying much. Everything hurt more just sounded pathetic, though, no matter how true it was. Her arms were shaking as she held herself over the sink, a light sweat across her brow and the awful taste of bile in her mouth. She raised one arm, a wad of toilet paper in her hand, and shakily dragged it across her mouth before tossing it in the general direction of the trash can.





She had known not to look into the toilet but she had anyway. Some morbid curiosity had drawn her gaze and she had looked. And she had seen. It - it was still an it, no time to become a boy or a girl - was small and bloody and a weird conglomeration of almost skin and mess and dead. A dead thing her body had pushed out of itself like a cancerous waste that had to be removed. Removed from her. Because she had killed it. Killed it dead dead dead.





Well, technically speaking it hadn't been her who had killed it, it had been the stairs, and the trauma of falling down them. And that certainly hadn't been her fault, it had been Antonio's, but she was the one to make him angry and so in the end it all came back to her. Carefully, she rose herself to standing, staring into the mirror for a moment to take stock of her self. See what the damage was, what could be fixed or hidden, and what she would have to live with until it faded away. The result was gruesome and she almost winced at her own reflection.





Her face was a mess, but there wasn't much she could do about that. It was a mass of black and blue, the entire left side of her face thoroughly bashed up, with yellowing edges at her temple, ear, and throat. It was so heavily bruised that the centre of the mess went from purple to a deep spotty red to black from the busted blood cells underneath. The right side of her head sported a gash that stretched from just above her temple back into her hairline. The bruising was still too fresh and delicate to really cover up without causing herself more pain then it was worth and there was really nothing she could do to cover up the deep gash on her forehead other than wipe away the crusted blood, which she had already done just a few minutes previous. Her neck, though, she could cover. It was raw red and bore the distinct imprint of hands in the deep bruises over her collar bone, the angry red skin from where she'd recently been torn at stretching from her throat all the way over her left shoulder and down, beneath her shirt.





That she could cover, though, and she hastily grabbed a scarf, wrapping it high over her neck. She let her hair down, allowing it to fall over her features as she grabbed a hat to hide what she could of her face beyond that. From there it was a quick and careful tip-toe to the stairs where she grabbed her shoes from the top and snuck down, slipping out the door as quietly as she could. Antonio was sleeping, after all, and she didn't want to wake him. It'd been too long of a day, he was tired. She'd upset him if she woke him and that was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.





Once she was out the door she pulled her heels on, strapping them into place, and hailed a cab. Slipping into the back she gave him the usual number and waited for him to take her to her home away from home.





The drive wasn't too long, fifteen minutes, tops, but it would have been hell to walk it in heels - and dangerous, to boot. She wasn't going through that kind of neighborhood looking like this. She quickly paid the cab faire and got out, making her way inside where she moved first to the tables and got herself a cup of (admittedly really terrible) coffee. Taking it in hand she moved to drop down in her usual seat, next to some kid who still hadn't offered up his name - what was his deal? Probably something awful, since he hadn't spoken about it and he'd been here for probably a year already. She scowled into her coffee cup until she heard a voice speak up next to her. Looking up she frowned for a moment, trying to put a name to the face.





Carl… no… Chris… no… C… c… cy… Cyrus. Right. Cyrus. Right. The guy who'd lost his kid. And ouch, wasn't that a punch in the gut?





"..." she hesitated a moment, and then stuck out her wrists to him, coffee still in one hand. "Si. Me. I'm a murderer as of this morning, you should probably haul me off." she answered, tone clipped and bitter. "I mean, I guess technically you could take 'toni in but he'd just get pissed about it and shove you down the stairs too."

 

[EdithSpeaks]

The moment Lorena started to speak, Cyrus sat up straight in his chair, straight enough his back stopped touching it entirely, and gave her a hard, steady look. "You want to explain yourself?" He said, more of an instruction than a question, but said carefully and with as much control as he could manage. If she was telling the truth, he was going to haul her in, 'house rules' or not. He wasn't supposed to conduct police business in here, no matter the circumstances, but he wasn't just going to let it slip by that she was not only beat to hell but also confessing to murder.


It didn't sit well with him, the bruises no doubt covering more than just her face where he could see. Even when Nancy had started to scream at him, even throw things at him, he never - not even once - thought of hitting her for it. Ever. He didn't understand how someone could stay with someone that did, either. "Tell me exactly what happened." Rules or not, he was going to get this sorted. Now.

 

[Renn Skye]

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_mhbk14PoBw1r5n34uo1_500.jpg.9448f6c9dc089be9a7696e5c982bba4d.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="3418" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_mhbk14PoBw1r5n34uo1_500.jpg.9448f6c9dc089be9a7696e5c982bba4d.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

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"Hi. My name's Brielle. What's yours?"





The words skated over his consciousness, skittering at the edge and nearly falling off completely before Nick realised they were directed at him. Slowly, he looked up, taking in the girl who was talking to him with the detachment of one can no longer connect what he is seeing to any sort of true meaning. His gaze was vacant, no emotion set behind his eyes as he blinked at her uncomprehendingly. It took several moments to register what she had said. Her name. Bree-something. He couldn't recall, and he found that he did not care.





Chances were she had asked his own name in return, but the prospect of answering such a question suddenly seemed like more than he could bear. He stared at her for a moment more before turning away, looking at his hands, and below them at the cast that encased his right leg entirely. The chair felt cold and hard and distant beneath him, something he'd be confined to for the next several weeks. A second, smaller, more portable prison in comparison to the hospital bed he had been confined to for the last several days - just over two weeks, he had been told, though he had been out for the first six days of it. And for some reason it was that thought that broke his silence, pushed him to answer, though he could not for the life of him explain why.





"Nick. I'm. I'm Nick. I don't really want to talk right now, though," he said, his voice quiet, barely loud enough to rise over the sound of the other quiet conversations taking place in the room. 

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"I-" she hesitated, not quite sure if she should throw Antonio under the bus here or not. He'd never forgive her if she did, and so after a moments deliberation she decided to bypass his part in the whole situation. "...fell. I fell, going up the stairs last night. And whatever was growing in me… well, it's not anymore, si?" she explained pressing out the details rather than lingering on them. "So it was a live and I took it down the stairs with me and now it's not, and that's pretty much the same as killing it."





She shrugged a little, trying to act as though it didn't affect her as she brought her coffee to her lips and took a long sip of it, grimacing at the taste. "I mean, I guess it's not technically murder because I didn't, like, get a hanger and stick it up there or anything - not that that's wrong, I mean, some kids shouldn’t be brought into the world if their parents down want them and sh*t like that but I was kind of planning on keeping this one and-" and Antonio wasn't and wanted to make sure that he wouldn't have to but like hell he was taking her to go to a clinic so he had just decided to fix it his own way and that meant going down down down the stairs over and over until there was no way the kid could survive that trauma and "-and I slipped and fell and I guess I'm not keeping it after all. Because I killed it, si? So I'm a murderer. So if you want to take me in, go ahead. Because I'm pretty much a kid killer, right here. ...or would that be manslaughter? Because I mean it wasn't intentional or nothing-" except that it was it just wasn't her who had the intention "- but still."

 

[EdithSpeaks]

Whatever was growing in her? Not anymore? She was being obscure and cryptic about it, to a point, and Cyrus was beginning to think she wasn't lying and she'd hit her head a little too hard - but it clicked in his mind, finally, what she truly meant, and he jerked forward in his chair, a hand braced on the back like he wanted to shove to his feet and go.


"What did the doctors say?" He asked, teeth all but pressed together because he knew by the way her eyes darted away from him that there hadn't been any doctors involved. "You didn't go to the hospital!?" Whether she lied and said yes or told the truth and said no, it didn't matter, he was pushing out of his seat. "We're going - now." He insisted, stepping closer but keeping his movements non-threatening because he had dealt with domestic abuse before and women that were beaten didn't generally like men walking towards them too quickly.


"Get up. I'm taking you to the hospital. Then we can talk about whoever this Toni person is." Because she was leaving something out about this man, having mentioned him once and then covered it up, and he was not going to let it slide. He couldn't. He could never let cases go unsolved anymore.

 

[Renn Skye]

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​

"Actually I'm staying for group and then going home. You can go to the hospital if you want, I don't care, but I'm not going with you," Lorena responded, leaning back further into her chair and rolling her eyes as she put on a face of false bravado. She pursed her lips slightly and tilted her head forward and slightly to the side in the universal expression of 'come at me' - something she'd learned early on people didn't generally do when they thought she was willing to kick them in the crotch for answering her dare.





Of course, that didn't generally apply to the people she chose to share her bed with but that- that was a different matter. That was on her, and she really didn't know how it kept happening. She was certain that it was different this time -he'd seemed to nice - and while she tried to cling to the idea that it might just be a mistake in the back of her head she wasn't so foolish. And yet…





...and yet he was nice some times, and he told her she was beautiful and that he wanted her and needed her and wasn't that all that mattered? And if she let this man, this man she barely even knew - really, who did he think he was, telling her to get up and come with him like that? - if she let him take her in to the doctor there would be questions and there would be phone calls and cops and more questions and maybe Antonio would get into trouble and she couldn't have that. Couldn’t have that because he'd said he was sorry this morning and he looked like he meant it and when she told him the baby was gone tonight he'd hold her and tell her it was alright and that she was beautiful and that he was sorry and everything would be okay again. And maybe he'd end up loving her, finally. Maybe this time one of them would actually love her and would actually stay and if the price she had to pay for that was a few bruises and a really sore throat… well was that really so high a price?





"...I'm not going anywhere," she repeated, firmly asserting her stance on the matter, a sort of broken determination in her voice and lighting behind her eyes. She would stick this one out and it would work out and he would end up loving her and really, the bruises weren't so bad. They'd fade away in time. She'd get better - she always did. She'd had worse, this wasn't so much to worry about. Maybe she didn't need to be here, after all. Maybe she should just go home…





No. No, she needed the support, not for Antonio but for the baby. The baby that was gone, that was something she needed the groups support on. But the stairs… they were an accident. She'd upset him. She wouldn't make that mistake again, and everything would be all right. Better than all right. He'd love her, this time. This time she'd be loved, and that was worth every pain that she went through to get there.

 

[EdithSpeaks]

Cyrus was having trouble keeping hold of his volume. They were in a public place, still, after all, and if anyone were to ask these people how he behaved and he'd lost his temper, he could very well lose his job. "Listen, Lorena. You had a miscarriage," He pronounced the word firmly and clearly, unimpressed by her act and knowing what sort of mental and physical damage something like that did to a person, "And you're hurt. You've also just confessed out loud to murder, something that gives me fair grounds to arrest you and investigate. I arrest you, dispatch hears about the damage, and you go to the hospital anyway, but you end up handcuffed to the gurney."


He stayed out of reach of her legs, wary of her reputation for threatened violence, even while she was sitting and hurt. "I'm sure the group will be very happy to talk to you about it next time. But now, you'd best stand and go willingly, or I will haul you out of here myself." She had to see reason. If he had to threaten to walk her out in cuffs to do it, he would. And if pressed, he would fulfill that threat. "I don't want to do this, but I won't sit by and let you go around like this without medical treatment. I'm a police detective - if you're worried about suspicious circumstances, I can explain it all away and keep the staff quiet." And then investigate on his own and put this Toni person away for hurting her. He was no doubt the person that did it. 'I fell down the stairs' was the oldest excuse in the book.

 

[Renn Skye]

(Feel free to drag her in if you see the need, by the by. She's being a stubborn little buttface about it.)

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_mod75oNOql1r5n34uo1_500.jpg.3032d5d7b6663d8ddedc165a7bdaff08.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="3430" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_mod75oNOql1r5n34uo1_500.jpg.3032d5d7b6663d8ddedc165a7bdaff08.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

​

"I doubt you're on duty right now and you know what I was saying and that it wouldn't hold up anywhere," she pointed out, her tone sullen, even surly as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Besides, I thought these were supposed to be confidential," she added the lamentation, still half-slouched down in her chair. She glared at him a moment more before letting out a sigh, heavy with the exhaustion of her last two days.





"...look," she said finally, her tone loosing some of it's stiff defensiveness from earlier, "I know you think you're helping me, but you're really not. I can't go to the hospital right now. For a lot of reasons, the first one being that I can't afford it. Okay? I can't. I don't have health insurance, I don't have sh*t, there's no way I could pay to get checked out. And I have to get home after this - I don't have time, okay? I have to get back right after group - I might have to leave early, if I get back late..." she trialed off, not wanting to go into what might happen. Not verbally, not even in her own head. Maybe nothing would happen if she got back late - maybe he'd still be asleep, or maybe he'd be in a better mood. He'd said he was sorry, after all, that it'd be different this time around, that he'd never lift a hand to her again. Maybe he'd meant it.





"...I just can't get back late," she finished, letting out an exasperated little sigh. "It'd be even worse if I came back late with a hospital bracelet, smelling of antiseptic and there's no way I'd be able to find a place to shower between the hospital and home. So, you see, I really can't go right now. You'd just be making things worse for me. It'd upset- ...it'd upset him, okay? And he's got some really stressful stuff going on right now and I don't want to make none of that stuff worse than it already is so just… just let me do this my way, okay? I've- ...I've had worse. He treats me a lot better then you think. I'll. I'll be fine." She couldn't meet his eyes, her own sliding away to an area just above his right shoulder. "I don't want anything to give him an excuse to be even angrier, okay? And I don't... I don't have any other options. I live there, okay? I have to make it work and if I- it'd just make things wore then they are. And they were just starting to get better. I don't want to mess that up."

 

[EdithSpeaks]

Cyrus was beginning to get exasperated and just let out a sigh, pulling his hand cuffs from where he kept them attached to his belt at all times. Just because he wasn't technically on duty didn't mean he stopped being a cop. "It doesn't matter what I think, only what you said. With those injuries, and the aforementioned 'accident', you'll be in the hospital for days, not hours. You'll have a private room and armed guards at your door at all hours, courtesy of the police department. You'll be handcuffed to the bed, but you'll be perfectly safe and your bills will be paid with the people's taxes because you'll be considered a criminal during the healing process, and can only be proved otherwise once you've been made all better and released. By then it's not your problem anymore, because it was our 'mistake'."


He held the handcuffs up, dangling from one finger. "Now, this is your last chance to stand up, put your hands behind your back and let me read you your rights, or I'll just tack 'resisting arrest' onto the charges." He shrugged. "Call it citizen's arrest. I don't even need a squad car to come pick us up." He could just take her in his own vehicle and had a squad car meet them at the hospital. "I'm not above wrestling an injured woman to the floor and dragging her out." She would hate him and people would look at him like a monster for a while, but she would be getting the help she needed.

 

[Renn Skye]

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_moyi2nzoGw1rqr79ko1_500.jpg.ea506c513311b80537c277c7730f0789.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="3465" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_moyi2nzoGw1rqr79ko1_500.jpg.ea506c513311b80537c277c7730f0789.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

​

Well then. That answered the question about whether he was going to actually follow through or not. Lorena's eyebrows came together in consternation as she looked at the cuffs, and she worried her lower lip with her teeth for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of the two options. Deciding that it wasn't worth a bruised pride on top of her physical aches and bruises she gave in with a sigh that sagged with an exhaustion that held no relation to lack of sleep.





"You're a b@st@rd, you know that?" She muttered, and then, "can we at least walk out the front of the building first? This group is pretty much family and I don't want to get pulled off in cuffs in front of my family - and I think you'd loose a lot of trust putting them on me here, too," she pointed out taking a final sip of her coffee (still awful, and now lukewarm at best which didn't help the flavour any) before standing up, flipping her hair over her shoulder as if this was no big deal. An every day occurrence. Internally she was shaken at the idea of being gone for days - days! There was no way he wouldn't notice days! - but she forced her body to move with the grace and calm it normally held. Sometimes having a lifestyle where you had to stare down leering men with grabby hands who thought you were less than dirt, safe only for them to finish over had it's benefits - you learned to keep your head high and act as if nothing was getting to you, no matter how deeply things actually touched (or beat, or cut, sometimes literally) to your centre.





"You're pretty much putting me through hell to do this, even though you can't seem to get it through your head that me being gone will make this," she circled her hand around her face to frame it, pointedly stopping at her chin, a glare settled hard over her features, "worse than it already is. Even if you try to drag him in - especially if you drag him in - because it'll just piss him off more and. And I'm not pressing charges." She never did. Should, but never did. Because it was just easier to duck into the next aisle or down the next street or into a store when she saw them on the street then it was to wait for him to get out of jail after their stay angry and searching. She'd made that mistake once and - no. Just no.





You stand your ground if you think it'll work out, if you think they really mean it when they say they won't do it again, that they'll get better, that they'll get help. And if it starts going too far south for you to handle? You run. You run and hide and sneak back into your old apartment at two in the morning and climb in to bed with your roommate who, lets face it, was just waiting for the next time you come crawling back. And you hide out there until your body heals and then you go back to work and you keep a good look out and you never forget a bad face, but after a month or two it's not as scary and they've stopped looking, found themselves someone new, and no matter how sorry you are for her you're just damn glad it's not you and that's all that matters in the end. A harsh world, but if she kept trying eventually she'd have a good role instead of snake eyes, instead of two hardened fists staring up at her through the dice's faces, and if she didn't at least she'd tried. You don't call the cops, you don't drag anyone of authority into it - maybe a big brother figure, someone willing to stand there and look threatening and keep you safe for a few weeks but not cops. Not someone who might drag him in only for him to get off scot free or with a few hours of community service, or a year or two for minor assault because no matter how much courts say they're fair they're not. They'll always favour the man, nine times out of ten, and then he'll be out walking the streets again only a short wile later and he'll be full of rage at being locked up and he'll remember who put him there in the first place. He'll remember and he'll never forgive and he'll hunt you down and beat you bloody and dead or half dead, if you're lucky, and you'll never stop seeing your blood on that floor and you'll never forget the way each second of it felt and you'll never never never step out your door without feeling death breathing down your neck, ever again.





No. You didn't get the cops involved. You just didn't. It wasn't worth the aftereffects, once the system dropped them out.

 

[EdithSpeaks]

Cyrus fought the continuous urge to just roll his eyes and drag her outside while she spoke, her body language and tone trying to form a wall between them, to shut him out and pretend like he couldn't touch her. It didn't matter. This was happening, one way or another, and no amount of posturing was going to change that. He raised an eyebrow at her when she finished, made a show of tucking the cuffs into his jacket pocket, and gestured flippantly towards the door. No one had ever accused him of having good bedside manner.


"Protective custody is a thing, Lorena." He said, shaking his head. "And I'm a b******, remember? If this 'Toni' guy is as much of a hothead as you're making him out to be, I figure I'm about half a smirk away from p***ing him off enough to beat me instead. Then he goes away for five years for assaulting a police officer, if I don't fight back." After the last case, in which he'd snapped and wailed on the criminal with no ability to charge him with anything, he would have to just sit back and take it to have his claims heard. But that was fine. He would have his man, and Lorena would be safe - from this particular man, at least - and that would be that.


"Come on," He held out a hand to help her up. "Let's go. Time's a wastin'." He didn't honestly care if these people saw him drag her out in cuffs. He hadn't been here for too long and if he needed to he could find somewhere else to go. Cyrus Perot was no stranger to losing people's respect. He'd been doing it all his life.

 

[Shy Shadow]

Bree looked one more time at Michel before she walked up to the building and into the room. She silently looked around for a moment before she took a seat a little away from the rest of the group. She didn't trust anyone here, not a single person. They were all probably really nice people but she didn't trust telling any of them about her back round story. What would they care? What would they do? Probably just pat her on the back tell her that they felt sorry for her but none of them would truly mean it...


This is stupid why did I ever agree to do this... I think I should just leave before this starts, Dad is going to kill me once he finds out that I left the house without telling him... She thought to herself. She put her earphones in, the music blasting in her ears, as she waited for the meeting to begin. She wondered if she could just leave and no one would notice...

 

[Renn Skye]

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_mmlucbnapP1sq2nu7o1_500.png.a7bf79a88d452e40ec0317ebb1cf912f.png" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="3477" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_mmlucbnapP1sq2nu7o1_500.png.a7bf79a88d452e40ec0317ebb1cf912f.png" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

​

Do that and he just has two people to stew over instead of one the comment went unsaid, held back as she bit her tongue. Instead she rolled her eyes in an blatant 'whatever' gesture, ignoring the offered hand and moving towards the door on her own, dropping her cup into the trash bin on the way out. There was a brief moment of waving off comments and questioning looks from a few members who had been here for a while, murmuring this and that about 'having to get home' and 'see you next week, I promise' and a joking 'don't see me you can come break down my door, si?' in one case. At least there was less pity and more resigned understanding in their gazes these days - it had been pity at first, but after time it seemed people accepted her rough and tumble love life as a fact of life, much as she had.





As soon as she was outside she let the friendliness that she normally held for these people drop in place of her regular walls, directing a bored half-glare at the door way as she waited for her personal (forced, unwelcome, and unwanted) escort, resisting the urge to check over her nails - her typical 'I'm really not interested and don't care so leave me alone' gesture.





"Look, so do I have to put my hands behind my back because in the movies they're always cuffed in front and that seems a lot more comfortable," she opened with, holding out one of her wrists again because, really, she didn't want to get dragged around so it seemed like behaving was the better option here. "I mean, it's not like I’m stiff or anything," especially not with her profession, which was all about how flexible she could be, "but sitting with your hands at your back makes you stay arched up and that's really not comfortable" and there may or may not be a really sore spot right at the small of her back that she definitely didn't want to put any more pressure on than necessary.

 

[EdithSpeaks]

Cyrus shook his head. "You watch too many movies, then. Procedure is behind the back. Cuff your hands in the front and it's real easy to run away, understand? Relax." He stepped forward and put the cuff around her wrist, locking it in place but with just a little bit of space so it wouldn't hurt her, then turned her around and pulled her other arm carefully back as well. "It'll be a fifteen minute ride to the hospital, and I'll call dispatch on the way, and you'll be out of 'em in no time."


He opened the back door to his car and kept a hand on her arm to help her in so she wouldn't hit her head or trip. "And you still gotta ride in the back. Procedure is procedure." She didn't need to know how many times he had broken procedure before. For now he was going to take it by the books, with only a tiny, tiny bit of improvisation to help keep her safe and in the hospital. "I'm a good driver and we won't hit too many bumps. Just sit forward a bit if you have to." He knew it was uncomfortable, but it had to happen and she had to get used to the idea for the ride.

 

[Renn Skye]

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_mmewt9SjwT1sq2nu7o1_500.jpg.378d8f15556584af83d287838e63531d.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="3498" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_07/tumblr_mmewt9SjwT1sq2nu7o1_500.jpg.378d8f15556584af83d287838e63531d.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

​

"Isn't this supposed to be a citizens arrest or something? Doesn't that mean procedure doesn't apply?" she muttered, even as she slipped into the back of the car with his assistance. Unable to click herself in she just sort of… settled in as best she could, leaning forward slightly as he suggested. It wasn't too uncomfortable - she imagined someone who didn't half-contort themselves for several hours a night for a living might be cramped from leaning like this, but it was actually a pretty expected position for her to know in general, especially where at home life was concerned. Hey, at least she wasn't on her knees.








"I'm pretty sure whacking around the back of your car won't make me worse then I already am," she pointed out, her tone dry and unamused. Her hair, still down, was starting to irritate her face but she couldn't exactly fix that with her hands. Huffing to herself, she blew at a stray lock that was making it way over her face despite the hat that was meant to contain it at least somewhat. Oh, this ride was going to be just stellar.

 

[Serial Lover]

[sorry for the delay]


Lily


She could see it right before her eyes.


"Everything is going to be alright."


No. That was bullshit. How could everything be alright when they were gone? Why hadn't she died as well? It wasn't FAIR. She had been there as well. Why did she survive? All Lily had become was a burden.


She gasped and sat up the nightmare of the accidental still fresh in her mind. Sometimes the nightmare the accident would change just slightly. Something different would happen, but her parents would still die and she would still almost die. Most nights though it was the same. Moment after moment. Bile rose in her throat and her face felt wet. She threw her covers back and stood, trying not to shake. She didn't shake as much nowadays when she woke from one of those dreams. She had to convince everyone that she was fine.


But she wasn't. Not entirely and she feared she never would be. She heard a noise from her older sister. She got dressed knowing she was late for the meeting. Not that she wanted to go. It didn't matter that they were "broken" too. Lily felt like they would judge her because she still couldn't get past the death of her parents.


She and her sister didn't talk in the car ride there and she silently slipped inside peering around.

 

[EdithSpeaks]

Cyrus ignored Lorena's comments and just got into the driver's seat, locking the doors out of habit and pulling slowly away from the curb. He drove smoothly, conscious of the woman in his back seat and the fact that she wasn't seat belted in - he would've done it, but thought he could avoid some more whining by leaving her free in that way. On the way, he called someone he knew at the precinct and told them the situation, that a heavily beaten woman had said she'd committed murder and that he had taken her into custody and was taking her to the hospital. They sent two squad cars out to meet him there.


"You'll be safe, you know." He said once he'd hung up and the silence held over their heads in the quiet car. He rarely listened to the radio, especially when he had a suspect in the back seat. "You'll have a 24 hour guard, and you can be given protection once you're out. It'll be a whole lot easier to keep Toni away from you if you press charges yourself, but I won't be discouraged. I'll get him behind bars one way or another." He never let cases go like that. Ever. "I'll house you myself if that's what it takes."

 

[Bree]

Brianna enjoyed the walk from her home but when she came upon the building where the group meetings were, she wanted to hyperventilate. Why was she doing this? It would just prove she was like the rest of her family. Clutching the strap to her backpack, Brianna moved to turn around but stopped. If she didn't seek help, she'd end up driving herself insane if she wasn't already there. She had to do this, for her own sake. Taking a deep, controlled breath, she moved her tongue over her braces and walked silently to the group's room. Looking around with guarded eyes and a fake, polite smile, Brianna took an empty seat.

 

[Serial Lover]

Lily


Lily bit her lip as she looked around the room. She didn't really know anyone yet but it had only been a week. Maybe she should talk to someone? She thought back to her nightmare and then really looked at the others in the room. What were their demons? Why were they here?


She finally gathered enough courage and took a seat next to another girl (Brianna) and tried out a small smile.


"Hello. Are you new here?"


Karl


Karl looked at his phone. He was late to the meeting but he didn't care at the moment. He had been going long enough that it wouldn't be too bad. He had taken some time off anyways. But he liked going and he knew he should.


It was hard at first for him. To go there and talk to others. He felt ashamed - he wasn't sure if that was the right word - of his past. Of what happened. Of what he allowed to happen. Although Lorena and Tristan both argue that it wasn't his fault. He made it clear he wasn't interested in sex and his partners pushed.


He moved his hand over his phone as he stepped inside. He felt like texting Tristan. It had been a few weeks and he missed talking to him. But he decided he could do so later.

 

[Shy Shadow]

Bree was sitting there, she got and dicided that this wasn't a good idea to come that she wouldn't talk anyway. She got and started to leave the room fast and quiet hopping no one would try to stop her and try to convince her to stay. She walked her looking for the door but then ran into someone (Karl). She fell back then looked up at the man a bit afraid. "I-I'm sorry I didn't see you"

 

[Serial Lover]

Karl


Karl glanced down after staggering back a little. The collision took him by surprise but luckily he did not fall. He saw that he had collided with a girl who seemed to be fast on her way out. It was kind of disappointing to see someone trying to leave.


He gave her a smile and extended his hand to her to help her up. "Oh sorry. You must be in a rush. Sorry to get in your way."