Hospital Girl
Mar. 1st, 2007 06:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
psychometricChelsea Sandstrom lies in a bed at Middle Area Hospital. She's not strapped down, and at the moment, only a few wires and IVs are attached to her. They monitor her vital functions, which are steady if a bit weaker than would be ideal, and keep her hydrated. If she hasn't come out of her catatonia soon, a feeding tube will probably be added. But there are no restraints holding her down. It's almost as if the doctors are hoping she'll get out of bed on her own.
Inside her mind, the fires have gone out. She thinks she's waiting to die. No one could live through what she's experienced, she thinks, and she's right; Zoe McCallister sure didn't. Chelsea thinks that her body has been burnt away, too. When she wakes up, she'll be afraid to look in a mirror, expecting to see a blackened husk there.
She lies in the bed in the hospital, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling without seeing it, tears still running down the sides of her face and into her hair. She hasn't spoken, has barely blinked, since she was brought in. But every so often, just a little, her lips move.
Were someone a lip-reader, and a patient one who spent a while watching her, they might decipher what she's struggling to tell the world. It might be a message from beyond the grave, or just from a girl who thinks that's where she should be now.
She's here. She's here.
Inside her mind, the fires have gone out. She thinks she's waiting to die. No one could live through what she's experienced, she thinks, and she's right; Zoe McCallister sure didn't. Chelsea thinks that her body has been burnt away, too. When she wakes up, she'll be afraid to look in a mirror, expecting to see a blackened husk there.
She lies in the bed in the hospital, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling without seeing it, tears still running down the sides of her face and into her hair. She hasn't spoken, has barely blinked, since she was brought in. But every so often, just a little, her lips move.
Were someone a lip-reader, and a patient one who spent a while watching her, they might decipher what she's struggling to tell the world. It might be a message from beyond the grave, or just from a girl who thinks that's where she should be now.
She's here. She's here.
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Date: 2007-03-02 04:41 pm (UTC)He goes over to the side of the bed, and watches her, for a while. His expression is difficult to read, if she were even aware enough to read it.
"Chelsea, it's Jonathan. I'm here. You're crying." She's afraid. This is beautiful, but it does not please him. He wants to touch her hand, but won't. "I-I dunno i-if you can hear me. I-i don't wa... you don't have to be afraid. All right? I'm afraid for you, y'don't have t-to be. Afraid."
He pulls a green knit ball out of his pocket - Rabies' mitten, all crumpled up, and puts it under her hand. "I br-brought you Rabies' mitten. I put it through the wash, first cuz I dunno if they'd let me bring it into a hospital, otherwise. I thought it would make you feel safe? Again."
He's never seen her like this, and doesn't know what, if anything other than time, can bring her out. He's built up this whole idea that the mitten will, that he will, and she'll be so glad, and say that he is certainly her best friend, and hug him, and this will all be -fine-. She'll be fine.
So, he watches her, with no small amount of unrealistic expectation.
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