Fic: Cellie
Feb. 16th, 2007 09:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Title: Cellie
Author: serafina20
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Four months into his sentence for the murder of Oscar Shales, Alexander Mahone gets a new cellie.
The first week in the psych ward wasn't too bad. At first. Between the pain in side and the drugs he was given, Michael was almost completely out of it. He was given a room (private, with a door instead of bars) that resembled the room he'd just left at the hospital. An oxygen monitor on his index finger and oxygen tank next to the bed. An adjustable. A bedpan, just in case he couldn't make it to the toilet. A private bathroom. A lot of white, including his pajamas and day clothes. A robe.
He did a lot of sleeping the first week. The drugs and exhaustion kept nightmares at bay. He drifted through the day, idly leafing through magazines and books when he was awake, taking frequent naps, and picking at the food that was brought to him.
Around the seventh day, when he opened his eyes, he felt different. More together. Lucid. He lay in bed, taking stock of his body, how he felt. The pain in his side had dulled to an ache instead of the sharp, stinging pains he'd been feeling since the attack. It was easier to breathe, too.
The door was unlocked. Rose walked in.
"Good morning," she said brightly. "You're not usually up yet."
"I'm feeling better," he said. He shifted onto his back. Raised the bed so he could sit up. "My head's clearer."
"That's not something we hear very much around here," she said wryly. She clicked the top of her pen and started jotting down notes on the clipboard she was carrying. "All right, boy, you are oxygenating at one hundred percent this morning. Excellent. I'm going to do your blood pressure now, so just hold on." The cuff tucked into her scrubs wrapped around his upper arm; she pressed the stethoscope against his inner elbow, just above a nearly faded bruise.
Michael swallowed and looked away.
"All right. Good." She undid the cuff and draped the stethoscope around her neck again. "And your pulse."
"Do I have to stay in here today?" Michael asked.
"No, of course not. You're not being punished. Well. Besides being incarcerated, of course. But there's a common room down the hall with a TV and books and puzzles and games. We've got you with the safer inmates, of course. Mostly bipolar, DID, schizophrenics whom we can handle easily when medicated. And there are a couple men with unpredictable epilepsy and one diabetic who needs constant monitoring."
"And here I thought psych was just for the loonies."
Rose smiled. "Are you up for a shower today, or do you want to do another sponge bath?"
Michael licked his lips. He wished he could even think of a joke for that. Even though Rose wasn't smiling. Even though sponge baths had a new level of terror for him that he'd never thought possible.
"I'll... I'll try a shower."
"Okay. Let me go set up everything in the bathroom for you. I'll be right back."
After she left, Michael slid his legs out of bed. Pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
He wanted to go home, but that was dangerous thinking. Squashing it ruthlessly, he latched on to something more concrete. More real.
Alex.
He wanted Alex.
The moment Michael had stepped into the cell and seen Alex, he knew. Knew that it was fate or destiny. Whatever. Whatever circumstances had led them together again, Michael knew he had to take advantage of it. Getting to know him was obvious. They had years ahead of them and compatible minds, as the chase had proved. But what Michael wanted...
He hadn't expected it to be so easy. He'd expected to have to seduce Alex. Manipulate him. A straight man with a wife and kid he loved. A man who was as stubborn as he was. Michael had expected it to be a challenge.
And it was, but not in the way he'd expected. For an entire day, he'd tried to figure out what Alex would want. What his type was. The best way to appeal to him.
But Alex wouldn't give it. Wouldn't give him anything but mixed signals. Held him at arms length.
Until the shower. And then he knew and...
It'd been a relief. To have Alex honestly want him for him and not for some part Michael was going to have to play. Some part of himself that he shared and not... all of it. But Alex seemed to want him and Michael really... he really liked that.
He just needed to get back to him.
"Okay. Towel's on the rack, water's going," Rose said, coming back in. "There's a chair in there if you get tired. Be careful of your finger," she added as she helped Michael out of bed. "The gauze can get wet, just try not to catch it on anything. It'll hurt like hell."
"Thanks." He hated that he limped, even though his legs didn't hurt. They were weak, though, and listed to favor his ribs. He shuffled like an old man half bent over.
Rose closed the door most of the way behind Michael, leaving him alone. With a shaky hand, he undid the pajama top and dropped it on the floor. Next were the pants, and he was careful not to look. Didn't want to see the stitches he knew were there. The hair he knew was gone.
He stepped into the shower. Raised his face into the water.
Whenever you tried not to look at something, that was all you wanted to do. He squeezed his eyes shut. Fumbled for the soap and wash cloth. Washed as best he could, trying to get the stink off him. Stink of terror that had been with him since it'd happened.
It didn't come off.
His fingers brushed stitches. Shied away from them. Avoided sensitive areas, cleaning them out without looking, without touching, without thinking.
Got out of the shower shaking. Grabbed the towel and wrapped it around him. Dropped to the floor and felt around for the toilet. When he found it, retched.
"Oh, baby," he heard Rose sigh behind him.
"Sorry," Michael gasped. He forced his eyes opened and flushed the toilet. Still shaking hard, he forced himself to his feet.
"Let me help you." Rose wrapped her arm around his waist. Helped him get a drink and wash his face, then go back to bed.
He couldn't stop shaking.
"All right, I'm going to go get your breakfast. You just breathe and try to relax, okay?"
"Okay," Michael said. He was cold.
"Your door will be open all day if you feel up to going out there. And your counselor's going to be stopping by. I'm telling her what happened this morning, so don't think you can hide it."
He nodded. "Yeah."
Rose sighed and gave him a sad smile. "You sit tight, baby boy. I'll be right back."
Michael watched her turn, but was buried under his covers before she even left the room.
This was ridiculous. He wasn't like this. Wasn't this man. Not someone who hid beneath the blankets and waited for the sick feeling in his stomach to go away. He wasn't a fucking victim.
But the shaking wouldn't stop and the sick feeling took hours to go away. By the time it did, he was exhausted and fell asleep. When he woke, his counselor was sitting in a chair.
"You're up," he said. "I was about to wake you."
Michael rubbed his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position "What time is it?" he ask. His mouth was sticky and gross.
"It's about eleven-fifteen." His counselor, Robbins--technically a psychologist, but he told Michael to drop the 'doctor', supposedly to make it more intimate--handed him the water from a nearby table.
"Oh." He gulped down he water. Wiped is chin. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I felt good this morning. I planned to go out to the common room."
"You still can. We can go out there and have our session. Everyone's used to psychologists showing up and commandeering a corner."
Michael shrugged. "Maybe." He knew that his voice didn't have any conviction.
Robbins tilted his head and said, "Well, maybe we'll start out in here and see."
"Okay." He drank again.
"Rose tells me you had a bad morning."
Michael shrugged.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
He heaved a sigh. "I took a shower and freaked out. Threw up. I couldn't stop shaking."
"She said you've been having problems all week. Any time she or the doctor checks the injuries in your genitals. And your anus."
Michael shuddered. "Yeah."
"What's going through your mind?"
"Right now?"
Robbins just looked at him.
"I don't know. I don't... think." He looked at Robbins. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"I believe that you don't know what you're thinking. That whatever thoughts trigger the emotions are quickly overwhelmed and drowned out by those emotions. What we need to do is find ways to keep you thinking, to talk yourself down from the panic attack before it becomes too much."
He rubbed his eyes. "This is stupid. Isn't it healthy to feel scared? What happened to me was terrifying. Don't I have the right to be terrified?"
"Of course it is. And it's natural that, right now, it's a bit overwhelming when you experience these feelings. But our job is to work to make sure it doesn't remain overwhelming. To get you well enough to..." He stopped abruptly. Frowned.
Michael gave a bark of laughter. "To get me back to Gen Pop." He rubbed his forehead, thinking of the up side. Thinking of who waited for him in Gen Pop. "How long do you think it will be before I can go back?"
Robbins shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about that right now. The warden is good about letting men in here heal. Not just physically, but mentally. The psych ward is the best in the state. I've lost count of how many grants he's written to get the health care we have. As long as you don't milk it, become obvious that you're trying to stay, he'll let you stay as long as you need."
"I. I, uh. I want go back."
"I beg your pardon?"
He swallowed. "I want to go back. To Gen Pop. As soon as I can." He licked his lips. "I don't belong here."
The psychologist leaned forward, resting his forearms on thighs. "It shouldn't be a stigma, being here."
"It's prison."
"It's prison there, too. Much more dangerous, as you found out."
"I don't want to stay here."
"You've been here a week. You haven't even been out of your room. You're still shaken by what happened and you're not thinking rationally. Michael..."
"I'm not saying I want to go back right this minute," Michael interrupted. He couldn't stop moving his hands; his entire body felt restless, too full of energy. After a moment, he climbed out of bed, pacing, rubbing his hands together as he moved. "I just don't want to be here long. I get... depressed when I'm around people who are mentally ill. I start picking up on their problems, making them my own. Oh, and my own so-called gifts turn against me and I can't stop analyzing *everything* I see. So, yeah, I want to get out of here as soon as possible and around people who are... normal."
Robbins tilted his head again. Studied Michael. "Is that the only reason?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Last time we talked, you mentioned that you missed your cellmate. I'm wondering about your relationship with him. What's going on?"
"Nothing." He kept pacing. His side was beginning to ache from the movement and it hurt to breathe. "Something. Maybe. But it's not important."
"If you're trying to avoid healing or facing what happened to you to be with him, then it is important," Robbins said, sounding perfectly reasonable.
Michael leaned against the wall. His breath came in short pants, side aching so badly there were tears standing in his eyes. "I'm not. Do you think I want to have a panic attack every time I have to wipe? I can't even..." Shit.
A bitter taste flooded his mouth. He swallowed, forced himself to breathe through his nose. Count the dots on the wall.
Robbins's voice broke into his thoughts. "What are you thinking, Michael?"
"I don't know."
"You're okay here. You're safe. You're far away from the people that hurt you. I'm the only one with you. The only one in the room. Just breathe and focus."
The pads of Michael's fingers pressed into the wall. Breathed.
"What are you thinking?"
Michael let his head fall against the wall. "I didn't know what he was going to do," he whispered. "He threatened to cut off my dick."
"How did that make you feel?"
"That's such a stupid question."
"No, it's not."
"How do you think I felt?" Michael shouted. "I freaked out. I was scared. Terrified, okay? And when he stuck the shank in me I was even more scared because I don't want to die!" His strength gave out. Michael sank to the floor. It hurt so much to breathe. It just...
Robbins was in front of him. He'd dragged the oxygen tank over to Michael. "Okay, Michael. Good. Just breathe." He slipped the mask over Michael's nose and mouth. Turned it on.
"It hurts," Michael sobbed softly.
"Just breathe. I called Rose, she's bringing something for the pain."
He shook his head. "Not that."
"Ah." Robbins put his hand on Michael's arm an rubbed soothingly. "Tell me."
"I was just... so scared. Of dying. Of being hurt. Of being raped, even with a shank. And he just..." He closed his eyes, tears falling as he did. "I know he's gone. I know it's over, but I feel so sick when I see what he did. Touch..."
The door opened. Rose hesitated in the doorway, holding a syringe.
"I'm fine," Michael said, weakly waving her away.
"I need to check you, honey. Let's get him back to bed?"
She and Robbins helped Michael back to bed. Rose checked his vitals and decided he was well enough to forgo a visit from Dr. Parsons. By the time she left, Michael was feeling much calmer.
He wiped his eyes. "Every time I see the bruises and the stitches and... feel them. Have to think about what almost happened. I feel out of control. Gross. Disgusting."
"What makes you feel disgusting?"
He shrugged. "What was done to me. Having them pin me down. Feeling powerless. Knowing that he could do whatever to me and I wasn't going to be able to stop it." He swallowed. "I was scared. More scared than I've ever been for myself. Just... like a sick scared. You know?" He blinked, eyes stinging. "And, yeah, I still want to go back to Gen Pop as soon as I'm ready. Because Alex, my cellmate, is the smartest man I've ever met. And, yes, the most attractive. But even if he wasn't, he's smart and clever and I can talk to him however I want and he'll understand what I'm saying." He blinked again. Looked at Robbins. "For the first time in a really, really long time, there's a person in the world I can be myself with. I don't have to dumb myself down or explain every other thing I do or say to him. He'll just get it. And I want to get back there. Especially now since I don't quite fit in my body anymore."
"It's not something that's going to happen all at once."
"I'm not stupid!"
Robbins let out a soft sigh. "I know, Michael. I'm just making sure you're not going to try to get ahead of yourself. Rush through this."
Michael pressed against his eyes. "I need something to work for. Like, something I should be able to do. Dr. Parsons wants me to work on being able to walk around without it hurting my side when I breathe. What should I be working for psychologically?"
He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "Before you're able to return to Gen Pop, you'll have to be able to shower and touch your body. So why don't we start there? Focus on talking yourself away from the panic and accepting the violation. Taking ownership again. Once you feel comfortable again, then we'll talk about moving you back."
Michael sighed and twisted the covers. "What about Alex?"
"What about him?"
"Will I ever get to see him? Before I go back?"
"I don't know. That will be up to the warden. You're not related or married to him. Technically there is no reason you should get to see him. But," he said in a different tone, "I guess we'll see what happens."
Michael nodded. Set his jaw. Even if he didn't get to see Alex before he went back to Gen Pop, he still had something to look forward to. Alex was his pot of gold at the end of the tunnel.
* * *
"LJ get back here!"
Pam looked up from her computer as Lincoln's voice bellowed from across the street. Swiveling in her chair, she pulled up the shades and looked out.
LJ was storming across the lawn. His face was bright red, a mask of anger.
"LJ!"
"I hate you!" LJ screamed. He turned, fists clenched by his sides. "You're the worst thing that ever happened to me."
"Get in the house. Now!" Lincoln didn't look much better than LJ, face twisted and dark.
She sighed and pushed out of her chair. She made it to the front door just as LJ was proclaiming to the world, "I wish you had died instead of Mom!"
Lincoln blanched. Body slumped.
"LJ!"
He turned. Tears were standing in his eyes. "He sucks."
"I know. Come here," Pam said. She was on the sidewalk, waving him over.
He closed his eyes. Shook his head. The tears rolled down his face. "I... Why can't everyone just leave me alone?"
"Come over here and be alone. I won't bother you, I promise. But I don't want you running off. Just come here."
He whined deep in his throat. But at least he stomped across the street, passed her, and into the house.
"What's going on?" Pam asked. She crossed the street to Lincoln and put her hand on his arm.
He sighed. "He failed a math test. I asked what was going on, and he flipped."
"All on his own, huh?"
Lincoln had the decency to look ashamed. "Okay, no, not on his own. I..." He sighed. "I don't handle things right. Especially because I know he's such a smart kid and can do better than what he's currently doing. And Michael called today. Told me that he might be going back to Gen Pop soon. He's excited because he misses Alex, but I'm worried."
"Michael will be okay, Lincoln. They transferred the man who attacked him almost a month ago. And you know how much Michael hates it in the psych ward. He's done nothing but complain since transferring there."
"I know, I know." He rubbed his hands over his hair. "He's always hated being in anything that hints of a mental institution. When he was about seventeen, eighteen years old, he started having trouble focusing. Sleeping. His psychologist suggested he go to a sleep clinic and Michael freaked. Started drinking to make himself go to sleep until I..." He broke off. Blushed.
Pam smiled crookedly. "Beat some sense into him and forced him to go?"
"Yeah, something like that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I was with his agent today. She wants to set up a show, thinks he has almost enough work to rent out a studio. I saw some of the stuff he drew for his psychologist. You know, the ones about his body?"
She shuddered slightly, remembering. When Michael had first finished the pieces and sent them out of the prison, Pam had been there with Lincoln to see them. They were beautiful. Powerful. And disturbing. Michael, naked, the cuts and bruises on his body not stitched together with thread but words. Words that read, "Little punk boy ain't so tough," and, "Think you're better than the rest of us," and, "Does he just want your tight ass to pretend it's his wife's cunt." And on and on.
Very raw. Very hurtful. Very real.
She'd suggested Lincoln not look at them, but he forced himself to. Every time he was around the pictures, he studied them as if thinking he could heal the wounds with the force of his gaze.
"You need a break," she said. Squeezed his arm. "Go on. Go out tonight, don't worry about LJ. See a movie. Get a drink. Go... shoot pool or play video games. Go pick up women."
"Well. No."
"Just go." She smiled and pushed him gently. "I'll take care of LJ. He can spend the night. You two need some time away from each other."
He sighed. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Go. Have a good night."
"You'll call me if he acts up?"
"You're number one on my speed dial."
Lincoln nodded. Smiled. "Thanks, Pam. I owe you one."
"I'll cash it in. Don't think I won't." She threw him another smile, then went back across the street and into her house.
LJ was with Cameron in his playroom. They were stacking wooden blocks into tall towers, then crashing bulldozers through them. Cameron laughed hysterically every time the blocks fell. LJ was more serious, obviously finding it cathartic.
"LJ," Pam said after the third time the blocks crashed. "I made chicken wings for dinner. Is that going to be okay?"
"No," he said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "I'm a vegetarian."
"What's a vegtarian, LJ?" Cameron asked as he stacked the blocks back up.
"Someone who doesn't eat meat. Just vegetables and stuff. And, yeah, chicken wings are fine, Pam. Thanks."
"Vegetables? Gross."
"Wash your hands, guys."
"Can we knock it down first, Mommy?" Cameron's eyes were huge as he blinked back at her.
She smiled. "Last time. Then go wash your hands." As she went to the kitchen, she heard the smashing of blocks and her son's delighted shriek.
LJ was silent for most of the meal, talking only when she or Cameron said something to him first. He ate everything, although he did push around the broccoli with a crinkled nose before finally eating it.
She waited until they dessert--pudding cups, sugar free, no less--to ask, "What's going on in math?"
He sighed heavily. Dropped a spoonful of pudding back into the cup. "I'm stupid."
"Now that's not true."
"I don't get it!" he shouted. "It's like it's a completely foreign language and my brain is too slow to understand."
Cameron had been reduced to a pair of eyes peering over the edge of the table. His fingers gripped the wood tightly.
"Honey, why don't you go finish your pudding in the living room. Go put your 'Dora' DVD in. Okay?"
"Okay, Mommy," he said softly. Taking his pudding, Cameron slunk out of the room.
"Sorry," LJ said. He stirred the pudding roughly.
"It's all right," Pam said. She sat and just looked at him
He sighed. "Uncle Mike used to help me in math. He made everything seem really easy. But he's gone and Dad's too stupid to help me. And I'm going to grow up to be just like him. Stupid. A druggie. And in prison."
"Is that what you want?"
"No. But I'm going to flunk out of school. I'm a moron."
"I don't believe that. If you were, you wouldn't have understood it even when Michael did explain it. Doesn't matter how good a teacher he was, you have the ability to grasp is. It's there, we just need to figure out how to get it out." She ate a spoonful of pudding. "You know, I'm pretty good at math. I'm an accountant. I was a math minor."
"You don't have to do me any favors."
"Please. You come over and play with Cameron all the time."
"That's fun."
"It also helps me." She leaned forward. "It can't hurt. I mean, you're already over here, right?"
His cheeks colored and he ducked his head. "My books are at home."
"You can't walk over and bring them back?"
LJ sighed. Rolled his eyes. "Okay. Fine. But I'm warning you, I'm really bad. You're going to be sorry you offered to help."
"Let me be the judge, okay?"
He sighed again.
"Go get your books."
"Yeah, okay." He pushed back his chair and left.
A boy with low self-esteem, anger issues, who was convinced he was stupid. Oh, yeah. This was going to be fun.
Author: serafina20
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Four months into his sentence for the murder of Oscar Shales, Alexander Mahone gets a new cellie.
The first week in the psych ward wasn't too bad. At first. Between the pain in side and the drugs he was given, Michael was almost completely out of it. He was given a room (private, with a door instead of bars) that resembled the room he'd just left at the hospital. An oxygen monitor on his index finger and oxygen tank next to the bed. An adjustable. A bedpan, just in case he couldn't make it to the toilet. A private bathroom. A lot of white, including his pajamas and day clothes. A robe.
He did a lot of sleeping the first week. The drugs and exhaustion kept nightmares at bay. He drifted through the day, idly leafing through magazines and books when he was awake, taking frequent naps, and picking at the food that was brought to him.
Around the seventh day, when he opened his eyes, he felt different. More together. Lucid. He lay in bed, taking stock of his body, how he felt. The pain in his side had dulled to an ache instead of the sharp, stinging pains he'd been feeling since the attack. It was easier to breathe, too.
The door was unlocked. Rose walked in.
"Good morning," she said brightly. "You're not usually up yet."
"I'm feeling better," he said. He shifted onto his back. Raised the bed so he could sit up. "My head's clearer."
"That's not something we hear very much around here," she said wryly. She clicked the top of her pen and started jotting down notes on the clipboard she was carrying. "All right, boy, you are oxygenating at one hundred percent this morning. Excellent. I'm going to do your blood pressure now, so just hold on." The cuff tucked into her scrubs wrapped around his upper arm; she pressed the stethoscope against his inner elbow, just above a nearly faded bruise.
Michael swallowed and looked away.
"All right. Good." She undid the cuff and draped the stethoscope around her neck again. "And your pulse."
"Do I have to stay in here today?" Michael asked.
"No, of course not. You're not being punished. Well. Besides being incarcerated, of course. But there's a common room down the hall with a TV and books and puzzles and games. We've got you with the safer inmates, of course. Mostly bipolar, DID, schizophrenics whom we can handle easily when medicated. And there are a couple men with unpredictable epilepsy and one diabetic who needs constant monitoring."
"And here I thought psych was just for the loonies."
Rose smiled. "Are you up for a shower today, or do you want to do another sponge bath?"
Michael licked his lips. He wished he could even think of a joke for that. Even though Rose wasn't smiling. Even though sponge baths had a new level of terror for him that he'd never thought possible.
"I'll... I'll try a shower."
"Okay. Let me go set up everything in the bathroom for you. I'll be right back."
After she left, Michael slid his legs out of bed. Pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
He wanted to go home, but that was dangerous thinking. Squashing it ruthlessly, he latched on to something more concrete. More real.
Alex.
He wanted Alex.
The moment Michael had stepped into the cell and seen Alex, he knew. Knew that it was fate or destiny. Whatever. Whatever circumstances had led them together again, Michael knew he had to take advantage of it. Getting to know him was obvious. They had years ahead of them and compatible minds, as the chase had proved. But what Michael wanted...
He hadn't expected it to be so easy. He'd expected to have to seduce Alex. Manipulate him. A straight man with a wife and kid he loved. A man who was as stubborn as he was. Michael had expected it to be a challenge.
And it was, but not in the way he'd expected. For an entire day, he'd tried to figure out what Alex would want. What his type was. The best way to appeal to him.
But Alex wouldn't give it. Wouldn't give him anything but mixed signals. Held him at arms length.
Until the shower. And then he knew and...
It'd been a relief. To have Alex honestly want him for him and not for some part Michael was going to have to play. Some part of himself that he shared and not... all of it. But Alex seemed to want him and Michael really... he really liked that.
He just needed to get back to him.
"Okay. Towel's on the rack, water's going," Rose said, coming back in. "There's a chair in there if you get tired. Be careful of your finger," she added as she helped Michael out of bed. "The gauze can get wet, just try not to catch it on anything. It'll hurt like hell."
"Thanks." He hated that he limped, even though his legs didn't hurt. They were weak, though, and listed to favor his ribs. He shuffled like an old man half bent over.
Rose closed the door most of the way behind Michael, leaving him alone. With a shaky hand, he undid the pajama top and dropped it on the floor. Next were the pants, and he was careful not to look. Didn't want to see the stitches he knew were there. The hair he knew was gone.
He stepped into the shower. Raised his face into the water.
Whenever you tried not to look at something, that was all you wanted to do. He squeezed his eyes shut. Fumbled for the soap and wash cloth. Washed as best he could, trying to get the stink off him. Stink of terror that had been with him since it'd happened.
It didn't come off.
His fingers brushed stitches. Shied away from them. Avoided sensitive areas, cleaning them out without looking, without touching, without thinking.
Got out of the shower shaking. Grabbed the towel and wrapped it around him. Dropped to the floor and felt around for the toilet. When he found it, retched.
"Oh, baby," he heard Rose sigh behind him.
"Sorry," Michael gasped. He forced his eyes opened and flushed the toilet. Still shaking hard, he forced himself to his feet.
"Let me help you." Rose wrapped her arm around his waist. Helped him get a drink and wash his face, then go back to bed.
He couldn't stop shaking.
"All right, I'm going to go get your breakfast. You just breathe and try to relax, okay?"
"Okay," Michael said. He was cold.
"Your door will be open all day if you feel up to going out there. And your counselor's going to be stopping by. I'm telling her what happened this morning, so don't think you can hide it."
He nodded. "Yeah."
Rose sighed and gave him a sad smile. "You sit tight, baby boy. I'll be right back."
Michael watched her turn, but was buried under his covers before she even left the room.
This was ridiculous. He wasn't like this. Wasn't this man. Not someone who hid beneath the blankets and waited for the sick feeling in his stomach to go away. He wasn't a fucking victim.
But the shaking wouldn't stop and the sick feeling took hours to go away. By the time it did, he was exhausted and fell asleep. When he woke, his counselor was sitting in a chair.
"You're up," he said. "I was about to wake you."
Michael rubbed his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position "What time is it?" he ask. His mouth was sticky and gross.
"It's about eleven-fifteen." His counselor, Robbins--technically a psychologist, but he told Michael to drop the 'doctor', supposedly to make it more intimate--handed him the water from a nearby table.
"Oh." He gulped down he water. Wiped is chin. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I felt good this morning. I planned to go out to the common room."
"You still can. We can go out there and have our session. Everyone's used to psychologists showing up and commandeering a corner."
Michael shrugged. "Maybe." He knew that his voice didn't have any conviction.
Robbins tilted his head and said, "Well, maybe we'll start out in here and see."
"Okay." He drank again.
"Rose tells me you had a bad morning."
Michael shrugged.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
He heaved a sigh. "I took a shower and freaked out. Threw up. I couldn't stop shaking."
"She said you've been having problems all week. Any time she or the doctor checks the injuries in your genitals. And your anus."
Michael shuddered. "Yeah."
"What's going through your mind?"
"Right now?"
Robbins just looked at him.
"I don't know. I don't... think." He looked at Robbins. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"I believe that you don't know what you're thinking. That whatever thoughts trigger the emotions are quickly overwhelmed and drowned out by those emotions. What we need to do is find ways to keep you thinking, to talk yourself down from the panic attack before it becomes too much."
He rubbed his eyes. "This is stupid. Isn't it healthy to feel scared? What happened to me was terrifying. Don't I have the right to be terrified?"
"Of course it is. And it's natural that, right now, it's a bit overwhelming when you experience these feelings. But our job is to work to make sure it doesn't remain overwhelming. To get you well enough to..." He stopped abruptly. Frowned.
Michael gave a bark of laughter. "To get me back to Gen Pop." He rubbed his forehead, thinking of the up side. Thinking of who waited for him in Gen Pop. "How long do you think it will be before I can go back?"
Robbins shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about that right now. The warden is good about letting men in here heal. Not just physically, but mentally. The psych ward is the best in the state. I've lost count of how many grants he's written to get the health care we have. As long as you don't milk it, become obvious that you're trying to stay, he'll let you stay as long as you need."
"I. I, uh. I want go back."
"I beg your pardon?"
He swallowed. "I want to go back. To Gen Pop. As soon as I can." He licked his lips. "I don't belong here."
The psychologist leaned forward, resting his forearms on thighs. "It shouldn't be a stigma, being here."
"It's prison."
"It's prison there, too. Much more dangerous, as you found out."
"I don't want to stay here."
"You've been here a week. You haven't even been out of your room. You're still shaken by what happened and you're not thinking rationally. Michael..."
"I'm not saying I want to go back right this minute," Michael interrupted. He couldn't stop moving his hands; his entire body felt restless, too full of energy. After a moment, he climbed out of bed, pacing, rubbing his hands together as he moved. "I just don't want to be here long. I get... depressed when I'm around people who are mentally ill. I start picking up on their problems, making them my own. Oh, and my own so-called gifts turn against me and I can't stop analyzing *everything* I see. So, yeah, I want to get out of here as soon as possible and around people who are... normal."
Robbins tilted his head again. Studied Michael. "Is that the only reason?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Last time we talked, you mentioned that you missed your cellmate. I'm wondering about your relationship with him. What's going on?"
"Nothing." He kept pacing. His side was beginning to ache from the movement and it hurt to breathe. "Something. Maybe. But it's not important."
"If you're trying to avoid healing or facing what happened to you to be with him, then it is important," Robbins said, sounding perfectly reasonable.
Michael leaned against the wall. His breath came in short pants, side aching so badly there were tears standing in his eyes. "I'm not. Do you think I want to have a panic attack every time I have to wipe? I can't even..." Shit.
A bitter taste flooded his mouth. He swallowed, forced himself to breathe through his nose. Count the dots on the wall.
Robbins's voice broke into his thoughts. "What are you thinking, Michael?"
"I don't know."
"You're okay here. You're safe. You're far away from the people that hurt you. I'm the only one with you. The only one in the room. Just breathe and focus."
The pads of Michael's fingers pressed into the wall. Breathed.
"What are you thinking?"
Michael let his head fall against the wall. "I didn't know what he was going to do," he whispered. "He threatened to cut off my dick."
"How did that make you feel?"
"That's such a stupid question."
"No, it's not."
"How do you think I felt?" Michael shouted. "I freaked out. I was scared. Terrified, okay? And when he stuck the shank in me I was even more scared because I don't want to die!" His strength gave out. Michael sank to the floor. It hurt so much to breathe. It just...
Robbins was in front of him. He'd dragged the oxygen tank over to Michael. "Okay, Michael. Good. Just breathe." He slipped the mask over Michael's nose and mouth. Turned it on.
"It hurts," Michael sobbed softly.
"Just breathe. I called Rose, she's bringing something for the pain."
He shook his head. "Not that."
"Ah." Robbins put his hand on Michael's arm an rubbed soothingly. "Tell me."
"I was just... so scared. Of dying. Of being hurt. Of being raped, even with a shank. And he just..." He closed his eyes, tears falling as he did. "I know he's gone. I know it's over, but I feel so sick when I see what he did. Touch..."
The door opened. Rose hesitated in the doorway, holding a syringe.
"I'm fine," Michael said, weakly waving her away.
"I need to check you, honey. Let's get him back to bed?"
She and Robbins helped Michael back to bed. Rose checked his vitals and decided he was well enough to forgo a visit from Dr. Parsons. By the time she left, Michael was feeling much calmer.
He wiped his eyes. "Every time I see the bruises and the stitches and... feel them. Have to think about what almost happened. I feel out of control. Gross. Disgusting."
"What makes you feel disgusting?"
He shrugged. "What was done to me. Having them pin me down. Feeling powerless. Knowing that he could do whatever to me and I wasn't going to be able to stop it." He swallowed. "I was scared. More scared than I've ever been for myself. Just... like a sick scared. You know?" He blinked, eyes stinging. "And, yeah, I still want to go back to Gen Pop as soon as I'm ready. Because Alex, my cellmate, is the smartest man I've ever met. And, yes, the most attractive. But even if he wasn't, he's smart and clever and I can talk to him however I want and he'll understand what I'm saying." He blinked again. Looked at Robbins. "For the first time in a really, really long time, there's a person in the world I can be myself with. I don't have to dumb myself down or explain every other thing I do or say to him. He'll just get it. And I want to get back there. Especially now since I don't quite fit in my body anymore."
"It's not something that's going to happen all at once."
"I'm not stupid!"
Robbins let out a soft sigh. "I know, Michael. I'm just making sure you're not going to try to get ahead of yourself. Rush through this."
Michael pressed against his eyes. "I need something to work for. Like, something I should be able to do. Dr. Parsons wants me to work on being able to walk around without it hurting my side when I breathe. What should I be working for psychologically?"
He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "Before you're able to return to Gen Pop, you'll have to be able to shower and touch your body. So why don't we start there? Focus on talking yourself away from the panic and accepting the violation. Taking ownership again. Once you feel comfortable again, then we'll talk about moving you back."
Michael sighed and twisted the covers. "What about Alex?"
"What about him?"
"Will I ever get to see him? Before I go back?"
"I don't know. That will be up to the warden. You're not related or married to him. Technically there is no reason you should get to see him. But," he said in a different tone, "I guess we'll see what happens."
Michael nodded. Set his jaw. Even if he didn't get to see Alex before he went back to Gen Pop, he still had something to look forward to. Alex was his pot of gold at the end of the tunnel.
* * *
"LJ get back here!"
Pam looked up from her computer as Lincoln's voice bellowed from across the street. Swiveling in her chair, she pulled up the shades and looked out.
LJ was storming across the lawn. His face was bright red, a mask of anger.
"LJ!"
"I hate you!" LJ screamed. He turned, fists clenched by his sides. "You're the worst thing that ever happened to me."
"Get in the house. Now!" Lincoln didn't look much better than LJ, face twisted and dark.
She sighed and pushed out of her chair. She made it to the front door just as LJ was proclaiming to the world, "I wish you had died instead of Mom!"
Lincoln blanched. Body slumped.
"LJ!"
He turned. Tears were standing in his eyes. "He sucks."
"I know. Come here," Pam said. She was on the sidewalk, waving him over.
He closed his eyes. Shook his head. The tears rolled down his face. "I... Why can't everyone just leave me alone?"
"Come over here and be alone. I won't bother you, I promise. But I don't want you running off. Just come here."
He whined deep in his throat. But at least he stomped across the street, passed her, and into the house.
"What's going on?" Pam asked. She crossed the street to Lincoln and put her hand on his arm.
He sighed. "He failed a math test. I asked what was going on, and he flipped."
"All on his own, huh?"
Lincoln had the decency to look ashamed. "Okay, no, not on his own. I..." He sighed. "I don't handle things right. Especially because I know he's such a smart kid and can do better than what he's currently doing. And Michael called today. Told me that he might be going back to Gen Pop soon. He's excited because he misses Alex, but I'm worried."
"Michael will be okay, Lincoln. They transferred the man who attacked him almost a month ago. And you know how much Michael hates it in the psych ward. He's done nothing but complain since transferring there."
"I know, I know." He rubbed his hands over his hair. "He's always hated being in anything that hints of a mental institution. When he was about seventeen, eighteen years old, he started having trouble focusing. Sleeping. His psychologist suggested he go to a sleep clinic and Michael freaked. Started drinking to make himself go to sleep until I..." He broke off. Blushed.
Pam smiled crookedly. "Beat some sense into him and forced him to go?"
"Yeah, something like that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I was with his agent today. She wants to set up a show, thinks he has almost enough work to rent out a studio. I saw some of the stuff he drew for his psychologist. You know, the ones about his body?"
She shuddered slightly, remembering. When Michael had first finished the pieces and sent them out of the prison, Pam had been there with Lincoln to see them. They were beautiful. Powerful. And disturbing. Michael, naked, the cuts and bruises on his body not stitched together with thread but words. Words that read, "Little punk boy ain't so tough," and, "Think you're better than the rest of us," and, "Does he just want your tight ass to pretend it's his wife's cunt." And on and on.
Very raw. Very hurtful. Very real.
She'd suggested Lincoln not look at them, but he forced himself to. Every time he was around the pictures, he studied them as if thinking he could heal the wounds with the force of his gaze.
"You need a break," she said. Squeezed his arm. "Go on. Go out tonight, don't worry about LJ. See a movie. Get a drink. Go... shoot pool or play video games. Go pick up women."
"Well. No."
"Just go." She smiled and pushed him gently. "I'll take care of LJ. He can spend the night. You two need some time away from each other."
He sighed. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Go. Have a good night."
"You'll call me if he acts up?"
"You're number one on my speed dial."
Lincoln nodded. Smiled. "Thanks, Pam. I owe you one."
"I'll cash it in. Don't think I won't." She threw him another smile, then went back across the street and into her house.
LJ was with Cameron in his playroom. They were stacking wooden blocks into tall towers, then crashing bulldozers through them. Cameron laughed hysterically every time the blocks fell. LJ was more serious, obviously finding it cathartic.
"LJ," Pam said after the third time the blocks crashed. "I made chicken wings for dinner. Is that going to be okay?"
"No," he said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "I'm a vegetarian."
"What's a vegtarian, LJ?" Cameron asked as he stacked the blocks back up.
"Someone who doesn't eat meat. Just vegetables and stuff. And, yeah, chicken wings are fine, Pam. Thanks."
"Vegetables? Gross."
"Wash your hands, guys."
"Can we knock it down first, Mommy?" Cameron's eyes were huge as he blinked back at her.
She smiled. "Last time. Then go wash your hands." As she went to the kitchen, she heard the smashing of blocks and her son's delighted shriek.
LJ was silent for most of the meal, talking only when she or Cameron said something to him first. He ate everything, although he did push around the broccoli with a crinkled nose before finally eating it.
She waited until they dessert--pudding cups, sugar free, no less--to ask, "What's going on in math?"
He sighed heavily. Dropped a spoonful of pudding back into the cup. "I'm stupid."
"Now that's not true."
"I don't get it!" he shouted. "It's like it's a completely foreign language and my brain is too slow to understand."
Cameron had been reduced to a pair of eyes peering over the edge of the table. His fingers gripped the wood tightly.
"Honey, why don't you go finish your pudding in the living room. Go put your 'Dora' DVD in. Okay?"
"Okay, Mommy," he said softly. Taking his pudding, Cameron slunk out of the room.
"Sorry," LJ said. He stirred the pudding roughly.
"It's all right," Pam said. She sat and just looked at him
He sighed. "Uncle Mike used to help me in math. He made everything seem really easy. But he's gone and Dad's too stupid to help me. And I'm going to grow up to be just like him. Stupid. A druggie. And in prison."
"Is that what you want?"
"No. But I'm going to flunk out of school. I'm a moron."
"I don't believe that. If you were, you wouldn't have understood it even when Michael did explain it. Doesn't matter how good a teacher he was, you have the ability to grasp is. It's there, we just need to figure out how to get it out." She ate a spoonful of pudding. "You know, I'm pretty good at math. I'm an accountant. I was a math minor."
"You don't have to do me any favors."
"Please. You come over and play with Cameron all the time."
"That's fun."
"It also helps me." She leaned forward. "It can't hurt. I mean, you're already over here, right?"
His cheeks colored and he ducked his head. "My books are at home."
"You can't walk over and bring them back?"
LJ sighed. Rolled his eyes. "Okay. Fine. But I'm warning you, I'm really bad. You're going to be sorry you offered to help."
"Let me be the judge, okay?"
He sighed again.
"Go get your books."
"Yeah, okay." He pushed back his chair and left.
A boy with low self-esteem, anger issues, who was convinced he was stupid. Oh, yeah. This was going to be fun.
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Date: 2007-02-17 05:45 am (UTC)ANYWAY, I love this.
I was thinking the other day (yes, about this...) and I was wondering what you were planning on doing with Wheeler... whether he would come and see Alex. Not that I'm asking, I can't wait to find out, but I was just.. wondering.
I love how Licoln, Pam, LJ and Cam are all so close now, or getting that way. And Cam is so smart, just like his Daddy :)
More? Please? *eyelash bat*
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Date: 2007-02-18 07:26 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2007-02-17 09:12 am (UTC)The whole first section dealing with Michael's state is powerful and palpable. You haven't shied away from the details of Michael's physical, emotional, and mental reactions, and their intensity, but you've avoided sensationalizing or fetishizing. I'm not sure that you don't tread that line in the second section, where you echo those reactions in the description of his drawings, but I did like that part anyway, and quite a bit.
Again, you've done a good job of expressing Michael's vulnerability without conflating it with weakness or patheticalness. By showing us the defiance he maintains despite his suffering, you assert his strength.
I really enjoy Rose and Michael's interaction. I feel like she's a surrogate, but I'm not sure for what - for Alex? for Lincoln? for all his loved ones in general who are prevented from taking care of him? for the general sense of security and familiarity of the life Michael had to leave behind? Or is she a surrogate for the reader, like my creampuff self, who wants to offer him comfort?
In any case, I can't wait to read the next chapter. :D
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Date: 2007-02-18 07:29 pm (UTC)I try very hard not to make him weak because he's not a weak man. He's a strong man who has been hurt badly. IT's not easy to write, because it is so much easier to do him destroyed or weak and whatever, but that's not his character. So I do my best.
Or is she a surrogate for the reader, like my creampuff self, who wants to offer him comfort?
And maybe the writer, too, considering how much I want to take him into my arms and snuggle. :)
Thank you!!
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Date: 2007-02-17 09:41 am (UTC)oh, and I can I have Pam to explain me maths as well? I guess I need it LOL
I love it, keep it up:)
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Date: 2007-02-18 07:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-17 12:53 pm (UTC)As for LJ..."I wish you had died instead of Mom!"
I almost reeled back from that physically! It was a cruel and vicious thing for him to say but when you consider what he witnessed, what he's been through it's not hard to understand that he would hit out at his father in that way. Espcecially since he is so close to his Uncle and I feel he'd subconsciously blame Lincoln for robbing him of Michael too.
The pictures Michael is drawing are painful in the extreme and even though I find your descriptions of them distrurbing I can see why he would externalize his pain in that way. Brilliantly conceived idea, btw!
Rose is...well, she could be me!! Michael needs taking care of and since he has no parents, no brother around in prison and for now no Alex, Rose is the perfect carer while he's in the psyche ward. But I'm longing to see what happens when he does return to gen pop!
Loving Pam and Cameron!! Lincoln needs someone like Pam, and this is a pairing I'd love to see explored more often in fics. Pam smiled crookedly. "Beat some sense into him and forced him to go?" She is a very astute woman because that is so the Lincoln way of dealing with things! But I guess she wouldn't have been married to Alex if she weren't, huh?
I've rambled on a bit here, haven't I? Sorry! I just needed to tell you how much I love this fic and the reasons why!
In summary, probably my favourite chapter so far! And that's saying something!
Thank you for being such a brilliant writer and for sharing the product of your brilliance with us! :D
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Date: 2007-02-17 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-02-17 11:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-18 01:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-18 04:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-23 12:40 am (UTC)