Escape Arcadia|Escape Arcadia
13:46, October 7, 2013 - Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital:
For the third time that day, Rachel watched on teary eyed as her blue-haired punk friend stumbled. Legs unable to carry her weight, she plummeted to the floor in a pathetic heap of limbs. The nurse helped steady her before she totally collapsed, not even wincing at the bluenette's frustratedly colorful language.
They had all known it wouldn't work, but Chloe had insisted.
Each failure was harder to watch than the last, an ongoing struggle for the past half a year. Yes, they had escaped the dark room - thanks to David Madsen's timely intervention. Yes, their tormentors had been punished - not nearly as much as they deserved; not even death was enough… and yes, the events of that day had left their mark. Mentally, emotionally and physically - for Chloe most of all. Ever since that day, she had not once managed a single step.
Anger fading in the wake of overwhelming failure, the blue-haired punk was helped back into her wheelchair. As she sat there, her once mischievous blue eyes glossed over with defeat. Right now, she was hanging on by a bare thread of hope. Once or twice, she had voiced her desire to just… give up. Somehow, Rachel managed to drag her from that mindset each and every time, practically promising that it would get better.
So far, that had been a lie.
Despite herself, the blonde managed a grimace. Two truths and a lie… the game they had played so long ago now. The day they first decided to write their bucket lists. Looking back, she wondered if they had simply tempted fate.
In a twisted turn of events, they had achieved their first mutual entry: escape Arcadia Bay.
Swallowing back tears, she put on a brave face for her friend. Compared to what Chloe had suffered that day, she had gotten off lightly. Left any longer in that hellhole and she may have been subjected to a similar fate. Of course, the blonde had her scars. Plenty of them - marking her body and face. So much for being a model for anything other than crime reconstructions…
It'd been nearly six months since that horrifically fateful night. When everything had changed. Their lives turned upside down, shattered into a million pieces with little to no hope of salvaging. In that time, they had moved to Seattle together, their shift paid for by Blackwell. The school; hoping to avoid backlash for the incident one of its teachers had orchestrated; had ensured their housing and medical bills were covered for the time being.
That day, Chloe had been lucky - the blonde scoffed at the word - in that the sword shoved through her had been aimed low. The blade in question found its way between her T11 and T12 vertebrae, leaving her upper half to function perfectly fine. The two bones had been separated forcefully, irreparably severing the cord in a sickening pop Rachel would never be able to forget.
No matter how hard she tried...
"Rach..."
When the blonde opened her eyes, she was met with the horrifyingly familiar black and white chamber… where it had all gone wrong. On repeat, she watched their tormentor toy with them like dolls, camera fixed to his hand.
Plastered to his face was a blood chilling grin, glazed blue eyes. Like something out of a horror film. Then, a large oozing hole materialized in his forehead, red lines staining his face and the wall behind. It almost looked like an entry in an art exhibit.
The sight made her want to scream… but she couldn't.
"Rach?" Chloe put her hand on her best friend's leg, earning a sharp cry.
A set of panicked hazel eyes frantically searched the therapy room until they settled on tired blue orbs. Muted concern barely hid the much deeper, darker emotions those eyes conveyed. Only Rachel would ever have a single hope of decipher them, and maybe not even her.
"Let's get out of here. Let's go home..." her wheelchair-bound friend -how much more were they than friends now? They'd not talked about it - requested as she began to wheel herself out.
Shaking herself back to their miserable reality, she stood and picked up the backpack that had become her purse as of late - filled with pain meds, medical documents, medical supplies and her laptop.
Had she been told several months ago that she would be doing this, helping her best friend live with a severe spinal injury - she would have laughed, accused them of being high. Now, it had become part of her daily routine. Honestly, she felt responsible. If she hadn't insisted they go to that damn party...
Sighing, she shouldered the bag's weight and followed her friend out, opening doors as needed all the way to the parking lot. Whereas before they would have chatted away about all kinds of irrelevant shit, they quickly fell into the more recent habit of silence. They began loading the retrofitted SUV in such a practiced and perfected routine that took just a few minutes, no mention of the modifications the vehicle required.
Rachel took her usual position in the driver's seat - odd after years of predominantly playing passenger - eyes locked on an undefined spot in the distance. Patiently, she waited for the whirring of platforms to stop, indicating Chloe had been moved into her place on the passenger side. As the door closed itself, the blonde started the vehicle and pulled out.
It wasn't until they'd cleared a few blocks that the silence was broken.
"You were back in that... place... weren't you?"
The question cut painfully through the silence, straight to the core, and unwavering. But its origin wasn't an accusation by any means. There was no malice or anger in the question. Only concern.
"I'm fine..." the blonde lied, shrugging off the question as best as she could.
She didn't expect the fist that slammed into an armrest. "Damn it, Rach! We both know that's not true!"
As much as she wanted to keep her cool, she just couldn't. It wasn't aimed at the blonde for denying her issues. No, not for even a second. It was aimed at Nathan and Jefferson for doing this to them. The two fucks who had hurt her angel. She only wished she had been the one to put a bullet in Nathan's brain, not David.
About to continue her angry rant, she paused. Her heart dropped at the solitary tear slowly descending down the driver's cheek. That was not what she wanted.
"Shit... I'm sorry..." She raised a hand, letting it rest on Rachel's arm. "I didn't mean to yell... I just..." the bluenette faltered for words as a tear flowed down her own cheek. "I worry about you... I can't lose you..."
If she thought she had needed Rachel before, that was nothing compared to now. She hated having to rely on her -just as much emotionally as physically- and on occasion had told her to go. As much as she didn't want that, she didn't want to be resented. The blonde never did, though.
How long would it be before she got tired of it all?
A soft sob broke from the once cheerful angel who was now driving. Now all that remained was a husk of the exuberance she'd once held. Not wanting to make it worse, the bluenette didn't say another word, letting the awkward silence hang.
The vehicle turned into the parking spot of their apartment on the corner of Pine and Belmont, and Rachel shut off the engine. She took several deep breaths, working to calm herself down. It was only then she realized how tightly she'd been gripping the steering wheel. Knuckles white from pressure. The blonde could feel the softened gaze of electric blue eyes resting on her, and she knew that the only thing they held was love and concern.
"I... I know you worry... I know you do, Chlo..." she took another deep breath, readying herself, "I just have so much trouble thinking about myself. I only care about you." The admission wasn't accusatory. It was heartfelt. An attempt to open the topic of more with the girl she loved so dearly.
"It's okay, Rach. It's okay if you take time for yourself. I can't let you burn yourself out because you're so focused on me... I'm not completely dependant. I'm not a total vegetable..."
As those words left her lips, she faltered. Just how much worse would it have been if her spine had been damaged higher up? Shuddering at the thought, she recalled the fully paralyzed patients she'd seen in the ICU. Watching the nurses attend to their every function, often no hope of recovery to any degree.
That alone was enough to petrify her.
Chloe always insisted on opening the door when they came home together. It was something about her independance, maintaining she still had some despite her injury. To Rachel, it was a sign that there was still hope that the punk continued to express her rebellious attitude regardless of the circumstances. Hope that one day things would get better.
The door swung open to their apartment. "Home sweet home..." the bluenette barked out a laugh, "Never thought I'd say that un-sarcastically about anywhere."
She rolled herself over the threshold, heading towards past the entrances to her bathroom and bedroom on the right, and Rachel's room on the left. The doors to their rooms lined up, which had been endlessly helpful. Particularly when Chloe had first been learning to manage her injury, the punk falling out of her bed, screaming in pain or because of the nightmares. Or both.
Neither one was easy to witness.
Rachel walked behind her roommate, following her to the living room/dining room/kitchen that spread the width of their apartment. The bluenette wheeled herself towards the couch while the blonde went and set the backpack on their dining room table, stepping over to the fridge to grab something to drink.
She swung the stainless door open, looking at the stocked contents for a soda. Her eyes paused on something she hadn't expected to find. Sitting on the lower shelf of the fridge was a six-pack of beer. It wasn't necessarily good beer by any stretch of the imagination, but the lime green glass was all too familiar. Memories of the junkyard hideout came flooding back, thoughts she'd buried upon moving to Seattle. Neither of them had touched a drop of alcohol since that night. They'd never talked about their self-enforced sobriety either.
They didn't talk about a lot of things. Certain topics were left unspoken.
"Chlo... Where... Where did this come from?" the blonde turned around, jumping in shock as she found the punk immediately behind her. When did you get so sneaky on that thing, Chlo? She stepped out of the way, as blue eyes rested on green glass.
"I slipped the guy on desk duty last night a twenty to get this," came the deadpan answer. No explanation.
Rachel could do nothing more than offer a very confused look in return.
"You didn't know the drinks were spiked. You didn't know Nathan was so deranged. You didn't know Jefferson was a sadistic fuck..." The wheelchair-bound girl was gripping her armrests tightly, but relaxed as she continued. "But despite all of those things, you feel like it's your responsibility to become a saint who doesn't drink, who doesn't smoke, who doesn't even imagine a life outside of caring for me."
She took a moment to compose herself.
"What I'm trying to say, Rach, is I want to get drunk with my best friend again. I want to have fun again. Because if I can't do that... If I can't do anything but survive through my days as I fail to walk week after week... I'm not gonna be able to keep going. So grab a beer for each of us, and come sit with me on the couch. Let's throw on a movie like old times, and just have fun. Because I miss having fun with my best friend."
The modelesque blonde considered her options: drink or don't.
Eyeing up the bottles, then her friend, she steadied her resolve and grabbed two beers. Popping off the tops, she passed one to Chloe with shaking hands. Giving her a gentle smile, the bluenette took the bottle, letting her fingers linger on her best friend's hand to reassure her.
"On three?" she suggested hesitantly.
Pushing back the apprehension, Rachel nodded. "One… two… three…"
Simultaneously, they brought the bottles to their lips, amber liquid seeping from the opening into their mouths. The taste was bitter at first, flavored with the memories of that night. No, she wouldn't let that fucker ruin this. She couldn't…
Instead, she recalled a time when they had gone to the park, spied on people through a viewfinder. Put her acting skills to use in 'procuring' some wine. Those memories, while they had sad undertones because of her father, were much happier than any other she could think up right now. Pulling the bottle away, she noticed Chloe staring at the bottle.
"Wish that asshole had gotten something better…" she managed a chuckle, more genuine than any Rachel had heard for… months.
Mirroring the flicker of happiness, the blonde smiled. "Agreed."
Maybe for a moment, they could pretend things were fine…
They soon fell into old habits, polishing off the entirety of the pack. It hit them much harder than before, unused to old drinking paces. Now they remembered why they had drunk in the first place - to numb the background pain. Except their new fears were very much in the foreground, constantly hounding them while awake and asleep. It may only last for a while before cruelly plunged them back into the deep end, but for now they felt… less burdened.
"I miss weed," Chloe announced suddenly.
Some time during the drinking session, they had started spooning. Currently, she had her damaged back pressed against the blonde - who was laying on her side pressed into the back of padded seat. Her arm rested firmly over her friend, ensuring she didn't roll off the edge.
"Sure has been a while…" Rachel agreed wistfully.
Going sober so suddenly had its effects but after everything that happened, she hated the thought of being so… vulnerable. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the blue-haired punk.
"Uh... Rach?" A soft giggle came from the bluenette. "Uh, so, I know we're drunk and all, but I didn't think you'd get grope-y so soon..."
Confused, the blonde looked down at her arm over her friend, and realized that she'd unexpectedly tightened her grip on her friend's breast. For what must have been the first time in years, a bright pink blush completely hijacked her face.
In that moment, the most alien sound possible came from the woman she was currently hugging. The sound of deep, gut-shaking laughter.
The model-turned-caretaker stared at her friend, jaw veritably hanging open in utter shock at the development. Her surprise lasted for only a moment, soon joining the other girl in a fit of giggles.
"Sorry, old habits…"
Chloe raised an eyebrow suggestively, her trademark shit-eating grin wide. "Uh huh... Sure..." She sighed heavily, looking at the empty bottle in her hand. "Shit... We're out."
The bluenette; intoxicated and nostalgic; shifted herself into a sitting position and pushed herself up, remembering very suddenly that her legs didn't work. She pitched forward, a surprised cry escaping her lips as she slammed into the coffee table in front of them, squarely on her collarbones.
A single, morbid laugh left the lips of the blonde, before she cried out to her friend, panicked. "Shit! Chloe! Are you okay?!" She quickly moved to the bluenette's side, concern showing on her face.
Chloe was stunned. How exactly do you forget your legs are broken? She pondered the idea, realizing that she'd been enjoying herself enough to let the past stay there, at least momentarily.
"I'm fine. Just tried to do what felt right. Forgot my legs don't work." A pained grin crossed her face. "I'm fine though. Just hurts a tad." She grabbed the edge of the table, pushing herself up and shifting back to the couch.
Rachel stared in disbelief. "You did what?" The blonde tried to comprehend the meaning of the words her best friend had just uttered.
When their eyes met, they burst out into a fresh round of laughter. Just like before when their most pressing concern had been ditching class. Despite the initial apprehension, it began to dawn on her that tonight had been a good idea, getting to let loose for a while.
They sure as hell needed it.
10:12, October 11, 2013 - Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital:
Once again, they were in physical therapy, trying to get Chloe to walk. There were, however, a number of notable differences.
For one, the attitudes of the young women was more positive. Since their week started, morale had definitely improved. The bluenette had been smiling more, putting more effort into everyday tasks. She'd also been enthusiastic about the therapy, more earnestly forcing herself to try harder.
It was heartwarming to see, in turn inspiring Rachel to smile more freely. Without the very obvious reminder of a wheelchair, she might not even notice anything had changed… to an extent. Still, she couldn't complain at all. Shit, this was the best things had been in six months.
Maybe even longer...
For the first time in almost a month, Rachel was standing next to the bluenette, providing support as the broken girl tried to move herself forward.
"You've got this, Chlo! You can do it!" she cheered, pushing her friend to move a leg forward.
The bluenette raised a glaring eyebrow, before concentrating wholly on the task ahead of her. It's just a leg. I just need to move it forward and put weight on it. The thought made her chuckle slightly. Science said it was probably much more complicated than that, but she refused to accept that.
Fuck science.
Focusing on the toes underneath her, she put every thought into walking.
Her right leg stayed still.
"Damnit..." she mumbled angrily, willing the stupid numb limb to obey.
A soft hand found its way on top of hers. A pair of hazel eyes looked lovingly into her own blue ones. Eyes that believed in her. Eyes that felt for her. Eyes that knew every bit of her.
Her right leg shifted forward, just a few inches.
Her own blue eyes showed more shock than anything else.
She kept pushing, and the leg swung forward more, the whole length of a step. Without a second thought, she followed up by going to put weight on it move to front.
That idea didn't go so well. Without warning, she crumpled forward, slamming into the ground with a heavy thud into the mat beneath her.
"Ouch..." was the only word that came from the punk's lips.
Despite the bad timing, or perhaps because of it, the blonde chuckled. Chloe glared at her for a second, the irritation fading into an eye roll then a smile of her own. They had been fucking depressed for so long, it felt good to laugh. Even if it was at a slight failure.
"You haven't walked in six months, and you expect to put weight down on your first step?" came the playfully biting reply from the blonde beside her. "I mean, I don't know that I can feel bad for you on that one..." Rachel saw motion by the door - a doctor walk in, calling her over. "Can you get back up with their help? I'll be right back."
Waiting for some confirmation - an over exaggerated shrug - the blonde made her way towards the tall chestnut-haired, bearded man with a white coat over his shoulders. "Miss... Amber. Right?"
She nodded, confused. "That's me. You are?" she questioned, wondering who this man was.
"I'm Dr Caulfield. I'm the head of Neurology here at Grey-Sloan." His name, matched with his appearance, caught her interest instantly. "I've been assigned to Miss Price's case. I understand you're her caretaker. Is that correct?" He gave her no opportunity to ask anything personal.
"I am. What do you mean, assigned?" Rachel asked, confused. Chloe had been signed off as unlikely to regain motion months ago. "She's already got a doctor."
He met her gaze impassively. "Perhaps I've made myself unclear. She's not getting better, Miss Amber."
Rachel stared at him blankly, blinking several times. Yes, she could hear him speak but… she didn't understand why those words were being spoken. Especially not after what she had just seen, and Chloe's newfound sense of hope. Her hope...
"Bullshit. She literally just took a step!" Something felt wrong with what he was telling her. "How can you tell me she's not getting better?"
This man, who may or may not be who she thought he was, sighed softly. This obviously wasn't the first time he'd had to deliver this news. Possibly not the first time today. Though, he sounded and looked more affectionate than would be normally expected.
"Unless this woman is a medical..." he paused, making a sound mixed between a cough and a sob. "A medical miracle, Miss Amber, the nerves in her spinal cord are never going to regrow. What's making her move, today, and maybe for a few months, is fluid buildup. Fluid buildup that is going to one day kill her." He disguised another odd noise under his breath.
"What's your name?" was the only response to his statement, choosing actively to ignore the words he was saying in favor of his reaction to the news he was giving. "What's your full name?"
He remained impassive, refusing to answer her, staring stoically into her hazel eyes.
"Do you..." Rachel took a deep, soothing breath. "Do you have a daughter... named Max?"
His gaze broke from hers, eyes averting. "I know who you are, Miss Amber, and I know who Ch…" he faltered, swallowing hard as he backtracked, "Miss Price is, too. You don't want to know the answer to that question. You already have more than enough to deal with."
With that, he turned, making a beeline towards the door. He didn't even wait around long enough for Rachel to call after him.
Confused, she turned finding the bluenette in her chair again, having once more snuck up silently to the blonde's position. "Who was that?" she asked, a determined grin on her face.
"New doctor. Thinks you don't stand a chance. I told him to fuck off," she lied.
This time, her lie was more convincing. At this rate, would she ever be able to utter a single truth? She hated herself for lying to her perfect blue butterfly with broken wings, but maybe this wasn't the right time to bring this up. Maybe she needed more information first.
And maybe… she was just being a coward with too many convenient excuses… not that the self awareness changed a single thing. It just made her feel guilty. Well, guiltier.
"Well, aren't you a badass?" the punk chuckled, slugging the model's shoulder playfully. "Come on. I feel like going to a bar tonight." And with that, the bluenette was off, wheeling away towards the door, glancing back expectantly at the blonde to follow her.
The look went quickly from expectant to worried.
"Rach... You.. You're bleeding..."
That was the last thing Rachel heard before she collapsed to the ground, blacking out.
Author's Notes:
No. I won't apologize. You can't make me.
-TjwCroft
Told you all it'd be fun...
-Nothing_You_Can_Prove
