This isn't the happiest bit in the world, but it's really not the happiest story either, is it? A couple of things might make you say, "Hmm," but I'll explain it all at the end of the chapter.
Hours upon hours upon police reports upon doctors upon more hours later, King shuffled through the front door of her apartment, clad in hospital-provided scrubs that were a little tight around the armpits, with Yuri by her side. Right away, her cat ran up to greet the pair.
"Salut, Marron," King murmured robotically as she flipped a light switch. It was the first thing she had really said since leaving the hospital.
It wasn't that she didn't want to speak to anyone - not entirely, anyway. She was just too shellshocked to utter more than three to four words at a time: The fact that she was able to communicate with police and medical staff had been an incredible feat in and of itself. However, the car ride with Yuri and Mai had been disturbingly quiet. Nobody knew what to say - not even Mai, who usually had input for days. King, who was shot up with a decent amount of pain medication despite the risk associated with taking it, spent a good portion of the trip zoning out while Yuri and Mai occasionally glanced at her, concern written all over their faces.
"Promise me you'll call me if you need anything," Mai told her when they dropped her off at her hotel. "Promise me!"
All King could do was nod.
Riding with just Yuri was even worse: She had turned on the radio in what must have been an attempt to bring some normalcy to the drive, but her taste in music was always a little questionable. Despite the morphine everything on the radio sucked and life was terrible.
King stood in her dining room, unsure of what to do with herself, and watched as Yuri placed a paper bag full of prescription medications, a folder packed with a shit ton of hospital discharge instructions, and a stuffed teddy bear on the table. After several moments King sat down in one of the dining chairs and leaned down to take off her boots, but her cracked ribs were not having it.
"Let me help!" Yuri rushed over; she deftly unzipped and removed both of King's shoes.
"Th-thanks..."
King looked away. Not being able to take off her own boots was embarrassing. Then again, the whole night had been one huge embarrassment after another. She suddenly felt an almost overwhelming desire to crawl under her bed and never come out again.
"Do you want some water?" Yuri asked.
"No thanks."
"What about something to eat? I can ma -"
"I'm fine!" King cut her off and immediately felt bad. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize!"
Both women fell silent as Yuri started petting Marron. She appeared to be considering her next words very carefully.
"King-san…?"
"Hm."
"Do you… If you want to talk, I -"
"No."
King furrowed her brow. She didn't want to talk! Talking would probably only make things much, much worse! Besides, what could Yuri say, anyway? What magical words could she possibly have to offer in this situation? The answer was none, so why bother? Of course, King knew Yuri was only trying to be a good friend, and was probably doing what the crisis counselor advised her to do, but she couldn't help it - she felt like the assumption that she would want to open up about what happened was stupid. She came to the conclusion that morphine made her mean.
"You want me to go," Yuri remarked. It wasn't a question.
"It's nothing personal."
"But you have a concussion! I know it's mild, but the only reason the doctor let you go is because I said I'd -"
"I'll be FINE!"
Yuri frowned; it was clear that she was at a loss. She stopped petting Marron and drew herself up to her full height before hesitantly placing a hand on King's shoulder.
"Cécile…?"
King's head instantly snapped up: Her name was at the top of the list of things she absolutely did not want to hear anyone say ever again.
"I love you." Yuri professed. "I love you, and so does Mai. We're here for you if you need us. Or even if you don't."
King took a deep breath and winced. Stupid ribs. Yuri's concern was so nice, so endearing. It was good to know that her friends cared, even when she was being a total bitch to them. She nodded slowly before fixing her gaze on a small hole in her sock. Yuri her gave her shoulder a squeeze and walked to the door.
"I'll go, but I'm going to call you every few hours! If you don't answer I'll just drive back here! And don't worry," Yuri's tone changed from assertive to solemn. "My brother will never find out."
She left.
King felt a pang of something she couldn't put into words. If Yuri's brother knew what happened, he would absolutely see her differently: He'd think of her as some kind of broken whore, or he'd pity the hell out of her. Or probably both. She buried her face in her hands and sighed before standing up and locking the door.
She desperately needed a shower.
###
The water was too hot.
Fucking unbearable really, but King didn't move. She sat near the back of the tub, staring at the drain as she hugged her knees tight against her chest. The scalding water mercilessly rained down on her, turning her fair skin an unhealthy shade of pink that contrasted with the purple and black bruises all over her body. She didn't care, though: She could live with a few first degree burns if it meant washing everything away.
But everything was still there.
He was still there - still on her. Still in her, and it was disgusting. She was disgusting. King reached for her loofah and started to scrub her burning skin - again. She didn't know how many times she had already washed; all she knew was that it wasn't enough.
It would never be enough.
Here are those notes I mentioned:
* Salut = Hello (in French, of course)
* In case anyone forgot, King does, indeed, have a cat called Marron.
* King's clothing was confiscated, hence the hospital scrubs.
* About injuries and morphine: Morphine, or any other narcotics, are typically never used in someone with a head injury because the side-effects of the drug(s) can mirror worsening effects of said head injury. I also know that, usually, only strong, non-narcotics are given in the case of hurt ribs. But! Head-canon time: Poor King, despite being a fighter, has a shockingly low pain tolerance. So, tally up her injuries (cracked ribs, mild concussion, split forehead, busted lip, black eye, various bruises everywhere for those keeping score), add the low pain tolerance, and you get someone who would probably be pissed, and in a world of hurt, if all they were given was some prescription strength Ibuprofen.
That's all I've got for now. As always, don't be afraid to let me know your thoughts!
