Under Luke's advice, beginning that evening Calley wasn't going to be left alone under any circumstances. They'd volunteered for specific watches, but no matter who was "on", Luke stayed close by on the couch in the living area. He wasn't very comfortable with the situation at hand, but reasoned with himself that it was temporary. He'd briefed the turtles on what they could potentially expect behaviour wise, and then settled in for the long haul.
Greg had taken a quick look into the room before he left, but backed away from the Lab as quickly as if it had been a raging inferno. He wanted to help if he was able to, but it was going to require working up to it a little bit. The sight of the woman in the beginning stages of withdrawal reminded him too much of his mother from years ago. Without saying anything about it, he promised the guys he'd be back the next day, and to let him know if they needed anything before then.
It was nearly midnight now, and Luke was sleeping somewhat fitfully out in the living area. Michelangelo was sitting up in the Lab, playing a silent round of euchre on one of the computers to pass the time, and to keep himself alert. The computer never served as a very satisfying partner, and usually ended up annoying him more than anything else.
Shell, seriously? You're gonna waste the left bar right now? I'd be better off having a rock for a partner - at least then I could play both hands.
The turtle rolled his eyes as he was forced to follow the suite his partner had led, and throw off the right bar that would unnecessarily trump his own partner. Stupid computer. You don't lead with the second highest trump when you don't know where the most powerful one is!
A small grunt from a couple of feet away interrupted the turtle's rant against the imaginary computer partner, and he immediately glanced over at Calley, who was pushing her way partially upright.
"Leonardo?" Her voice came out softly.
"No, it's Mike." He told her, tensing just a little at the way she tremored. "Can I get something for you?"
"Thirsty." She mentioned, and he rose to grab some water from the refrigerated unit.
The way her fingers shook made the turtle think twice about just handing it over. He got it open first, and kept one hand under it while she swallowed a couple of mouth-fulls, only to tremble harder. She had two blankets already, but still looked as if she were cold. After the turtle got the bottle back from her, he went over to one of the adjacent closets, and dug out another blanket for her to add to the bed.
She laid back down, but her body remained rigid, the lines in her face indicating the anxiety that was building within. The young woman yawned heavily but didn't shut her eyes, taking the moment to fix a mute stare on Michelangelo. The blue-eyed turtle cleared his throat after a few seconds.
"You look tired Calley." He said. "You should try and get some more sleep."
"My mind is going in fifteen directions - I can't hardly shut it off." She replied.
"Maybe if you try to just focus in one, that'll do the trick." He suggested.
"It hasn't been that easy." She answered.
"Let me give it a shot then." He told her with a slight grin. "Did you ever hear the story about the tortoise and the hare?"
"You mean slow and steady wins the race?"
"That's the most popular version, but the Indians like to tell it a little differently." Michelangelo said. "Do you wanna hear it?"
She nodded slightly, and he rolled the desk chair closer to her.
"Okay. So this tortoise and a hare are sitting by a stream one day, and the hare is bragging about being the fastest runner in the world. Tortoise wasn't buying it, and insisted that he could beat the hare in a race. The hare only laughed at him, which made the tortoise even more angry. 'I will win the race', he insisted. 'You meet me here tomorrow morning, and I'll wear a white feather so that you can see me through the tall grass. We'll race over the four hills, and the first one to get to the line over the fourth hill will be the winner of it all'.
The hare agreed and hopped off, still laughing to himself. Now tortoise was in big trouble, because he knew he wasn't fast enough to beat the hare. But he had a plan. Maybe he'd been consulting with Leonardo. In any case, he got together with his whole family that night, and explained about the race and his idea. Then tortoise gave each of his family members a white feather, and assigned them to various stages along the race route.
The next morning the hare came down to the starting line, and "tortoise" was waiting in the tall grass with his feather. Hare started running, and the tortoise's white feather came creeping along behind him. As the hare came up the first hill, he saw the white feather, crawling down into the valley ahead of him. He couldn't believe his eyes, but put on a burst of speed to pass him.
However when hare reached the next valley, there was tortoise ahead of him again. Hare ran and ran, leaving tortoise behind a third time. He was gasping for breath by the time he reached the third valley, after passing tortoise yet again at the top of the hill. But there was that feather yet once more, traveling just as fast as it could up the fourth slope.
Hare was determined, so he gathered his last remnant of strength and sprinted to the top of the fourth hill. As he rounded the last corner, he had to brake to a halt in shock. There, sitting by the stake of the finishing line was tortoise, waving his white feather proudly. He'd won the race."
Michelangelo had kept going when she shut her eyes. Now Calley was breathing a little more deeply than before, as what small amount of rest that could be attained came over her. The orange-masked turtle grinned to himself, and then turned back around to face the computer. It looked like he was going to be forced to finish that hand after-all.
Around 3:45 it was the red-banded turtle who actually woke her up this time. She'd been trembling violently, her breath coming in short gasps as if she'd been running hard. She only opened one eye at first, and shrank away from the turtle's hand.
"Calley, it's okay." Raphael assured her. "It's just me, I'm not gonna hurt you. It didn't seem like you were going to a good place there, I want to make sure you slow down."
Her breathing didn't exactly improve, but her head did raise a couple more inches to look at him, then silently receded to the bed without saying a word.
"Doc says you should be getting a lot of water." Raphael told her. "You wanna try this again?"
He moved toward her with a sport bottle, but she didn't respond to it this time. As he was starting to put it down, her brown eyes focused clearly on his.
"I need it." She said firmly, and he started to offer her water again. Calley only shook her head. "No. Not that."
That statement only made him shake his head. "You're gettin' off it Calley. You said that was what you wanted, and we're going to help you do it."
"You don't understand. I need it."
"You think you do, but it won't last this way. Just keep telling yourself that."
"I'll never be free of it. Never. You don't know. It takes hold, it gets you, and it never lets go." She said haltingly.
"That's not true - people get off drugs. They just have to stick with it, and that's exactly what you're going to do."
"I'm not them, I'm not strong. I can't do this, I can't. Dying would be better."
"Maybe it'd be easier in the short-run, but it's sure not better." Raphael disagreed. "Not with your old man still hanging around, trying to wake up. You think I'm gonna let him come around, only to find out that he's lost you for good? Nope, not gonna happen."
"My father doesn't need me - he doesn't need me like I need this."
"He loves you, and for that reason alone, I wouldn't let you go right now. I don't care how much you beg me girl, you're not getting it, and you're not getting out of here."
"You have no right--"
"To protect you? I do actually. See, your old man is more than a friend, he's a lifesaver. He risked his own for me and my brothers, would have died to save us if he had to. So as much as I'd like to help save you from yourself anyway, I owe that much to him too."
"You don't know what it's like."
"No, you're right there. But you're still not getting it." He replied to the brimming tears in her eyes. "You're gonna make it Calley, I promise you are. We'll make sure of it."
Brown eyes faltered, and stared up at the ceiling in a more unfocused manner. "Traded one prison for another." She muttered under her breath.
"What prison?" Raphael grasped onto what she'd said. "Who had you? Who hurt you Calley?"
She remained unblinking overhead, as though fixated now on something that he couldn't see, her body now quaking harder. "It's so cold in here, just like there." She strained.
Calley flinched slightly as the turtle rested the back of a palm against her cheek, testing the temperature of her skin. It was hot, despite the proclamation of being cold. Raphael tried to wrap the blankets around her better, as her breath caught in her chest once more.
"I won't make it through this." She wavered. "I never have. It'll get worse, and then worse...this is nothing."
"Maybe you didn't get through it because you didn't have enough help, or you didn't really want it that badly. But you want it this time, you want to get clean for your dad, don't you?" Raphael persisted.
"What difference does it make? I was already dead to him, and my mom, s-she..." The young woman trailed off as sudden anger took over her features. "She can go to hell, and I can go to hell, and he'll be better off on his own."
"I don't think he should have to go through that." Raphael said quietly. "And he's not going to, not if we have anything to say about it. So you can cry, or yell, or get mad if you have to. But the only way through this is to go through it."