Once again I don't own the 28 days/weeks later series, or Doyle. Cassandra bell a.k.a Miss Mexico is mine though.
"Do you want to talk about it?" That's the question presented to me by this little Asian woman, and her rifle toting shadow. Do I want to talk about it?
Do I want to talk about how a couple of soldiers found me having a mini meltdown in a long ago abandoned construction site?
Do I want to talk about how they were worried, given my proximity to the water, that I might be a suicide risk?
Do I want to talk about how when I asked them to lock me up, and they said they couldn't without a reason, so I did something really stupid?
Do I want to talk about how that stupid thing was me backing up a few paces and punching the rough concrete wall hard enough to make me hand bleed?
Do I want to talk about how that might have resulted in me being shot to death if the soldiers had been a little less under control?
Do I want to talk about what lead up to me thinking that such a reaction was a good idea, or why I would do something that might jeopardize my stay here? That last one would be really annoying if I had the ability to actually feel it at the moment, is it stands I only have about enough emotional feeling to register that it should be, if I cared enough to feel it.
"Not really." I can feel the metal of the cuff around my right ankle more than the rest, because it managed to find a nice resting spot on top of the bunched edge of my sock, and being metal its a lot colder than my skin. Its sort of uncomfortable, and I want to fix that problem, but I have another problem in my way. They have my hands cuffed to the chair arms, is well is my other ankle to the matching leg.
I get the safety precautions, and can't say I mind them. I'd do it too I suppose, that is if I went against my reaction to just shoot someone stupid enough to do what I did, which I wouldn't. They did though, and they've been indirectly informing me, without actually coming out and saying it, how generous that was of them and how much I should appreciate the fact they didn't blow my head off.
Yes, I appreciate that my skull didn't lose the battle with physics and metal, and isn't a partially concave meat melon leaking into the dirt at the moment. Being alive is nice, but my alive situation really sucks, so they didn't exactly do me much of a favor. Not that I'm tell them that. They still might decide to change their minds.
"I see..." Is her opening to her response, and Jesus Christ, can't the people here say anything else but that?! "..., well..." There's another pause where she takes and releases a breath dramatically, and I'm left wondering if she gets something out of the theatrics. "...if I'm going to give you a positive revaluation I'm afraid we are going to have to discuss what caused this incident. You understand?"
"Yeah..." I pause to, smiling just a little. " I get it." I think it came out more as a smirk though, if the slight narrowing of her eyes and the scraping of that pen is an indication.
"Well then." I don't say anything at first, because I was sort of waiting for an actually question, but her unblinking silence makes it pretty clear she is just waiting for me to fill in the blank. Okay, fine then.
"I had a moment. There was a pair of eyes, I wanted them to forgive me and leave me alone. I'm better now." I threw in that last part on stupid hope that maybe it would be lucky, but I knew better. Still, can't succeed if you don't try.
"And do you still want that now?" She asks, once more letting her brown eyes drift to the scratching of her pen on that notepad. Honestly, I'm half entertaining the idea that she is playing hang man, and noting the morbidity of the idea that the person who will decide my future might be slowly suffocating a stick figure.
Then I remember that it's a two person game, so maybe she's more morbid than I thought and I should be worried, that is if I thought it would do me any good. "No, but a tic-tac would be nice."
My sarcasm, her expression so clearly informs me, is not appreciated. "Miss Bell, I can't help you if your going to be difficult." Which is funny to me because I wasn't being sarcastic. "I'm not being difficult. I really do want a tic-tac. I have morning breath, booze, charcoal flavored puke, and more morning breath on my tongue. It's honestly pretty hideous."
"...I see,..." Again there is that annoying phrase, but this one bugs me a little less because I can actually see her cringe in sympathy at the description of whats sitting on my taste buds. "Well I believe when were done you can pick some up at the concession. But..." That word is going to become annoying to me too, I just know it. "...I need to determine your aren't going to be a stability risk before I can let you back into the general population. If I can't do that ill be forced to recommend your deportation, and I know you don't want that. so..."
"Yeah, well it doesn't really matter what I want now does it?" The interruption wasn't meant to be rude, and it wasn't toned that way either. It just sounded tired, like the oxygen used to even speak it took more effort then it was worth. Which was a pretty accurate description of how I felt at the moment. And how I knew I would feel when her predictable "What do you mean?" followed those words. Well, might is well get it over with.
"The world got fucked, and I got fucked, then you guys came in and declared it unfucked, but my brain didn't quite get the memo, so when you put me with a CIVILIAN, it made me even more fucked, and now my problem is that I'm not getting fucked." I have a habit when I'm just that upset or tired with a situation that creative wording really doesn't matter too much to me, and one swear word is just is good is the next when you get right down to it anyways.
It's not so surprising that she takes a few seconds to translate around the word 'fuck' before she comes back with a response. By civilian you're referring to Mr Baker? The man they assigned is your roommate?" I ignore the word 'roommate', knowing that's really only a polite cover for what he was really meant to be, and offer her a silent nod instead.
"And it says you visited the Procreation Office on your second morning here to file a complaint? The file doesn't say what though?" Arching a brow a little as I look at her I also can't restrain my smirk. "Well that's the un'fuck'able part..." And I continue to elaborate before she has a chance to ask me to. "...I told them I wasn't touching Howard, so they told me I had five days to find someone I would touch..." Then I do it again I see her glance at her file to no doubt check the day. "...and yes, its day three."
"I see,..." I give up. "...so is that why you wanted to spend the night in a cell again?" Just shrug casually is I watch her pen dance and add another imagined letter to the stick figures doom. "It seemed like a better idea then accidentally strangling him to death for waking me up from a nightmare, don't you think?"
"Is your PTSD that bad?" She asks, this time setting the pen down and looking genuinely, humanly concerned. "I don't know..." But me being me, I roll my eyes. " ...I never had it before, define this 'bad' for me?"
That humanely concerned turns back to blankly unimpressed, and I like it better that way. I don't do pity well, especially from a woman whose job is playing with a pencil. "But you are concerned that he might trigger an episode? That's why you don't want to be with a civilian I take it?" That earns her another mildly annoyed stare. "Yeah, being on a military establishment and all." Then I pull it back and give her a break. "Look, Howard's a nice guy, but that's the real problem, he's to nice. He'll do something stupid, like shake me awake from a nightmare, or touch me when I'm not expecting it or something, and I'll hurt him before I can stop myself."
And at last the really big question "Why would you people put me with a guy who wasn't even here anyways?" Her response is a bit deflating, but ultimately just what I thought it would be. " The housing committee assigns people based on prior relationship status, or physical compatibility I'm afraid." Translation, they don't really care is long is male + female = baby. Got it. "But I agree that in your case that was a mistake, and they should have taken into account your psychological report." Well at least she understands that, maybe she isn't is bad is my bad mood is making her look.
Then she creates a brick wall for my mind to run head first into. "If you are that against the idea of taking a civilian is a partner however, have you considered the option of choosing a soldier?" WAIT, WHAT?!
So there it is, chapter eleven. I hope you enjoyed it and please leave a review.