Group Therapy [CALLING ALL 1st AND 2nd WARDERS]

Taken aback slightly at the fact that his reply came with the same amount of gusto (most people--even men--were easy to intimidate when she spoke forcefully and confidently...which she always did), she nevertheless returned fire, raising her own tone a decibel or two, "Well, I don't know who taught you this language, but as far as I've always understood, 'not bad' does convey admiration! And I never assumed you were an invalid!"

Her tone likewise did not fit what she said, and the polite dialect she'd been schooled in was not offering her any better alternatives to convey her frustration. So she compensated for it by calling him something decidedly unpleasant-sounding in her own language, before storming off, face hot with anger. Normally, she would never back out of a fight (especially when the alternative was having a rousing argument), but something about this particular one was too... She couldn't put her finger on it, but she didn't like it.

Was it that she was afraid she wouldn't win?

No. No, definitely not. It was just something he said. The way he said it. Anything. In any case, it was nearly time for specialized group therapy. She scowled at the thought of having to see him later on in the burn victims group, but for now...time to go duke it out with her ex in divorce therapy.

--

Mumbling his thanks as he used his last vestiges of energy to pull his pants back on, he watched her fetch the cigarettes as a satisfied exhaustion settled over him. Maybe it was worth it all, to be thrown into this place, for this.

Too tired to even be alarmed when she was (his barely-functioning heart needed the chance to calm down before getting worked up again), he wearily looked on as she stumbled over herself to get dressed. It was almost like old times: fuck, have a smoke, say goodbye. Except he didn't have to pay, this time. For all intents and purposes, he should have felt like this was a welcome return to normalcy, with an additional fringe benefit.

But after she kissed him sweetly before nearly killing herself in the attempt to get wherever it was she needed to go, he lit up a cigarette and smoked in the sudden silence, and was painfully reminded...

Just how dreary his little cell was.

--

Sonya was in the fetal position. She usually was--or at least, she was significantly more often than the average person. But especially during therapy.

When her sister had failed to show up, and no one had located her (unsurprising, since she herself often didn't know where she was), they'd moved on to one-on-one therapy. Which always seemed to Sonya like nothing more than a game intended to mentally torture her. Today they were doing inkblot tests. 

"What do you see here?"

 She ventured a peek. The black mass on the page he showed her formed the head of an enormous insect, swirling and quivering on the page as though ready to take flight and attack her. Whimpering, she hid her face in her knees again and rocked in her chair.

--

It took a moment to process what was happening. It almost didn't register in his mind, and for more than a second, he could have sworn that he must have been dreaming. Or dead and in heaven. The latter might actually have been more likely, because even in his dreams he didn't dare to imagine anymore that dreams came true.

It didn't matter if she didn't love him back completely. This was all he needed to hear, for now. The overwhelming tension began to fade, though the blush remained. It was gradually accompanied by a relieved smile.

"Really?" He practically whispered, with a laugh, like he couldn't believe his luck. His voice, his mood, his posture were suddenly (almost unnaturally) different--it was as if the nervousness had all but faded away. ...Well, for the most part. "I'm sorry," he laughed again, a little, "This must all seem very strange to you. I'm sorry, I just always expected the worst, I guess..."

But even beyond that, she'd lifted a weight off of his heart that had nearly crushed it over the years. He felt like shaking her hand fervently, or kissing her. Perhaps soon, he finally would. Now that, finally, he was unequivocally in her life.

Broos was similarly frustrated-- but only because he couldn't figure out how he actually felt. He rarely knew what vagueness felt like, but he didn't like it. So, slamming the door to his room, he marched down the hallway in the opposite direction, towards the common rooms to try and find something to get her (for better or worse) out of his mind.

((Eshe..... GO--/shot XD))

--------------------

He was being moved back to the third ward from seclusion. Not much of a change, except the walls were softer... and they made a point to make his door thicker. Sonya said she would come back for him, but if she didn't know they were moving him, he didn't know how she could. It bothered him more than he probably should have been, that she might be in distress because she couldn't find him.

Oh, well. It wasn't like he could tell an orderly to inform her of where he was. He was fully prepared, also, for her to forget about him completely and go back to poking her stomach in whatever ward she was in. Didn't stop him from thinking about her, though.

He was pulled away from those thoughts, however, when someone familiar rushed by the orderlies escorting him. "Excuse me....!!!"

She ran past like a blur. "....Vesna...?!" What was she doing down here?

Looks like she didn't have time to think about him either, and barely looked him as she rushed past. As they got closer to his cell and eventually put him in it, the hallway began to smell suspiciously of smoke. probably one of the orderlies who had no idea of his sensitivity to it. Great.

So he spent the first few minutes in his cell with the brand new door coughing his lungs out. Welcome home.

---------------------

"I'M HERE!" She didn't slow down to come to a slow stop in the room, she continued sprinting until she skidded to a halt in front of the chair, and fell into it, catching her breath. Noticing her sister's fearful look, she turned to the therapist and snatched the rorschach blot out of his hand with a disapproving grunt.

Then she buttoned her shirt. "....I'm here." She looked up at her sister and tried for a smile, and stood up again to stretch out her arms and hug her sister, but ended up deciding against it, and sat back down somberly. They weren't there yet.

The dreaded question, the question she hoped wouldn't come up (though, how wouldn't it?): "And where were you, while you kept your sister waiting?"

She smiled absently and shook her head as if it was no big deal, biting her nails. She was no good at lying-- but it wasn't a whole lie. "I was with a friend. I lost track of time, big fucking deal, can't lock me up for that, can you?"

"No one said anything about that."

"Look...." Normally she would have been enthusiastic. But she was tired, and aching, and felt like she needed more pills-- but she'd left them all with him. "Can we just do this?"

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She felt almost as relieved as he did to see him so, well... relieved. "Really," She smiled along with him, almost basking in the glory of being someone else's object of desire. "Why would you have to be sorry for loving someone? Isn't it supposed to be... the greatest thing you can do?"

He was rich. He was successful. He was handsome (in his own way). He was smart. He was influential. And he would do anything for her-- she assumed. That alone made it easy for her to see the future with him he so lusted after.

"How long..." She ventured shyly. "How long... do you think that you've...loved me?" She wanted to know more-- it wasn't that she couldn't accept that he did... just that she was getting addicted to the feeling of him saying so.