ataraxionlogs | put me in the hospital for nerves and then they had to commit me

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put me in the hospital for nerves and then they had to commit me

CHARACTERS: Alex "talkin' to myself" Shepherd, his poor CR, and aaanyone else who runs into him.
LOCATION: Lots of places. Scattered through the following week.
WARNINGS: General 'craziness' brought about by mask issues. Not sure where the threads'll go, but it could get a little dark if it takes that turn toward Bad Memory Lane. Alex isn't gonna be violent in any unplanned circumstance, but he may see your character as someone else, or something to that effect.
SUMMARY: Alex put on his mask a while back. On the 9th he put on the mask again. He saw some pretty bad things. The 10th, and Alex is pretty sure what he feared might be coming true. It'll take a little fixing up to make this engine rumble right again.
NOTES: Prose or action fine. And of course like usual, A-OK with any character interaction at any point in this narrative.

(Nov. 10th)

He's lost track of time again. Not in the way you do aboard the ship, either. Sometimes he loses pieces and ends up somewhere with no memory of traveling. It's mostly when he wakes up from sleeping (if he even wakes up at all before he leaves). Ever since he'd put the mask on yet another time and saw vacant dead eyes of too many people (wheeler riddled with holes, holloway with a gushing chin, mom and dad, halved, his brother soaked in lake water), he'd hid that thing away in his room and struggles to keep away from it. It's weird, because he's had that sensation before, like the mask were pills given to him day after day to ease his freewill. The mask itself is simple: A very angular red shape that fits against and around the face like a overwhelming bird beak; he'd have to be a complete moron not to know what it was referring to.

At any rate, he decided not to touch the damned thing again. Hopefully. But even trying to keep the urge to wear it at bay wasn't helping the fact that its already done the damage. Today he snaps awake and finds himself lying across the steps in the pool, half hanging out with his hand on the ledge. It shakes him up enough that he paces out of there, toward the showers and blasts himself with ice-cold water with his clothes still on—minus the heavy jacket. At this point, just to make sure he's awake.

("Did I say you could touch my jacket?")

He leans on the wall and feels frozen there for a moment, water dripping off chin and nose. Eventually he just walks back to his room, cold and wet but at least entirely lucid. He hasn't entirely holed himself up; that'd just make certain convicts upset with him. His 'patrolling' takes the stage front and center, and whatever work he'd done in the gardens was halted altogether. He doesn't go back to say so, either.

(Nov. 12th)

He'd fallen asleep after a few long hours of scribbling on the walls. Originally, he'd wanted to snoop, see if he could see anything regarding Chase's vision. Nothin'. So he just scribbled up the walls more with useless little pictures. He draws until his wrist cramps a little (and people may or may not pass by; he might invite them to draw if they want).

He wakes up leaning on one of the walls further out in the ship. There's a moment where he looks around, bleary-eyed, and glances up to a burn mark on the wall that a certain little girl had left back then, when they drew together; yeah, where she'd drawn a thing with a pyramid-shaped head and then zapped it out of existence for his sake. He wasn't scared of it like he used to be.... Wonder where that place was, that Murphy drew all those words at, though. Alex remembers going back and scratching it all out for him... He wonders if Murphy really could get it. That feeling like you slip away for a second, lost in your own... burdens? Thoughts? Memories? Who knows at this point.

"Mr. Shepherd, you--

--need to take your--"

"--been prescribing-"

"Shut up." His hands draw in towards his ears, as if a piercing sound had reverberated through the halls. He winces at the sensation, all the while bitter with the implications of hearing what isn't really there. Not that he didn't already have plenty of implications that he wasn't doing as well this month. "Just... shut the fuck up."

Or at least stop talking so loud. Christ.

(Nov. 14th)

Wakes up at the pool again. He just sits with his legs in the water, thoughtfully staring down into the scarcely rippling waters. Alex was afraid to visit here sometimes. Had a... dislike of anything like it, honestly.

For some reason, he feels okay. Sometimes he forgets why he didn't like it in the first place. Other times, he remembers how much he swam around in Toluca Lake, with his brother.

Wonder where Josh could be now...?

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Oh

god.

She feels winded. All the air knocked out of her. He's called her that before, and if she'd just paid attention rather than writing it off as a slip... maybe she could have done something. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten this far gone.

She swallows hard, and when she speaks her voice is thick. Stilted.

"What if we went to someone from out of town? I could set that up. He'd never need to know."

She's lying to him. Acting like this, not correcting him, it's a fucking lie and it feels wrong but what can she do? He needs help, and some of that is probably on her. That place must have knocked him right down, and if she needs to feel a little gross to help make this right, then so be it.

He almost laughs at that, but it's too depressing to really laugh about in hindsight... Elle would just make a worried face and pry into it, like a treasure hunter who values pent-up frustrations and feelings. She never did like when he kept anything to himself. Even now, as he sits on the edge of one of Toluca's many docks, he knows she'll be there to try and help, even if that meant talking until curfew broke out for her and him.

...

He looks at her like she's the crazy one, though. It's so strange, because he's surprisingly lucid for someone who's seeing a different picture of reality than her. It almost seems normal, like nothing had changed. The confused look in his eye smooths out into something certain, as if it's a math question with only one definite answer.

"He'd know."

You know he would, Elle. You know he would.

"He - we could - oh, god damn it."

No, it's not gonna happen. Even if it wasn't weird and wrong, she's horrible at it. She sits a little straighter, shakes her head and turns to meet his eye.

"He's not gonna know. He's not here, Alex. And if he did show up, there are enough of us here who care about you to make sure nothing happens." Her legs are still now; no more paddling. No more trying to pretend everything's peachy.

"Look at where you are. Look at me. You know I'm not Elle."

He looks at her, but not really at her. His brow wrinkles, mouth creasing into a deeper frown. Elle, are you off your rocker? What are you saying? Everything's fine; he's sitting next to one of his favorite people in the world, away from the chaos of home, away from all the bad shit. He was happy to be here, even if they chatted about the worst of it.

"What're you talking about...? That's--not funny."

"I know. I know it's not. But it's true. Elle's not here. But if you're as close as I think you are - if you'd talk to her about this stuff - I know she'd want you to be okay too."

She tugs the chain around her neck, pops her locket out of her shirt.

"You know me. Heather, remember? You told me about your dogtags and I told you about my locket, and my dad. We went to the holodeck -" no, that wasn't a happy memory - "we sat outside Murphy and Anne's room. You played drums. You were pretty good."

Something horrified passes his expression—no, he doesn't remember any of that. He doesn't remember a single thing beyond being 18, sitting beside his best friend. He's pretty sure there are birds passing over the lake and the water is all shining and rippled, like always. He blinks, his stomach lurching, trying to compose himself. Something's wrong, but he's here, isn't he? He's most definitely home.

"Well, yeah—you had... you have that locket. With Nora and you in it."

He rubs his forehead, stopping suddenly.

"..... I thought it belonged to Nora? Why did you have it?" His head hurts. He takes a fist of his hair in hand, as if it'll make it easier to recollect everything, and seems to forget she's even there at all. "... They killed your sister... Your mom killed your sister—"

He draws his knees closer, leaning away from the water with a sudden anxiety around it like he wants to crawl away; he's not even sure why. His chin tucks, legs out of the water and leaving a puddle under his shoes and pant-legs. When Alex continues, it's like he's confessing something he's held in for too long. Really, he's not even sure how to talk to Elle about this...

"I'm sorry for your mom. I just... She had me tied down, and I couldn't do anything but sit there—and when she told Curtis to kill you, I just... I couldn't let her take you, too. I couldn't."

Edited 2012-11-20 05:34 (UTC)

Her fingers close around her locket, ready to pop it open -- to show him the picture of Harry that sits in there now the aglaophotis is gone -- but when he keeps talking she freezes. What he's saying is awful, and while she'd like to think it's some sort of false memory from whatever is making him see someone else when he speaks to her there's a ring of truth to it. It fits with everything she knows of him, everything he's said. Everything she knows about that place and how it works, what it does to the people who get caught up in it.

"You did what you had to. They forced you to choose and you made the right choice. I know it, and I know Elle would too."

That's right. He didn't really have a choice, did he? He was fighting for his life, and for Elle's. And... for Wheeler's and Joshua's. Only half of those people made it out alive; one of them was his own fault. The other, he just... watched slowly fade away. He looks at the water, talking in a low voice like he's speaking with an old, old friend.

"I'm sorry I left you behind before it all happened. I should've gotten Josh and you and Nora and just left. We could've just left... Even if they tried to find us, I could've protected you. No, I shouldn't have lived. But I know you'd want me to. I want to. But... Fuck, I ruined your life..."

He looks at her, leaning his head into one hand, smiling in the saddest way, eyes glistening under the lights from above.

"I ruined her life, Heather."

Edited 2012-11-22 05:29 (UTC)

Selfish, but when he says her name she feels a bright flare of hope despite his sad smile and the utterly defeated sound of his voice. Pulls herself back from the pool and crawls over on her knees to crouch behind him place a hand on his shoulder.

"That what you did? 'cause from here, it sounds like you saved it."

There's water pooling under them, slowly trickling and soaking into their clothes. It's uncomfortable, and between that and the brightness of the lights reflecting off the surface of the pool and the sheer stupidity of keeping him in a place that's obviously messing with him, she inches back.

"C'mon, Alex. Let's get out of here. Pool's no fun if you're not gonna swim and chlorine does not agree with my hair."

He's not so sure about that, but he agrees that he shouldn't be there; after a moment of reflection, he looks around the place and seems to quietly recognize that it's definitely no lake that he knows. It's a sad thing, how bits and pieces of reality suddenly return--as suddenly as they'd disappeared. He drags his legs from the water, reaching for the jacket, quickly dragging it back over the scars--that's right, those were from this ship, right? He remembers the otherworld. And Strela. Yeah, all of that. He just... couldn't remember how the hell he got here.

"... Did--I was here when you came in, right?"

It's been a pattern, an off and on one. He kinda' wants to apologize but that'd be pretty lame, right? They've had the conversation about this, and she was okay with it; just... stay calm, Shepherd. Don't freak out, because she gets it.

He squares his shoulders, hands moving to his pockets.

"I don't think I'm sleepwalking, but I don't remember getting here."

"You mean you don't- "

It's terrifying that he doesn't remember that, but she forces herself to take a moment. There are things she can do to help him. Freaking out instead of answering questions like that is not one of them, so she tries again.

"You were, yeah. You talked to me for a little bit. Like, to me. Do you remember?"

"I remember... the last time we talked--that was a few days ago, I think." He looks like he's trying so damn hard to remember--he really is. And the frustration shows on his face; he keeps the angry disappointment (all directed at himself, of course) at bay.

"A few days ago, we talked about... you woke up in a chinese food place once. And you wanted to ask about..." He pauses. "Me talking to someone?"

"Alex. That was - yeah, we talked about all that stuff. Like ten minutes ago."

She drags a hand through her hair, hard, practically on the verge of pulling it out. It's so much worse than she thought, and her worry comes back sharper and stronger. She wants to ask how long it's been happening, but if he's got no concept of time passing that's hardly going to be a useful question.

"Okay, I'm officially freaked out. We have to do something about this. Soon. Preferably now."

"No way..." It's uttered quietly under his breath, disbelieving. But why would Heather lie to him? No, he's losing it, he's losing his mind all over again isn't he—his hands move to the side of his head, staggering with the sudden whiplash the voices and thoughts throw him.

"Mr. Shepherd, my name isn't Heather. It's Georganna. I'm a nurse here, remember?"

He shakes his head, and everything feels like it's not even right; maybe he was wrong, and he's just relapsing again. Maybe Heather's not Heather, but she's someone else entirely—did he make her up? Is everything he's worked so hard for here a lie, because nothing at home worked out? He must be back in the hospital, trying to come to terms with Silent Hill. It must've broken him in half. Maybe Elle left him because he just wasn't right in the head anymore. Maybe he made up Murphy and Heather and Anne because he felt alone. Maybe all of this is just—

"No, no, no, this is all real. This has to be real...!"

Please, God.

Whatever you are, wherever you are, whether you exist or not, whether you're malicious or kind—

Please don't make this all a lie.

He backs away from Heather, a splitting headache pulsing in his ears. He wants to laugh at himself for being a sad sack of issues, but all he can do is put his hands out at his sides and gesture something sad and desperate.

"What's wrong with me??"

"My poor boy, you'll never be what you want to be..."

Edited 2012-12-05 18:21 (UTC)

"The ship is real. I'm real. I'm Heather, and you're here on the ship with me. And I'm going to do every damn thing I can to help you, okay? That's real too."

Part of her says she should call someone. Security, maybe, because as thin as Alex has gotten he's tough - got to be, to have survived what he has - and crazy gives people a whole new level of strength. But there's no way she can think of that would make that feel like anything less than a betrayal.

"What's happening, Alex? What are you seeing? Hearing? What's happening?" and finally, uselessly, because she hopes he'd already have told her if he knew, "What can I do?"

Just take all those pain pills, it'll knock you out flat, his mind tells himself—but then he's just that one patient in his little room, practically drooling into the sheets; he could have so easily slipped further back then, forgot he had people he loved, forget that he was a human being that still had life in him.

He impulse was to run to his room and take the painkillers, as he'd done with his leg... but then the other impulse was to hide from medications, stay far, far away from them. He's not even sure what he wants, and it's worse when Heather asks—he's not sure at all what can be done.

He closes his eyes and leans against the wall.

"Murphy found me here before... He wasn't sure what to do either. I thought I was doing better..."

And there's nothing scarier than knowing even the people you care about most here can't do a damn thing to save you from your own short-circuiting mind. Even worse, what if he hurt them? What if something went wrong and he really saw them as something else? Something bad?

"That's my jacket. Did you ask me if you could touch my jacket??"

"S-sir; yessir," he whispers at the floor; sometimes he forgets he's 22. Sometimes he's 8 or 9, nodding and standing unnaturally still and straight. No, no, Adam Shepherd didn't deserve this jacket. But he's too young to remember that right now, just for this fleeting moment. A fleeting moment that passes, and he looks at Heather and sees her. Not just someone standing there, but Heather, and his face reddens with shame.

"... I thought I was doing better."

He rubs his eyes with his palms tiredly.

"We loved you so much... but they said... we could only choose one."

"... Just... don't leave me behind."

Edited 2012-12-06 09:04 (UTC)

She watches his face carefully. He says so little, but the intensity of whatever is happening in his mind shows all over him. I thought I was doing better, he says, and her stomach knots to hear it. He was doing just fine, from what she could see; maybe needed a decent shot of self-esteem, but for someone who as far as she could tell went straight from treatment into fresh trauma and then wound up here, he'd been doing as well as anyone could.

"Hey," she says, voice sharp. Stern and no-nonsense, just ignore the way she's blinking a little too rapidly, the way her eyes are a little too shiny. "You look at me, Shepherd. Never. We will never leave you behind. And if you try to take off without us you can just forget that shit, we'll follow you. I mean it."

We, because she knows without asking that if Murphy's seen him this way he's gonna be on board. Hell, she might still be a little scared of Anne but the woman's nothing if not determined, so she just goes ahead and counts her in that we too. Of course promises are nice, but Alex needs something a little more tangible, she thinks. Starting now.

"You wanna sleep in my spare tonight? I'd try to pretend that I'm just after sleepover fun but you wouldn't buy it anyway, right? I don't think you should be alone. Or if that's too weird, I bet Murphy would stay with you. But it should be one of us or Medbay, and I really don't wanna send you there if I can help it."

He looks away from her at first, ignoring her hardened, stern stare, and all but flinches when she speaks up. But then she asks that of him and he hesitantly looks up to her and listens very carefully to her words. In a way, things said to him lately have been lifelines. He didn't want to slip again, not like he did four years ago.

He almost says something like a smartass. 'Sleepovers are for girls', something he knew would earn him a playful but sharp punch to the arm. Something light and easy to tease and gripe at. Everything dies in his throat before he can even try to speak it.

...

"No medbay... Please." After another pregnant pause, he smiles, and it's stupidly sad and uncertain, but goddammit, he just wants to cling to the normalcy around here like a scared kid. And it's a stupid joke that's not funny at all, at all, but he's afraid of taking this all seriously. Like it'll suck the life out of him and his relationships with people. "Places like that drive me crazy, y'know?"

Just. One night sleeping over. Like back when he slept on Elle's bedroom floor after a bad night at home—had snuck in without Holloway knowing. Heather wasn't Elle. It'd be fucked up for him to compare them like that... but he knew for sure, they were both ultimately too good for the shit he dragged around with him.

He couldn't bother them anymore than that.

Edited 2012-12-07 08:18 (UTC)

That, Alex Shepherd, is just about the worst joke possible. And it's perfect. She shakes her head, groans deeply, and socks him in the arm - lovingly, of course - with her heart just a tiny bit lighter for the fact that he could make it.

"Douchebag. That was terrible. Just for that I'm not making you any of Dad's famous nightmare-proof cocoa." She stands, stretches, and gives him a smile. "No medbay. We'll get you a decent night's sleep and then you can talk to Jenna. She's awesome, she'll totally get it if you need to meet her somewhere else." And then her smile curls a little at the edges, because familiarity is comforting, right? And what could be more familiar from her than giving him shit?

"And be sure and bring your jammies, because I'm not chasing your dumb sleepwalking ass up the hall if it's naked."

He shakes his head at that, looking apologetic in the same way you'd be for joking about plane crashes while flying in one. He's glad he's not to the point where he can't smile or joke, because then what could he even have to make this easier? Besides people who somehow—somehow—are willing to stick around him, for everything he is.

"Sorry," he replies, "And no way would I let you get blackmail material like that." Not that he particularly thinks she'd ever blackmail him in the middle of a psychotic breakdown or something like it, but still. It's a funny picture, better than the alternative of a completely serious and depressing one.

... But then there's the topic of—Jenna? Whoever that is. He gives pause.

"She's... You think she could really help?"

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put me in the hospital for nerves and then they had to commit me

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