Jada woke up from Elysion as the sun rose over the volcanoes and the cooling lava. She woke to her body choking, arching into the air, trying to heave back up the blood that had been pouring down the back of her throat from her nose, the pain in her bruised body more than she could stand with no adrenaline coursing through her veins to keep her standing. She couldn't scream, couldn't scream, couldn't let herself scream- it would wake Szelem and Lucas on the second floor, probably traveling down to wake Zora on the third floor. The heiress rolled out of her bed, trying to ignore the blood that poured onto the expensive Persian rug that covered her hardwood floors, crawling and stumbling her way to the bathroom. She couldn't even make it to the toilet before she was heaving, vomiting from the pain and the bile in her stomach. When she was done, she pushed to her feet, moving around the foul-smelling puddle on the floor and grabbing her washcloth from next to the sink. The shower was cold when she sat on the edge of the tub, turning on the cold water.
Across the room the mirror was reflecting a battered woman, barely even so, a child with one eye swollen mostly shut. Jada's white tank top was sticky with blood, and her boy-shorts had not covered enough of her to keep her from getting blood on her legs as she'd crawled across the floor. She felt like she was hemorrhaging out or something, even though she knew she wasn't. If it was that bad, she'd be unconscious or something. She was overreacting. She was... oh, s**t, there was so much blood. She'd never hurt like this but once, maybe twice, and there had been a hospital there each time. At least with the Salamanders she'd been unconscious. And the wound had cauterized itself on impact. She hadn't had to watch herself... She looked like she'd butchered a damn animal, not like she'd just woken up from a night's sleep. The cloth was cold, dripping when she lifted it towards her face hesitantly. Before it touched the skin she paused, swallowing a lump of goo in her throat and trying not to think about what it was. Her hands were shaking, and she didn't trust that her nose wasn't broken.
Breathe out.
She closed her eyes against the cold, burying her face in the cool cloth and slipping her face into it, gasping as she felt the coarse material rub against the small cuts and the pressure of her fingers on the bruises. Her left eye wouldn't open at all. It was a sad realization, and Jada slid into the garden tub, resting her body against the edge and letting herself slump. Her right cheek was numb, and she had a wiggly tooth. Jada didn't want to go to the doctor, but she might have to. Her knee hurt, she realized, and one of her ribs was sore. Though really, in a way it was no less than she deserved for not using her power up until the bitter end. She could have helped people, she could have avoided being so injured, if she had only given in to the lure of her powers. Andromache wouldn't be hurt like this, and then again she also wouldn't be crying like this, tears squeezing out through swollen tear ducts. Then again, the former Scylla had been, in the heiresses opinion, the taller, sexier version of Xena: Warrior Princess. True, Andromache had also been lonelier. She had no Gabrielle, not even an Ares. It had been next to impossible for a woman who made her place in that 'man's world' to be allowed to show weakness. To show that she was a woman at all.
Jada couldn't start to pity her. To start pitying Andromache, or to start pitying herself would be mental suicide. Self-pity, her mother whispered in her ear, Is a parasite. A destructive, insidious little worm. You grab it, and you yank it, and you step on it.
Ugh, her bathroom smelled like metal and stomach acid. At least she could smell at all, though. She pulled off her bloodied top and rose up, peeling off her boy shorts. The water was pink, starting to flood the tub, but she stood and washed off the blood into it as it pooled around her toes, checking herself for previously unnoticed cuts or bruises. Her body screamed as the water beat against her flesh, and when she couldn't take it anymore she pushed out of the shower, ignoring the pink water dripping onto the floor. Her hair cling to her knees, trailing down the curves of her body until she peeled it away from her, holding it out in her hand. There was blood in her hair too, she could see the pink dripping from the ends of her hair and onto the floor. She couldn't take aspirin for the pain. It thinned the blood. She would have to take acetaminophen. She popped three pills, one too many for healthy, swallowing them down dry. They tasted disgusting. In the mirror, her naked body looked a little like a calico cat, with splotches in green, blue and purple, with a little red and skintone for highlight.
The teenager ached. She hurt. She looked like she'd been beaten half to death. Damn, she even had bruises on her bottom- her tailbone was almost black, the red crescent moon of her court standing out proudly on her skin where it was nestled just above her cheeks. It was the color of blood. The color of war. Her eye was completely shut now, the color spreading out neatly over her face. Thank goodness her nose hadn't actually broken. A nose job to try and fix it would suck. As it was, she was going to be ugly. Szelem would be horrified, especially as she'd come to town to-- well, no, Jada didn't want to think about it.
What could she say to try and explain this? What could she say to try and wash this out of the mind of her siblings? This was the first time she had absolutely no explanation. Her car had been stolen on Valentines day, and just found in a lake yesterday. And probably everyone among Jada's family and friends knew she couldn't get a man, much less keep one. She couldn't attract normal boys, only old men and nutjobs. A guy her age that she might attract was probably a drug pusher or a mafia wannabe, and while Jada's taste in men sucked, she wasn't that desperate.
Jada, what did mother tell you about pity?
Alright, so a boyfriend excuse wouldn't fly. Besides, Szelem would probably demand to meet him immediately. The only thing left to claim would be a robbery, or the victim of a random assault on the street. And if she used either of those yet again, the bodyguards would be back, en masse. She was already ducking and dodging them enough to make her parents uncomfortable. Michael, at least. She might be able to make it out the door before anyone noticed her, but it would be tight, and they would certainly notice the taxi pulling up. The other option was to henshin, but she was in no condition to accept the risks that came with it. Still, there were more important things. How was she going to get her sheets out? The towels she would have to use to clean up the mess on the floor? Her persian carpet, her clothes?
If it had only been a simple nosebleed, she could have claimed allergies. A simple nosebleed in her sleep, escalated to vomiting. But with these bruises... She had no makeup that could cover this. After all, if she'd punched herself in her sleep, the angle would be all wrong. She was out of the shower, and the cold water was running, so she took the time to get one of the garnet towels out of the closet and drop it on the floor, starting to sop up her mess. She didn't want the tile to stain, after all. Her knees ached as she crawled across the floor, and she heard her spine give an unpleasant crack that felt incredibly nice. It took what seemed like forever, listening to the sound of water, and she had to use her Navy towels too; at last the floor was clean, the sheets pulled off her bed, and the bundle tossed in a hamper that she could take downstairs later. She remade the bed, and then stepped back into the shower. The pink was clear one wash later, but she gave it another for good luck. Her body was glowing a bright red when she stepped out of the water, every inch of her scrubbed clean. She carefully dried her hair, put on makeup. It was impossible to hide her eye. She would have to brave the downstairs, for ice.
For a while it was quiet, no one there to hear her tiptoe across the floor. Her head was in the freezer, and she was finishing her icepack, when Zora came into the room, yawning. “Morning, Jayj.” she told her sister's back, scratching her butt. “Whatcha getting?”
“I was in the mood for something cold.” Jada said, head muffled.
“Oh.” Zora said, pouring herself some cereal. “Hey, I need the milk.”
“Oh, sure.” Jada said, and turned away, managing to keep her face from Zora's. Lucas was standing in the door, and he screamed when he saw her eye. Fffff. “Hey, hush, you'll wake up mom.”
“What?”
Zora tugged on her older sister's arm, pulling her around to see her. Her redheaded little sister was already so tall at thirteen, coming up to almost Jada's height. “What happened to you?!”
“Shh. Nothing. I... I don't want mom to know.”
“I don't know how you're going to hide this. Who did this to you?”
“... I tripped.” Jada said lamely.
“Jada!”
“No one is coming back for you, are they?” Lucas' voice wibbled a bit, and Jada saw, in one glorious moment, a reprieve. She could lie. She could say he hadn't died, say that he was still out there. The morgue had been a mistake, it hadn't been the stalker. But god, it would mean more bodyguards. It would mean no freedom. It would mean lying, not just little fibs.
“No, baby. No one is coming for me.” she said softly, feeling her last hope for giving no excuse slide through her fingers. “I really did trip.”
“You're a liar, Jada Chamberlyn.” Zora whispered, so only her sister could hear. “You're a liar.”
Across the room the mirror was reflecting a battered woman, barely even so, a child with one eye swollen mostly shut. Jada's white tank top was sticky with blood, and her boy-shorts had not covered enough of her to keep her from getting blood on her legs as she'd crawled across the floor. She felt like she was hemorrhaging out or something, even though she knew she wasn't. If it was that bad, she'd be unconscious or something. She was overreacting. She was... oh, s**t, there was so much blood. She'd never hurt like this but once, maybe twice, and there had been a hospital there each time. At least with the Salamanders she'd been unconscious. And the wound had cauterized itself on impact. She hadn't had to watch herself... She looked like she'd butchered a damn animal, not like she'd just woken up from a night's sleep. The cloth was cold, dripping when she lifted it towards her face hesitantly. Before it touched the skin she paused, swallowing a lump of goo in her throat and trying not to think about what it was. Her hands were shaking, and she didn't trust that her nose wasn't broken.
Breathe out.
She closed her eyes against the cold, burying her face in the cool cloth and slipping her face into it, gasping as she felt the coarse material rub against the small cuts and the pressure of her fingers on the bruises. Her left eye wouldn't open at all. It was a sad realization, and Jada slid into the garden tub, resting her body against the edge and letting herself slump. Her right cheek was numb, and she had a wiggly tooth. Jada didn't want to go to the doctor, but she might have to. Her knee hurt, she realized, and one of her ribs was sore. Though really, in a way it was no less than she deserved for not using her power up until the bitter end. She could have helped people, she could have avoided being so injured, if she had only given in to the lure of her powers. Andromache wouldn't be hurt like this, and then again she also wouldn't be crying like this, tears squeezing out through swollen tear ducts. Then again, the former Scylla had been, in the heiresses opinion, the taller, sexier version of Xena: Warrior Princess. True, Andromache had also been lonelier. She had no Gabrielle, not even an Ares. It had been next to impossible for a woman who made her place in that 'man's world' to be allowed to show weakness. To show that she was a woman at all.
Jada couldn't start to pity her. To start pitying Andromache, or to start pitying herself would be mental suicide. Self-pity, her mother whispered in her ear, Is a parasite. A destructive, insidious little worm. You grab it, and you yank it, and you step on it.
Ugh, her bathroom smelled like metal and stomach acid. At least she could smell at all, though. She pulled off her bloodied top and rose up, peeling off her boy shorts. The water was pink, starting to flood the tub, but she stood and washed off the blood into it as it pooled around her toes, checking herself for previously unnoticed cuts or bruises. Her body screamed as the water beat against her flesh, and when she couldn't take it anymore she pushed out of the shower, ignoring the pink water dripping onto the floor. Her hair cling to her knees, trailing down the curves of her body until she peeled it away from her, holding it out in her hand. There was blood in her hair too, she could see the pink dripping from the ends of her hair and onto the floor. She couldn't take aspirin for the pain. It thinned the blood. She would have to take acetaminophen. She popped three pills, one too many for healthy, swallowing them down dry. They tasted disgusting. In the mirror, her naked body looked a little like a calico cat, with splotches in green, blue and purple, with a little red and skintone for highlight.
The teenager ached. She hurt. She looked like she'd been beaten half to death. Damn, she even had bruises on her bottom- her tailbone was almost black, the red crescent moon of her court standing out proudly on her skin where it was nestled just above her cheeks. It was the color of blood. The color of war. Her eye was completely shut now, the color spreading out neatly over her face. Thank goodness her nose hadn't actually broken. A nose job to try and fix it would suck. As it was, she was going to be ugly. Szelem would be horrified, especially as she'd come to town to-- well, no, Jada didn't want to think about it.
What could she say to try and explain this? What could she say to try and wash this out of the mind of her siblings? This was the first time she had absolutely no explanation. Her car had been stolen on Valentines day, and just found in a lake yesterday. And probably everyone among Jada's family and friends knew she couldn't get a man, much less keep one. She couldn't attract normal boys, only old men and nutjobs. A guy her age that she might attract was probably a drug pusher or a mafia wannabe, and while Jada's taste in men sucked, she wasn't that desperate.
Jada, what did mother tell you about pity?
Alright, so a boyfriend excuse wouldn't fly. Besides, Szelem would probably demand to meet him immediately. The only thing left to claim would be a robbery, or the victim of a random assault on the street. And if she used either of those yet again, the bodyguards would be back, en masse. She was already ducking and dodging them enough to make her parents uncomfortable. Michael, at least. She might be able to make it out the door before anyone noticed her, but it would be tight, and they would certainly notice the taxi pulling up. The other option was to henshin, but she was in no condition to accept the risks that came with it. Still, there were more important things. How was she going to get her sheets out? The towels she would have to use to clean up the mess on the floor? Her persian carpet, her clothes?
If it had only been a simple nosebleed, she could have claimed allergies. A simple nosebleed in her sleep, escalated to vomiting. But with these bruises... She had no makeup that could cover this. After all, if she'd punched herself in her sleep, the angle would be all wrong. She was out of the shower, and the cold water was running, so she took the time to get one of the garnet towels out of the closet and drop it on the floor, starting to sop up her mess. She didn't want the tile to stain, after all. Her knees ached as she crawled across the floor, and she heard her spine give an unpleasant crack that felt incredibly nice. It took what seemed like forever, listening to the sound of water, and she had to use her Navy towels too; at last the floor was clean, the sheets pulled off her bed, and the bundle tossed in a hamper that she could take downstairs later. She remade the bed, and then stepped back into the shower. The pink was clear one wash later, but she gave it another for good luck. Her body was glowing a bright red when she stepped out of the water, every inch of her scrubbed clean. She carefully dried her hair, put on makeup. It was impossible to hide her eye. She would have to brave the downstairs, for ice.
For a while it was quiet, no one there to hear her tiptoe across the floor. Her head was in the freezer, and she was finishing her icepack, when Zora came into the room, yawning. “Morning, Jayj.” she told her sister's back, scratching her butt. “Whatcha getting?”
“I was in the mood for something cold.” Jada said, head muffled.
“Oh.” Zora said, pouring herself some cereal. “Hey, I need the milk.”
“Oh, sure.” Jada said, and turned away, managing to keep her face from Zora's. Lucas was standing in the door, and he screamed when he saw her eye. Fffff. “Hey, hush, you'll wake up mom.”
“What?”
Zora tugged on her older sister's arm, pulling her around to see her. Her redheaded little sister was already so tall at thirteen, coming up to almost Jada's height. “What happened to you?!”
“Shh. Nothing. I... I don't want mom to know.”
“I don't know how you're going to hide this. Who did this to you?”
“... I tripped.” Jada said lamely.
“Jada!”
“No one is coming back for you, are they?” Lucas' voice wibbled a bit, and Jada saw, in one glorious moment, a reprieve. She could lie. She could say he hadn't died, say that he was still out there. The morgue had been a mistake, it hadn't been the stalker. But god, it would mean more bodyguards. It would mean no freedom. It would mean lying, not just little fibs.
“No, baby. No one is coming for me.” she said softly, feeling her last hope for giving no excuse slide through her fingers. “I really did trip.”
“You're a liar, Jada Chamberlyn.” Zora whispered, so only her sister could hear. “You're a liar.”
