hebeimmortalized: (stressed out)
It's almost time for her to go. Just a few more sleeps, and she'll be back in her own house, in her own room, with her own family. It's exciting, and also terrifying. She remembers why she's here. Sometimes, the chronology is wrong. Her grasp on time isn't what it used to be, but that doesn't mean she just forgot the things she'd done. She knows her family doesn't hold her shit against her. It isn't really her fault that any of it had happened. It isn't like she herself hadn't been directly affected by the shit that had happened.

She'd talked about it with Dr. Kapoor at length. She's going to be going home, and Jillie is pretty sure she can handle it. Okay, she's very sure she can handle it. Maybe. It's just that, now that she's lucid almost all the time, she's keenly aware of the fact that she'd stabbed her mother. And there's forgiveness and family therapy and all that, but every now and again, it feels like the fact just sort of punches her in the gut.

She grips the mala beads that Jack had given her, rubbing them furiously between her forefinger and thumb, and looks at the green frog that hides her cigarettes. Rupert will be by soon to make sure she goes to bed, but she can fit in just one more smoke. She sits as close to the window as she can and pulls out her cigarettes.

Jillie takes a deep breath as she drags on the first cigarette. It'll be fine, she's sure. The little war inside her head is being waged afresh with this niggling anxiety. She squeezes her eyes shut and coughs a little when her cigarette is suddenly just a filter, smoked to its limit. She lights up another with shaking hands and holds it between her fingers while she tugs, with her free hand, against the hair at the back of her neck. It's longer than it had been when she'd met Bex. Sometimes it feels like that had been a few days ago, but it hadn't. It had been months ago. Now, she can almost tie it up, and the curl is starting to fade with length. She swallows and drags again, then goes back to furiously worrying the beads.

Just a few more sleeps, and she'll be able to spend as much time as she wants with Jack. She'll have more space, and a little bit more freedom, and maybe she and Bex can go to the movies, and maybe they can go clothes shopping. Jillie can show her the shoes with the bows. She can get Jack a present. Or, well, she can make Bex get Jack a present.

Jillie finishes her cigarette and waves the smoke out the small window. She tucks her lighter into the empty space in the soft carton, and tucks the entire thing into the waistband of her pants, partially hidden by the pajama top tied around her waist. She moves from her bed to the desk and starts working on a new word puzzle. Just something to quiet her brain, pass the time.

She doesn't intend to fall asleep.

When she wakes, she's on the floor. She frowns and pushes up off her shoulder. Her body is stiff from laying here for way too long, and she feels chilly. Jillie groans a little from discomfort and reaches blindly for her bed to grab her blanket.

. . . What? Jillie's frown deepens and she looks towards her bed. Except it isn't there. Her stomach does a quick, twisty flop in her belly. She looks around, blinking rapidly, eyes casting left and right. She isn't in her room. She isn't in the hospital.

There's a bookshelf over to the right, built onto a counter. It's laden with books, and on top is a cash register. She's in a store. She can see that now. Not the hospital gift shop, but some store, somewhere, somehow. She spins around on her butt, drawing her knees up to her chest. There's a door, and more bookshelves, and a few little tables. Some of the tables have more books, set up as a display. Some are just for sitting at. Above the counter is a sign that reads

'Darrow Zen Center
bookstore'

This isn't right.

No. No, no. How the hell'd she get here? How much time has she lost? Where is 'Darrow', and how far from San Francisco is it? Jillie feels panic welling up inside her and her mouth starts moving, muttering tight, nervous words. This isn't real, is it? This can't be real.

"R-Rupert?" she calls. She feels like she needs something to ground her, like she's floating away and needs to remember what's real. Jillie hugs herself tightly and reaches up with one hand to cling and pull at her hair. "Hello!? Hello?"

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Jillie Vincent

October 2017

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