2010-07-06: Psychoanalyze This



Date: July 6, 2010


“Some people are afraid of what they might find if they try to analyze themselves too much, but you have to crawl into your wounds to discover where your fears are. Once the bleeding starts, the cleansing can begin.” Tori Amos

"Psychoanalyze This"

Cell, in a Warehouse, Location Undisclosed

Hours and hours and hours passed. After many a sleepless night and that final feeling of safety, Sydney had barely stirred once she'd finally dozed off. Ten hours later she begins to stir a little unsettled and truly feeling the pain the cement room had caused to her body. Despite how long it had been, it was restless in a way.

She faces the wall on her side, face hidden from the rest of the room, it's a natural thing, really. Her back aches, her feet ache, but none of these pains compare to her face, concealed by her own accord and design. For all of the hours she'd been here, it feels like no time has passed, not to her, anyways. As her eyes flutter open slowly, her gaze turns to the bunk underneath her; it hadn't been a dream. That had happened. Instinctively she reaches to her side where arms had supported her only hours earlier, but they're long gone. And then her gaze catches something else: a water bottle. Labelled with nothing more than a small note. "Today" it reads. She stretches her back a little while still lying there, wordlessly prompting herself to move despite the aches and pains she feels everywhere.

On Sydney's stir to life, life of another sort comes out of the woodwork in the form of her fellow captives. Her guardian may have disappeared, but she's not alone. "Syd— Sydney?" Amy's attention has been drawn from the bottom bunk; she crawls out, inelegantly kicking at her sheets as she emerges. With such a quick reaction to the movement above her, it's fair to say she hadn't been sleeping — but listening, instead. "I think she's awake," she murmurs hurriedly, worriedly, to the other body in the room and wastes no time in climbing her way onto the top bunk. "Syd," she whispers, tired, bloodshot eyes trying to make sense of the younger woman's state of mind, not immediately obvious. "Are— are you okay?"

Fred hasn't slept a wink since Sydney's arrival back to their room, though it may have appeared that he has, having closed his eyes for quite some time. He doesn't make a move to do anything when the others move. Not right away anyway. Could be people moving and/or talking in their sleeps. When when he hears Amy state that she things Sydney's awake, Fred's eyes fly open and he's up in a flash. "Syd?" He whispers as he approaches the bunks.

Everything feels surreal— almost like it's happening to someone else, someone entirely outside of Sydney's existence. She blinks hard to bring everything into focus. Gently she runs a hand over her cheeks, attempting to brush any stray salt left from long-dried tears. But the voices cut into her otherwise surreal-feeling existence. She tries to push the memory of the other room aside, but she fails. So, instead, she tries to focus on the little bit of positive she can find in this room. "Mmmm. People," her voice cracks and her throat scratches against the dryness accumulating in it. "Is that… my voice?" it's almost a squeaky sound amongst the cracks. And then with a small wince she begins to slide herself up slowly. Evidently she's still dehydrated. Grasping the water bottle, she unscrews the cap, all the while still facing the wall.

After clambering up, Amy sits next to Sydney, albeit facing the opposite direction, her knees curled to the side, her head bent away from the ceiling; she looks a mess, but a far cry from the other woman. Instead of broken (at least physically), she's just pale, sallow, tired. And worried — but a small smile appears at Sydney's voice. "We we brought back in after our freak march and you were just here— " She plucks the corner of the note — the mysterious "Today" — in wonder, but it's distracted; her concern is on Sydney herself, her own voice full of tremulous ups and downs. " — I was scared to wake you up, you looked so tired… we thought — we weren't sure you were coming back— "

"We're glad to have you back with us, though." Fred says softly. "We were worried about you. Very much so." He frowns. "H…how are you doing?" He asks tentatively, almost as if he's afraid to ask, afraid to hear. He sighs lightly. While he's been the most calm this whole while, there's nothing like worrying about someone you care about to take a year or two off.

"I am…" the same scratchy voice tries to answer the wall as if collecting some thoughts and trying to find some semblance of tact before Sydney draws the bottle to her lips. After swallowing, she glances down at her very pale arms— her veins still brightly iridescent underneath her skin, even underneath that powdering of cement dust thanks to the all cement room. "…see through." Thanks to the refreshing water, her voice is just a little less ragged than before. She frowns, just a little before she puts the bottle down and recaps it. She'll have more in a few when the queasiness over everything subsides.

"I wasn't sure of anything. Least of all coming back." There's a distinct pause as she shivers only to ask the question that plagued her the day before, "W-what day is it?" She wants to know how long she'd been away. There's another moment's hesitation as she recaps it. "I'm… going to turn around. Don't… please don't— " Don't what exactly?

Amy couldn't truly look any more concerned — her tired features are the textbook example of concern, the knit brows, the half-frown, the glassy eyes that study Sydney with so much worry. Don't— ? "… I know you're hurt, sweetie," she says softly, a cautious guess to fill in the blanks. She couldn't just leave Sydney up there unchecked before now — she had to make sure she was alive. In this place… anything could happen. With some shuffling about, she makes sure she's facing away from Sydney and, a more defined frown appearing, she holds up a hand at Fred, a small gesture to give their fellow captive some space. "It's Monday," Amy answers quietly. "The fifth. Or… it might be Tuesday. The TV hasn't been on for awhile."

Fred shakes his head. "Don't worry, this is as real as it gets…unfortunately." He mutters the last word almost inaudibly. "Whatever's wrong, Syd, nothing can…make us concerned any more than we've already been." He says softly. Taking Amy's hand, he helps her down. "I'll default to Dr. Masterson on this one. I'm not exactly sure what the date is."

"Just… don't… comment. Please."

Sydney's features harden at the date. A week. It's been a week. It felt like a lifetime. Sucking in a tense breath, she swallows hard as her eyebrows knit together. "It's not— it's not as bad as it looks," not that she has any idea what she looks like, which may be her saving grace in all of this. "And it's not like you haven't seen me with worse, Amy… I promise I've had worse…" Fred? Not so much. Not like this, anyways. Things never were as bad with Scott as when Syd had left Bryce.

With another ragged breath, she tentatively turns around. Slowly. The bruising eerie in the lighting, distinctive. The left side not as bad as the right. Her eyes are still bloodshot and skin unbelievably pale. She raises her Laurie-bandaged hand to one of her cheeks as she glances from one therapist to the other several times over.

Amy instantly lets go of Fred once she hops down, in order to bring her hand to her head, both tiredly and as a shield from Sydney at first, until she can hear nothing. Almost reluctant herself to see the injuries in the light, she only stands there at first, her mouth a thin line. "It doesn't matter which is worse…" she says as she slowly turns around. The sight of Sydney prompts an immediate reaction in Amy, a sad widening of her eyes — it's heartbreakingly familiar. "Roberto?" she ventures with venom. She reaches both her hands up toward Sydney, her reassuring grip reaching for whatever it can. She hisses: "If he or one of his thugs did anything else to you in all that time— " Amy will— well, she's not sure yet, but it's something suitably vengeful. "I'm just— I'm glad you're alive, Sydney, what on earth happened?!"

Fred gives Amy a little nod and turns his attention back to Sydney. As she turns around to face them, his eyes widen slightly as well. He blinks, his mouth opens, and then closes, and then opens again. He's definitely at a loss for words at the moment, which is rare for him. He just…stares. After a short little while, he says, "I…oh Sydney." He turns away, gazing at the other wall. It's hard to see, especially when it's someone you care about. Not that he hasn't seen people who look like this before, but still…this is someone he really, truly cares about.

The reactions make Sydney feel queasy again. Her face pales a little more (if at all possible) as she trembles and bites her bottom lip. That heartbreakingly familiar expression from Amy and Fred's turning away cut at the blonde, whether or not she'd want to admit it, and she hasn't the neutrality to hide it. Her own eyes turn a little glossy as she sniffles again; she doesn't want more tears not after the other day when she'd literally lost it here and cried herself to sleep.

"Only Roberto," Sydney whispers. It's what she can manage to say. "His.. his ability is broken too. He thinks… he thinks I did it." Pressing her lips into a thin line, she tries to harden her expressions again and feels her bottom lip quiver, but just presses her upper lip firmer into her thin one.

"Oh, God. Of course he does…" Amy wants nothing more than to say 'you're okay now' — but it might be a lie and she can't bring herself to give words of comfort than might not be true. She curls her hands up onto Sydney's knees, instead, looking up at the broken therapist. After a knowing glance to Fred — she knows how he feels — she tries, stubbornly, to focus on what good she can find. "Well you have a bandage," she points out. "And water. At least he brought you back. All this time, where've— where've you been? I mean, y-you— you look like a ghost…"

Fred shakes his head, though whether it's to something one of the others said or not is yet to be seen. Slowly, every so slowly, his 'Dr. Zen' persona has been slipping. And now it seems is a breaking point for him. Or perhaps he just needs to let off some steam. Either way, his fist suddenly and quickly hits the wall loudly and he lets out a little growl. "I hate that Roberto. I hate him. What give him the right? What gives him the right to treat y…people like this? I don't care if he's deranged. I'll kill him myself if it'll stop him!" He shouts…perhaps a little to loudly. He gives a glance at the door, just to make sure there's no one rushing in to see what all the shouting is about.

More human contact. Sydney melts just a little under the touch, but she bites her bottom lip as hard as she can to keep the waterworks in, only causing her split lip to draw blood all over again. With the metallic taste in her mouth, she brings her hand to her lip to apply pressure with her bandage, which all things considered turned out really well. Fred's response earns some silence and a small tremble from the blonde. She's terrified. It really is fortunate for everyone else her ability isn't working.

After letting that silence creep over the room she shakes her head emotionlessly. "He didn't bring me back." Pause. "Laurence did. And the bandage. And the water. And… the note. All Laurence." She twitches. "He wants to get us out." Picking up the note she adds even quieter, "Today. I think."

Amy flinches at Fred's — granted, well-deserved — outburst, her exhaustion and constant anxiety causing her nerves to be forever on-edge. Inadvertently, her fingers dig into Sydney for an instant. Once her heart stops its initial pounding, she looks to the man. "Fred…" A quiet warning, more than a reassurance. Confused eyes then turn up to Sydney and blink at the note. "Today?" Her voice stays quiet — just incase the ruckus drew anyone closer to their cell door. "What— you're sure he— but how?"

Fred shakes his head. "Who is this 'Laurence'? And if he can help us today, why in the world didn't he help us before today? We've been locked up in here for god knows HOW long and he's only just saying he'll help us NOW?" He shakes his head. "Yeah. Great guy he is. Great pal. Glad he's on our side." He says sarcastically, rolling his eyes and turning to face the other two. He crosses his arms and looks at Amy. "Don't 'Fred' me. I'm angry! I've got every right to be! This has gone on long enough! Something has to be done about Roberto!"

When the fingers dig into her knees, Sydney flinches just a little. She's worse-for-wear today. Wearily, she rests her face in her hands only to drop her hands to her side again. She's a mess and she's all-too-aware.

Sydney kind of shrugs at Amy's questions. She knows no details about Laurie's plans or what he aims to do, all she has is a note. One word. Today.

Her glossy eyes blink frantically at the cuts against Laurie. She trembles again as goosebumps form along her arms, and then quietly swallows back her tears again, allowing none to shed yet. "…I think… he looks worse for wear than I do… I think…" not that she can see herself or has seen herself. Or even desires to see herself. "I… don't know why Miles is here at all," she whispers. "He shouldnt've been cleared for this…" her words run together some as she chokes back a hiccuppy gasp for air.

"Please— just— keep your voice down. C'mon," Amy scolds Fred quietly. "Roberto deserves hell but let's be realistic. The best we can do is get out of here," she goes on with a hiss to her heated words to keep them quiet. "Alive," she adds, in case that wasn't clear.

"This… guy— " Amy's arched eyebrows knit together and she rolls her eyes as if to give the non-present man in question, Laurence Miles, a weird look. " — frankly he scares the bejeesus out of me. But, hey, if he wants to help us, to save… us from even worse fates," a glance goes to Syd and the dark and pale contrasts over her face, "I can forgive him being a little late." Her head swings back to Sydney and instantly her expression softens, much gentler squeeze going to the woman's knee.

Fred glares at Amy. "If they come here because I'VE been too loud, it'll be ME that they take, not either of you! And to be honest, I couldn't care less!" Punching at the wall again, he moves to the corning and sits down, he back against the wall, glaring down at the floor silently.

The squeeze actually draws tears now. Amy is like a sister, there's no brave face to be had anymore. She blinks furiously to tame those tears, desperately trying to hold them in, but try as she might a few strays escape. Her shoulders tighten and relax, desperate to calm, but amid everything, instead, she leans forward, still starved for some human contact, to cry on Amy's shoulder. The brave is beat out of her.

Amy emboldens herself against Fred's shouts this time; she tenses, but manages not to flinch. She says nothing to him, thinking maybe silence is the best route. Standing still, she reaches up and wraps her arms around Sydney's neck, holding the woman on the top bunk gently to her shoulder, ginger, so as not to hurt her more than she already is, and leans her red head to the blonde's. "Sh-shhh. It's okay," she whispers after all. "We're gonna be okay." It's not lying. It's hoping.

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