cosima niehaus. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cannulalingus) wrote2014-07-15 11:34 pm
cannulalingus) wrote2014-07-15 11:34 pm
BARH-L2 || SPAM
[ O P E N ]
[ It's hard to do much of anything - breathing's the worst of it, though. Something so simple and she hears her own breath heaving and whistling with every inhale and exhale. She's propped upright by now, at least, shaky and shaken, but okay. Living. Alive. That's crazy. How is she alive?
The cannula's back in place, her sweater sleeves are pulled well and nervously over her hands, and she keeps constantly playing with her hair, adjusting herself, if she's not sleeping it off outright. She wishes she had some of the good stuff. She wishes she had a book, or something, while her limbs shook and shuddered too much to stand, but that was neither here nor there.
She can't blame Helena. Not when she knows the basics. She can't blame her any more than those poor pitbulls can be blamed for being whipped into fighting dogs. She was raised cruel, and she was raised a killer. That's not easy to shake. Logically, at least, she knows.
Consciously, it's kind of hard not to hold it against her.
It's not easy for her to lay on her side - physically, yeah, because she's sore as hell and all over, for that matter - but because she has a strange new temporary paranoia of pointing her back towards anything in particular (or rather away from anyone in particular. But she does anyway, curls on her side and faces the door for anyone who might be walking in. She doesn't expect many visitors, not when she's new here. ]
[ It's hard to do much of anything - breathing's the worst of it, though. Something so simple and she hears her own breath heaving and whistling with every inhale and exhale. She's propped upright by now, at least, shaky and shaken, but okay. Living. Alive. That's crazy. How is she alive?
The cannula's back in place, her sweater sleeves are pulled well and nervously over her hands, and she keeps constantly playing with her hair, adjusting herself, if she's not sleeping it off outright. She wishes she had some of the good stuff. She wishes she had a book, or something, while her limbs shook and shuddered too much to stand, but that was neither here nor there.
She can't blame Helena. Not when she knows the basics. She can't blame her any more than those poor pitbulls can be blamed for being whipped into fighting dogs. She was raised cruel, and she was raised a killer. That's not easy to shake. Logically, at least, she knows.
Consciously, it's kind of hard not to hold it against her.
It's not easy for her to lay on her side - physically, yeah, because she's sore as hell and all over, for that matter - but because she has a strange new temporary paranoia of pointing her back towards anything in particular (or rather away from anyone in particular. But she does anyway, curls on her side and faces the door for anyone who might be walking in. She doesn't expect many visitors, not when she's new here. ]
no subject
[ Cane or not, she might try it soon anyway. This bed-ridden thing? So not her shtick, and never really has been. ]
I'm gonna get bed sores and then I'm a ninety-year-old with too much time on my hands. And then where are we?
no subject
You'll definitely be bedridden for three or four days. After that - I'd say start shuffling around your room.
no subject
Maybe tomorrow. When the shit feeling has waned some more.
[ Three or four days, criminy. She was going to go stir crazy. ]
I have a cane in my room. Just in case, for the - You know, the worse days. Is that something someone could get for me at some point?
no subject