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Pain.
Blossoming in his chest. His heart thumping underneath his bandages. A stinging that can’t stop. Won’t stop. Never stops. It fills his stomach, his arms, his thighs. It crawls into his throat, spreading and flowing across his face. Blisters that pop with pus and blood. It’s unbearable .
Pain.
Could’ve saved his crew members. He could’ve fixed all of this. He wanted out but… Every time he tries to explain, all he can do is gargle and gurgle out nonsense. Underneath everyone’s narrowed, scared eyes. With no way to speak, he’s to blame. He can hear their whispers and murmurs across the way, in the lounge. “Why did he do this?”
Pain.
Time ticks and ticks and ticks. He watched the lifeless screen turn from day to night, day to night, day to night. How long has it been since he’s laid here? Since they swerved into the asteroids? How long has he had to sit in his own blood and pus. His eyes burn without his eyelids, staring up at the ceiling, connecting all the little spots and memorising them.
There’s shuffling around the room, by the only person keeping him sane.
He wants to see her. He wishes she would pop up into his vision. He hears her rummage around the medical bay, her shadow lightly stretching across the wall and ceiling. Cabinets opening and closing. Pill bottles clanging around. The rustling of fabric against each other. Slow and quiet breaths. He lets in a wheezy breath with her own.
Slowly, hesitantly, footsteps step towards him. One right after the other, like he’s a lost, little animal. Black hair drapes over him, into his vision, and her eyes meet his.
Anya.
( Curly sits next to Anya. They’re so close, yet so far away. She barely glances at him when she speaks, staring at the moon that shines into the darkness of the lounge.
“If you look really, really close, you can see there’s a dead pixel in the right corner.” )
No one else ever comes into this room. He can tell by heavy footsteps that Swansea walks by, ignoring the body that writhes and groans in pain in the middle of the room. Daisuke would, only a few times, before the sight of his mangled and rotting body turned him away. Now it’s just Anya… And Jimmy.
Jimmy.
( “In the back of my mind, it’s always there.”
“I don’t think it ruins the illusion though,” Curly states, barely missing the way Anya’s shoulders slump with his words, “It’s peaceful… But maybe I’m just used to looking at the bigger picture.” )
Jimmy comes into this room. Often. Too often. His presence fills every room he walks into. Even with his paralysed body, he can feel how tense the room gets once Jimmy enters Anya’s space. The way Anya moves more rigidly, fingers trembling as she touches his skin. All while Jimmy breathes against her neck. He can see how her eyes get glossy and far away.
He sits there, watching as Anya moves above him. Her eyebrows are creased ever so slightly with corners of her mouth downturned. It’s impossible to notice, but when all you ever do is see and experience, it’s so apparent.
Anya steps away from him as other footsteps make their way into the room. Strong, paced steps– Jimmy enters the room.
He tilts his head just so. His neck screams at him, begging him to stop moving, but he has to watch. They’re talking.
Anya doesn’t hold her head up high as she speaks, staring down at the floor. “I was hoping you could help me with Captain–”
“Curly,” Jimmy interrupts her. He towers over her. over her. over her. Eyes narrowed a smidge. He sounds annoyed.
“Right… Sorry…” Anya murmurs. “With… Curly’s medication?”
“People have to be worth their titles,” Jimmy says, “don’t you think, Nurse Anya?” He tilts his head.
Anya stutters, “Y-Yeah… Forget I asked.”
Jimmy sighs, lips pursing. A hint of a mocking tone. He’s belittling Anya. How often has he done that? Was that recent? Has he always treated her like that?
“I’ll take care of it,” Jimmy says, rolling his eyes. They drag over to where he lays. Jimmy steps away from Anya towards the counter and she stops holding her breath.
She steps closer to the door.
Jimmy’s fingers grip his chin. His mouth is forced open. A gross, disgusting, squelching noise as his jaw drops and his tongue flops around. Jimmy pops open the bottle easily, and with his other hand, pill after pill is shoved down his throat. He is gurgling and gagging with each finger that scratches the back of his mouth. It has to be like this.
Anya makes a weird noise. “I-I can’t bear to listen…” She says, voice timid. Her feet shuffle against the floor.
Another finger. Another pill. Another gag and a choke.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry!” Anya sobs, running out the door into the lounge.
Jimmy doesn’t react, eyes watching Curly’s lazily. Pill after Pill. How many is he supposed to take? How many has he taken? It must be hours with Jimmy. Hands on his jaw and body, fingers down his throat, towering over him and blocking out the light. I hope this hurts.
( “Why do you think the Pony Express put a lock in the medical room door, but not in the sleeping quarters?” Anya asks. )
It finally ends when Jimmy grunts, wiping his fingers on his shirt, and walking out of the room. Footsteps fading into the sound of his own breathing. His eyes burn and so does his throat.
( “Safety,” Curly replies. )
Silence.
He lays, staring at the ceiling once more. It’s silence. For seconds. For minutes. For hours. For days… before quiet footsteps make their way into the room. His pain fades away. Not fully.
He can still feel fingers digging their way into his mouth, shoving past his teeth and tongue, into his throat. He wants to puke. No regard to how he felt, but surely, that’s what was needed. Someone who could force past the uncomfortable feeling and give him what he needs.
He glances towards the door. Pointlessly. The bridge of his nose stops him from seeing who’s there. But he doesn’t need to see to know.
It’s still unbearable. The burn that stretches across his entire body. His lack of limbs and hair.
Is this how you felt?
(
“What did he say?”
)
He wishes he could ask her, but he knows, even if he could, he wouldn’t.
( “Nothing that makes a difference.” )
“I’m going to touch you now,” Anya murmurs into the air, “to fix your bandages.” Cold fingers touch his hot body, running along his wet, soaking bandages. “We don’t have any left. I’ll need to find a substitute.” She dabs at his skin with a towel, soaking up blood.
Is this what Jimmy did to you?
He watches her. her eyes follow her own hands, before they flutter up to him– unsurprised.
( “Curly, I don’t want him in here anymore–” )
And I did nothing?
( “Hold on, fuck. Just wait, I need to find him.” )
Take responsibility.
Curly opens his mouth. He lets out a gurgly, wheezy noise. Anya’s eyebrows furrow.
Take responsibility.
( “Everything’s going to be okay,” Curly says, hand placed on her shoulder.
Anya stares at the floor. She’s curled up into a little ball. And she doesn’t speak. )
His head turns slightly, ignoring the stinging pain in his neck.
Take responsibility.
Anya turns her head away. “Stop,” she says, “please…”
Curly lets out another gurgly noise.
“ Please. ”
So he does.
She continues fixing his bandages, not making anymore eye contact. Unwrapping and rewrapping the same used ones.
He watches.
That’s all he can do. All he would do. That’s all he did.
He simply…
Watched.
( “I know you’d never give me the gun to protect myself.” )