(Episode II) (Growing Pains) Trauma

She awoke and her awareness awoken further.

She was here, whatever she was, it was still blurry, but she can hear farther, smell, and none of it was at all artificial, amplified or augmented. It came as perfectly natural to her, yet it was completely and utterly overwhelming, she attempted to shut it off.

She can’t, as her realization crystalized faster as well, because to turn off one’s ability to sense doesn’t make any lick of.

She moved her eyeballs to search, and she felt how it moved in her head; heard it squish about when sound like that was barely noticeable. She realized what was “blurriness” was her too focused.

She wanted to turn the focus down, and the request was heard throughout her body. Ethereal and fluid as a thought, but distinct and felt like pain in an elbow, or the rumbling of a stomach. Her eye “motion” had machinations that she couldn’t describe but knew intimately, each component working together.

Muscle movement, to the process of registering the sight, all coming together into her seeing. She felt the pings, the connections. And with her now quickened mind, she figured out how it’s “shaped”, able to “interact” with it. She found how to adjust her sight and promptly lowered the focus.

She now sees a sullen guy, dressed in medical clothes, crossing his arms as he looked at the ceiling.

…Hospital room…?

She scanned the room with her hyperaware eyes and she felt her blood ran cold.

Containment hub.

The walls were too white, so sleek they were reflecting light that was rimmed at the bottom and the top of the bottlenecked chamber, the shine making it whiter, more sterile.

Even the medic seemed pale under them, peach skin tone, blonde hair, blue shirt and navy pants, all washed out. The only thing that was a carryover from a typical hospital room were the brown-but-appears-to-be-khaki curtains. Other patients.

The male medic stood up and the chair went down into the floor, per design. Hands behind his back, he looked at her, and holograms of information on her, right before his face, before he dismissed that.

“Jackie Jackson…Jr…” he began and tried to keep it professional. “Breathe. That’s all I want you to do, to focus on right now. Just breathe.”

It was when she was trying to do so, everything felt wrong.

Wrong, wrong, absolutely, categorically, terribly wrong. And with this heightened sense, this unlocked awareness, told her this factually and intimately.

The male medic seems to understand this, but gave no gesture, no side-eye or nod that told her the exact problem is. Level head, staring right into her eyes, with a neutral expression.

“I know, I know,” he said. “Ignore the feedback. If it’s anything that’s too much to ignore, tell me and we can stop. Just breathe, focus on the breath coursing throughout.”

Jackie did what he said, focused on it, and she understood. The feeling of respiration started small, exclusively in her chest. Each inhale, each exhale, begun clearing the way for the breath to grow from chest, to midsection, chest, to stomach, chest, to waist. The reach expanded, and its influence was felt for the things out of reach.

“Good,” he said. “Good. That’s good. Now, I want you to do meditate breaths. Breathe in—hold for 15 seconds, and then breathe out. Breathe in, hold, and then out. Breathe in, hold, and then out. This is to remind you that you can feel your body stress and relax. Feel that. Remember that.”

She tried to push away the fact that she couldn’t nod and focused on the meditative breathing. She didn’t focus on the possible twists and knots that she was in, but the inside. How she could feel her breath guided the pulsing, the reverberation of her body, at each part. She felt her body live and focused on the wonder of having such a firsthand look with such.

It wasn’t so much the tension, she thought the medic was talking about, but minding the fact that she could feel herself breathe. And through that, the fact that she does have say in whatever’s happened to her, if not direct it herself.

The medic, who by this point Jackie deemed that he was good at his job, nodded with approval at her, “Yes, just like that. We knew that you were an athlete so some of this would come naturally, but you’re doing so in near-record time… Which is good. Because this is the part that is insanely hard, and we can come back to this whoever long you feel.”

The worst part of being at one with the process of your body, was the fact that you felt concern very fresh, very directly. The pings in the chest dug sharper, the stomach being an endless well felt deeper.

That indescribable, hollow ache when you felt like utter shit—tangible now. Somehow worse, now.

“Breathe,” he repeated. “Breathe, because that’s the greatest thing everyone is capable of. Breathe, and remember that your body is yours. Breathe, and keep yourself together.”

He tilted his hand to express what came next, moving the hand and curling his fingers until his index, middle and his thumb touched every so close, “Because… Having that? Keeping that all in mind? It will help you for what you’re about to do next. You got that?”

She wished that she could communicate. She wishes that she couldn’t be so freaked out that she couldn’t communicate. But somehow, the medic got that she did.

The medic closed his eyes and took the advice he was given to center himself.

“Okay,” he rolled his shoulder. He pointed to it. “Reattach your shoulder.”

There was absolutely no way that she could be prepared her for that.

Her thoughts were producing faster than she could comprehend them. What does that mean, what else could that mean, where is the shoulder, why is the shoulder anywhere away from where it is, what exactly does she look like, would she even recognize herself; who, what, who, what—

No. She had to throw this away.

She breathed. She felt her arm. And like her eyes; she felt each part of it connect into a functioning whole. She breathed, felt her arm, felt it all become her arm as she knew it.

Jackie merged all the thoughts into one and directed her shoulder back into its socket. Something that should’ve been so healing made her feel like an alien within her own body. She felt the arm recruit and reconnect in a sense, she felt her arm operative without her input, and she was choppily huffing for air.

“Ms. Jackson,” the medic said, “Jackie, Jackie, Jackie. You don’t have to rush. It’s okay to feel the way you do know. But don’t lose sight of what we’re doing, don’t lose yourself in this weird feeling. I’m not going to lie to you, you’re going to continue to be hit with this over and over. But all I ask of you is to remember what I’ve said. Breathe. If you can’t do anything else, just breathe.”

She breathed, desperately, because she doesn’t want control to be ripped out of her again. Things began to stabilize again.

The medic didn’t nod or congratulate her. He just started again, “Reconnect your core.”

What does that even mean? Jackie couldn’t help but to think, over and over, in many forms and iterations. But she had to.

She breathed, felt her midriff in different places, and pulled whatever was separated together using her core strength at the…lower part?

“Okay,” he said flatly, but not as monotone as River.

The idea that she wasn’t okay imbalanced Jackie’s mind once more. It was a different level of stressful pain, guilt being so strong, so overpowering when she tapped out at the normal levels she experienced it before.

“Now let your jaw settle riiight back in.”

She breathed in, then out. She breathed in, then out. She shuddered as she felt the jaw snap back, can’t help to hyperventilate because she didn’t know how she could breathe, versus knowing how to properly.

The medic got closer, stepped to the side of wherever Jackie was looking. Maintaining distance but becoming personal. His hair was shaggy, a dirty blond, but at least he put effort into shaping it into a hairstyle. Clean-shaven, but his beard already is showing signs of coming back. Had clear blue eyes, but they were intense, invasive that often looked away. He was spindly, but Jackie had no judgement with that. She’s sure she could bond with him over that… Overall, for every plus, there was a respectful minus, equaling out to a very average fellow.

…Jackie didn’t need any more thoughts gumming up her mind. Especially thoughts she hasn’t worked on or built a wall for.

“We can wait, we can wait…” he repeated. “There’s only a few more you have to go through, and I won’t lie, these are going to be very difficult. So, let’s catch a breath, rebuild the mindset. Think nice thoughts to ease the mind.”

Jackie couldn’t help but scoff at that mentally. She did use positive thoughts to pull strength within herself, and that only served to be a huge unguarded hit. And clearly, the wound is still fresh and tangible, among the dozens of physical ones. Maybe the approach has to be something more, something equal to face against this crazy thing.

Center herself? Clear the mind? Maybe let it all go…

She closed her eyes, what felt like minutes. She countered the breathes, until they became tame again. The number itself didn’t matter. She couldn’t worry about the exact amount, just the fear ease away from the passage of time.

She looked at the medic, indicating that she was ready.

“Click your joints straight.”

And she wasn’t ready, but she had to go for it…

Jackie tackled three joints at once, creating a sickening, crackling sound. She couldn’t twitch, she couldn’t writhe, because she needed proper joints to react apparently.

One at a time. Snap, snap, crackle, snap, twist, rejoint, smash that lead into a lock. Again, she should’ve felt relieved and in the clinical sense, she was.

The medic walked over back to the front again and that scared Jackie.

“One more thing. And it’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done so far in your life. You can’t stop this as soon as I say it, so there needs to be swiftness for the next one. I need you to trust me.”

Jackie met his intense gaze.

“…Screw your neck back into place.”

She couldn’t afford to think about that, not at all, not at all, she felt what was the source of her lack of communication and the horrible shape it’s in, can only watch her worldview spin around—jerk—and become twisted over and over, it took too long to do and yet couldn’t be done fast enough, and once she felt her neck connect back into her body, was she allowed to shout in object terror.

Jackie shot up, panting, hand rubbing her throat again and again. But no matter how much she shuddered, how much she audibly felt uncomfortable, it couldn’t go away. The very thing she was afraid of was both herself and the sort-called answer to all her current problems.

She came to when the medic clapped, spooking her further and all of the intuitive patient reading went out of the window.

“While I’m happy, both as a person and as a medical professional-in-training, that you’ve gotten through your terrible trail… I’m going to absolutely flame the series of life choices you’ve made to get here.”

He let his arms fall into his sides.

“Why? Someone like you, even skimming your history as briefly as I did, why someone like you?”

Jackie had everything back, including the use of her neck, and yet nothing came out. She looked to the side, both left then right, and then glance down her hands, which look just as alien as it felt having the special perspective on them.

The medic simply sighed, “Of course there isn’t an answer. You thought this was it, didn’t you?”

He wiped the air and the augmented control panel appeared. Through the clear and white buttons and frame, showcased him shaking his head as he did the action.

Without warning, hexagons piled together to form a camera-mirror that showed Jackie’s own face as she slowly looked up.

She was completely healed, seemingly, but that was the least of her problems. She wanted to blame the camera, which had a tendency that everyone has encountered but never voiced, that the definition outlined away too much. The outline of the skin, the detail of the pores, the crisp motion of the person so sharp it’s disconcerting. She wanted to blame it so bad, but she was sure that this is how she sees herself now, everything now. What ultimately got her, was the fact that her expression was so crestfallen, when she thought, she had all the control in the world to hide it.

But that was the normalcy.

Rings accented around each pupil. Puzzle-lite, keeping to the theme. Her blue eyes were crested with the mark for siVis, a pale frosted look with deep lines detailed across.

She really didn’t want to hear the nurse judge her more. She knew that she fucked up.

But apparently, his room-reading prowess was either just an act, or he cared so little outside of the work that he will go on. The nurse said, “To put it into perspective, you had a mild-to-severe concussion, broken bones--namely breaking your arm seven different places, near dehydration, torn muscles due to over-exhaustion, Shift warping and yet we have no idea where you all racked up this many injuries. And you did this for ultimately something that you already have. You nearly damaged yourself permanently, and you should be wary of that.”

Again, she couldn’t argue back, she simply nodded. Not looking at her face, can’t look at her face more than a few seconds that felt too long.

“Because hey,” he gestured again, raising his arms upwards. “You ultimately won. You got the thing you were after and it more or less held you together as the injuries took care of themselves. So, celebrate the fact that you got lucky, and didn’t become the next horror story, the next tragedy. And let me tell you; I feel like the world can only take a few more of those right now, remove your family being crushed by such out of the equation.”

He sighed again, wiping away the A.R.

“Oh yeah. I’m Leslie Homer, and I’ll be your nurse dealing with Shift and siVis related care for your stay,” Leslie added too little, too late.

Of course you’re a Leslie, Jackie groaned from within. Even the dig felt terrible.

“I can see you make a mean thought,” Leslie pointed at the side of the bed, the part that reached out further than the rest. “This monitors brainwave activity, y’know. Well, I did, you didn’t—”

“S…sorry,” Jackie formed the words, stopping because her lips moved before she did.

“I’m glad that you can talk well, too,” Leslie responded, walking towards one of the pristine walls. “Also, I’m not really the one that should get that apology.”

This is such a reversal of fortune, such a different scenario for Jackie. She could perfectly see herself saying exactly what Leslie was saying… Well, warmer and understanding of social cues, but she could do the less. The fact of he lacked any grace to his words, how unflinching they are and the fact that he was totally right made Jackie hate him more than she would’ve.

But then it gets swallowed whole. The feeling of hate, the wash of shame, all swirled into the overall sense of the thing building even before the incident, before the decision—the very thing that made her choose to do this.

Loss. Jackie honestly didn’t know what to do now, and the fact that she got the answer despite that…