Revelation
Mar. 6th, 2004 07:27 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsSaturday night, before going out, Lorna tries to dress and comes to some unpleasant conclusions. Having done so, she goes to Alison for some apologies and support.
Lorna hummed somewhat tunelessly to herself as she tossed prospective outfits on her bed. It had been some time since she'd actually dressed to go out so a full inventory of her closet had been necessary. Making the choice between warmth and fashion was surprisingly difficult. In times past, fashion would have won without mussing its french manicure but she was just so cold these days. She had finally made two piles--sensible and proper. She was now weeding out the two. Sensible was fighting a losing battle. In the end, Californians have no respect for the cold.
Twenty minutes and twice as many outfits later, Lorna had narrowed her choices to five, only one from the sensible pile. But the sweater/skirt combination was quickly rejected--too baggy and unflattering. The fit felt off and Lorna had little patience for it. Tossing it to the rest of the discards, she lifted the next. The black dress, a gorgeously sleek creation with a cowled scoop back that draped dangerously low and a skirt that skimmed just above her knees, still had the price tag hanging from it. She'd bought it a size below her usual with every intention of fitting into it. Smugly, she shrugged it over her shoulders, fiddling with the sleeves. They bagged a bit, which was strange and she paced over to the full length mirror hanging on the back of her door, still tugging at the dress to adjust the fit.
Lorna spent a great deal of time in front of mirrors. Partly from vanity, partly from self-consciousness, she was intimately familiar with the image that stared back at her day after day. Hours of close scrutiny let Lorna know that her hips flared too wide, her thighs obscenely massive. She knew that she hated her arms and the flab of her tricep. No matter how much weight she lost the problems still remained. At 115, she'd thought 105 would solve all her problems. She'd sworn to stop at 105. But then the accident and the attack and that...incident with Manuel. Then she could feel the pounds melting away and in a euphoria, she'd allowed it. The scale in her bathroom (re-calibrated every few days for maximum accuracy) now read 97. It was heady. A rush like few she could recall that hadn't been manufactured for her.
But when Lorna stood in front of her mirror this time, it was as though something had snapped a new wide focus on her vision. Staring back at her in the mirror was ghost, a skeleton. Instead of the draw to her trouble spots, she saw the horrible way the dress hung on her, like a child wearing her mother's clothes. It draped forward at the neck, showing collarbones so sharp she suddenly feared she'd bleed to touch them. Could this possibly be her? How could she be this frail creature who looked as though she'd snap under a gentle breeze? She watched in fascinated horror as the mirror-her reached up with halting slowness and traced the sunken contours of her cheeks. At the touch of the blade thin hand, she choked on a sob and stumbled back, shaking her head in ardent denial. She tripped over a pair of thin heels and fell. She remained curled on the floor, weeping as though her heart would break. She was sick. She knew it and believed it now. But...
She knew she couldn't stop.
Lorna stumbled through the hallway, mascara streaked across her face, hair falling out of her carefully arranged up-do. If there was anyone else in the short expanse of corridor between 213 and Alison's new room of 216, she didn't see or care to see. Her focus was solely on reaching Alison to beg forgiveness and seek help. Her world narrowed to the feel of the wood under her hand as she rapped on the door. "Please answer, please please please," she begged in whispers, "Alison, please."
The door opened a few seconds later in fact, Alison wearing a designer ensemble composed of black slacks and a red silk blouse, see through in parts. She froze as she saw Lorna, but the preliminary flinch of backing away soon turned instead to outreached hands as she took in the details, from the streaked mascara (which Lorna would never have stood for normally) to the frantics murmurs.
Lorna fell gratefully into Alison's hand and clung to the blonde like an anchor. She'd started crying again, couldn't help herself and the words wouldn't come. Sobs racked her body, leaving her weak. After several minutes, she was able to draw shaky, stuttering breaths. "Ali," she whimpered, "I'm sick."
The worriedly soothing murmurs that had been accompanying the green haired girl's sobs paused, Alison holding on to her a bit tighter, ever so carefully. "Oh Lorna..." she sighed, relief and sharp edged concern mingling in her voice as she drew her friend towards the couch, hoping this meant what she thought it meant.
Lorna allowed Alison to lead her to the couch, collapsing onto it. She pulled back from Alison to wipe at her eyes, trying to regain some of the fragile control that had carried her thus far. "I'm so sorry. I said such horrible... Oh god, Ali, I'm so sorry." She blinked at Alison, pitiful in her distress. "I need your help."
This time, it was Alison's control that slipped, tears pooling in her eyes at Lorna's condition and emotional state and she reached out to hug her again, unable to do anything less. "Oh sweetie," she answered, throat tightening as she tried not to cry as well. "It'll be ok. You're not alone hon, I'll help, Hank will to, please let us help..."
Lorna shivered though she was far from cold. "I'm scared, Alison. I...don't know what I'm going to do."
"You're going to let us help you," Alison replied, hanging on to her as tightly as she dared, as if not letting go physically might be enough. "We'll take it slow, day by day. And you won't have to do this alone. I promise you. We'll figure it out, ok? It'll be all right."
It'll be all right. She clung to the phrase like a lifeline, turning it into a prayer. Make it be all right. She nodded, shaky and weak, "You'll help me?"
"Yes!" Fervently, Alison nodded, smoothing over Lorna's hair gently and wincing at the lacklustre gleam of the green locks. "Of course I will, always."
Hope seemed strange right now. Like she had no right to it. But Lorna drew herself upright with it and used it as her strength. "Then I can do this. I will beat this." She wasn't nearly as confident as she felt but will-power was something that she had in abundance and sheer stubbornness would carry her through where will failed. She smiled shakily, "Christ, I'm a mess right now." A glance at the clock had her raising her eyebrows, "And with only ten minutes to fix it. Damn, I hope Warren is forgiving about fashionable lateness."
A slow blink, and Alison narrowed her eyes at Lorna, considering. Her first inclination was to drag Lorna down to the medlab, screw the evening out, and make sure things would get done now to help her. But then again... the healing would be a slow process. And... perhaps an evening out with her friends might be of more help, in the short and long run.
Well-aware of Alison's train of thought, Lorna gripped the other woman's hands. "We should go. I need to go. This can't make more of a mess of my life than it has," she pleaded.
And if nothing else, Alison decided, Lorna making her own decisions right now, be it for her health or something as silly as going out... could only be good. "Ok," she smiled a bit, tightening her hands over Lorna's lightly. "We go out tonight. And tomorrow... we go see Hank, yeah? Watcha think?"
Lorna nodded, "Right. Hank," she sighed, "And Samson, too. It's going to be a hell of a day."
"Hey," a light pat on the shoulder, wince entirely supressed at what that touch revealed as well. "You won't be facing it alone." And oh, the relief of this nearly made Alison dizzy, that sentiment clearly showing through.
No. No, she wouldn't and that thought was enough for now. Hopefully, it would remain so in the days ahead. "Thanks."
"That's what friends are for," Alison answered, softly. And then reached up to trace the mascara steaking down her cheek lightly. "That and fixing up streaky mascara."
Lorna's hands flew to her face, "I have what?" Given the seriousness of the conversation it was remarkable the horror those words carried. "Oh, that's just not okay. This must be fixed now. Quickly before anyone sees." She stood and pulled Alison with her. "Emergency makeup, right now."
Lorna hummed somewhat tunelessly to herself as she tossed prospective outfits on her bed. It had been some time since she'd actually dressed to go out so a full inventory of her closet had been necessary. Making the choice between warmth and fashion was surprisingly difficult. In times past, fashion would have won without mussing its french manicure but she was just so cold these days. She had finally made two piles--sensible and proper. She was now weeding out the two. Sensible was fighting a losing battle. In the end, Californians have no respect for the cold.
Twenty minutes and twice as many outfits later, Lorna had narrowed her choices to five, only one from the sensible pile. But the sweater/skirt combination was quickly rejected--too baggy and unflattering. The fit felt off and Lorna had little patience for it. Tossing it to the rest of the discards, she lifted the next. The black dress, a gorgeously sleek creation with a cowled scoop back that draped dangerously low and a skirt that skimmed just above her knees, still had the price tag hanging from it. She'd bought it a size below her usual with every intention of fitting into it. Smugly, she shrugged it over her shoulders, fiddling with the sleeves. They bagged a bit, which was strange and she paced over to the full length mirror hanging on the back of her door, still tugging at the dress to adjust the fit.
Lorna spent a great deal of time in front of mirrors. Partly from vanity, partly from self-consciousness, she was intimately familiar with the image that stared back at her day after day. Hours of close scrutiny let Lorna know that her hips flared too wide, her thighs obscenely massive. She knew that she hated her arms and the flab of her tricep. No matter how much weight she lost the problems still remained. At 115, she'd thought 105 would solve all her problems. She'd sworn to stop at 105. But then the accident and the attack and that...incident with Manuel. Then she could feel the pounds melting away and in a euphoria, she'd allowed it. The scale in her bathroom (re-calibrated every few days for maximum accuracy) now read 97. It was heady. A rush like few she could recall that hadn't been manufactured for her.
But when Lorna stood in front of her mirror this time, it was as though something had snapped a new wide focus on her vision. Staring back at her in the mirror was ghost, a skeleton. Instead of the draw to her trouble spots, she saw the horrible way the dress hung on her, like a child wearing her mother's clothes. It draped forward at the neck, showing collarbones so sharp she suddenly feared she'd bleed to touch them. Could this possibly be her? How could she be this frail creature who looked as though she'd snap under a gentle breeze? She watched in fascinated horror as the mirror-her reached up with halting slowness and traced the sunken contours of her cheeks. At the touch of the blade thin hand, she choked on a sob and stumbled back, shaking her head in ardent denial. She tripped over a pair of thin heels and fell. She remained curled on the floor, weeping as though her heart would break. She was sick. She knew it and believed it now. But...
She knew she couldn't stop.
Lorna stumbled through the hallway, mascara streaked across her face, hair falling out of her carefully arranged up-do. If there was anyone else in the short expanse of corridor between 213 and Alison's new room of 216, she didn't see or care to see. Her focus was solely on reaching Alison to beg forgiveness and seek help. Her world narrowed to the feel of the wood under her hand as she rapped on the door. "Please answer, please please please," she begged in whispers, "Alison, please."
The door opened a few seconds later in fact, Alison wearing a designer ensemble composed of black slacks and a red silk blouse, see through in parts. She froze as she saw Lorna, but the preliminary flinch of backing away soon turned instead to outreached hands as she took in the details, from the streaked mascara (which Lorna would never have stood for normally) to the frantics murmurs.
Lorna fell gratefully into Alison's hand and clung to the blonde like an anchor. She'd started crying again, couldn't help herself and the words wouldn't come. Sobs racked her body, leaving her weak. After several minutes, she was able to draw shaky, stuttering breaths. "Ali," she whimpered, "I'm sick."
The worriedly soothing murmurs that had been accompanying the green haired girl's sobs paused, Alison holding on to her a bit tighter, ever so carefully. "Oh Lorna..." she sighed, relief and sharp edged concern mingling in her voice as she drew her friend towards the couch, hoping this meant what she thought it meant.
Lorna allowed Alison to lead her to the couch, collapsing onto it. She pulled back from Alison to wipe at her eyes, trying to regain some of the fragile control that had carried her thus far. "I'm so sorry. I said such horrible... Oh god, Ali, I'm so sorry." She blinked at Alison, pitiful in her distress. "I need your help."
This time, it was Alison's control that slipped, tears pooling in her eyes at Lorna's condition and emotional state and she reached out to hug her again, unable to do anything less. "Oh sweetie," she answered, throat tightening as she tried not to cry as well. "It'll be ok. You're not alone hon, I'll help, Hank will to, please let us help..."
Lorna shivered though she was far from cold. "I'm scared, Alison. I...don't know what I'm going to do."
"You're going to let us help you," Alison replied, hanging on to her as tightly as she dared, as if not letting go physically might be enough. "We'll take it slow, day by day. And you won't have to do this alone. I promise you. We'll figure it out, ok? It'll be all right."
It'll be all right. She clung to the phrase like a lifeline, turning it into a prayer. Make it be all right. She nodded, shaky and weak, "You'll help me?"
"Yes!" Fervently, Alison nodded, smoothing over Lorna's hair gently and wincing at the lacklustre gleam of the green locks. "Of course I will, always."
Hope seemed strange right now. Like she had no right to it. But Lorna drew herself upright with it and used it as her strength. "Then I can do this. I will beat this." She wasn't nearly as confident as she felt but will-power was something that she had in abundance and sheer stubbornness would carry her through where will failed. She smiled shakily, "Christ, I'm a mess right now." A glance at the clock had her raising her eyebrows, "And with only ten minutes to fix it. Damn, I hope Warren is forgiving about fashionable lateness."
A slow blink, and Alison narrowed her eyes at Lorna, considering. Her first inclination was to drag Lorna down to the medlab, screw the evening out, and make sure things would get done now to help her. But then again... the healing would be a slow process. And... perhaps an evening out with her friends might be of more help, in the short and long run.
Well-aware of Alison's train of thought, Lorna gripped the other woman's hands. "We should go. I need to go. This can't make more of a mess of my life than it has," she pleaded.
And if nothing else, Alison decided, Lorna making her own decisions right now, be it for her health or something as silly as going out... could only be good. "Ok," she smiled a bit, tightening her hands over Lorna's lightly. "We go out tonight. And tomorrow... we go see Hank, yeah? Watcha think?"
Lorna nodded, "Right. Hank," she sighed, "And Samson, too. It's going to be a hell of a day."
"Hey," a light pat on the shoulder, wince entirely supressed at what that touch revealed as well. "You won't be facing it alone." And oh, the relief of this nearly made Alison dizzy, that sentiment clearly showing through.
No. No, she wouldn't and that thought was enough for now. Hopefully, it would remain so in the days ahead. "Thanks."
"That's what friends are for," Alison answered, softly. And then reached up to trace the mascara steaking down her cheek lightly. "That and fixing up streaky mascara."
Lorna's hands flew to her face, "I have what?" Given the seriousness of the conversation it was remarkable the horror those words carried. "Oh, that's just not okay. This must be fixed now. Quickly before anyone sees." She stood and pulled Alison with her. "Emergency makeup, right now."
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Date: 2004-03-07 05:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-07 05:36 pm (UTC)And now, Mumfar, we do the dance of joy!
no subject
Date: 2004-03-07 05:41 pm (UTC)Great job gals
*loving Alison for helping his Lorna*
no subject
Date: 2004-03-07 11:12 pm (UTC)(*gasp* I read a log!)
no subject
Date: 2004-03-07 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-08 02:48 am (UTC)