"The doctors are hoping that if they put her with someone that she'll calm down enough for them to take the straightjacket off and do some tests." Mariah leaned against the wall, glancing at Dray. "Me? Calm? Ha! Don't make me laugh, such a thing doesn't exist anymore." She burst into giggles, a bright psychotic smile plastering itself on her lips. Mariah sighed and shook her head. "I find it doubtful but hey, it's not my place to say they're wrong."
Dray snorted. “What, you not calm? You seem like my definition of calm.” He smirked, leaning against the wall.
She giggled again but this time it sounded more genuine, more real. "Oh really? If your definition of calm is me then you have a pretty fucked up dictionary." "Ivy, relax. I don't need Kyle being called on me again." Ivy pouted slightly. "You're no fun."
Draven snickered. “I dunno. I’m not actually from here, and so yeah, my dictionary if fucked up.”
"I am! Found, prosecuted, and convicted in the same town I grew up in! And they all wonder why I don't trust anyone!" She struggled against the straightjacket once again. "I hate this thing so much." She huffed. "You can't just restrict an Italian girl's hands, I can't talk if you do that!" "That's what they're going for, genius!" Mariah chuckled and Ivy rolled her eyes.
Draven laughed. “Well, I’m from across the globe.”
He picked at the handcuffs, thinking. Could he manage to unlock these? It would be simple.
She slumped against the corner, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. She stared up at the ceiling, recounting for the 10,000th time how she'd managed to get herself in this situation.
But the guards would be more cautious, considering what he had done last time. Frowning, he fiddled with it. He needed something long and easy to bend.
She noticed him messing with the handcuffs and smirked slightly. She knew exactly how to get those unlocked. It was a little trick she'd mastered a while ago. "Need some help with those?" She whispered, her eyes flicking back up to his face.
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Can you get them off?”
"There's a small ripped section of padding on the floor next to me that has a nice bent piece of wire under it that would always work for my handcuffs but seeing as I can't use my hands, you'll have to find it yourself."
Draven did as she said, and soon the lock clicked neatly. He smirked, pulling them off and clenching and opening his hands before pulling a lighter from his pant leg.
"Um, you're welcome." She scoffed slightly. Rude. He's cute but has no manners. Says the psychopath! Shut up!
He smirked slightly at her. “Thank you,” he said mockingly.
"That's better." She flashed a bright smile at him before returning to her staring at the ceiling. Maybe he's not so bad. Not like he could ever fall for someone like you. Murderer. She flinched slightly. It wasn't my fault.
Draven didn’t seem to notice her wince. And then he heard the slight sound of shoes squeaking on the floor and winced as memories asaulted him.
“No no no no no!” He whimpered, clutching his head and cowering on the floor. “I’m sorry.”
She buried her face in her knees, trembling slightly as she recounted he event that brought her here. She didn't want to think about it but it wasn't something she could stop, tears dripping down her face.
Draven took deep, sharp breaths. He was panting, sweat was dripping down his face, and he had trouble breathing.
"It wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault." She couldn't breathe, her voice small and shaky. She trembled harder, tears coming faster. Was it just her or was the room getting smaller?
Biting his lip so hard it started to bleed, Draven managed flying snap out of it, though it still echoed in a corner of his mind. He heard panting and turned to see the other girl, who had her head between her legs. She was crying and whimpering. He stretched out a hand through the bars and almost lay it on her shoulder, then stopped.
These PTSD attacks happened far too often for it to be normal. Not like anyone actually cared. They just left her to deal with it completely alone, which was a terrible idea. She just wanted to know someone was on her side, someone was there to listen. Not like that would ever happen.
“Shh,” he said quietly. “You’re okay. You’re going to be fine. Just breathe.”
Draven has no idea what he was doing. He was talking to a complete stranger, whose name he didn’t know, trying to reassure her.
She picked her face up slightly from it's place buried in her knees to look at him. Her eyes were watery and broken, looking for an escape. Her gaze locked onto his, using him as her focus.
Staring into her eyes, he tried to relay calm. “You’re safe,” he said, not breaking eye contact.
It took a couple minutes but she eventually calmed, wiping her tears off on her knees. "Sorry, I hate when this happens."
“I get it,” Draven said quietly. “Things like that used to happen to me a lot.” He hesitantly held out his hand for her to take.
She glanced at his hand and then up at him. Her mouth twitched up into a small smile before she burst into giggles. Not the psychotic ones like earlier, just genuine laughter. "Buddy, look at me. I'm in a straightjacket! I can't use my hands!"
Draven grinned slightly, and twisted his hand through the bars. He managed to get it off her, and smirked slightly. “No you aren’t.”
She slipped it off quietly, stretching her unused muscles luxuriously. "Oh my God, when was the last time I had use of my hands?"
Draven watched her, amused. He leaned back against the wall of his cell and grinned.