#augustself

            They are frequent. Whilst asleep, whilst awake -- they come at all times of the day and night. Nightmares, terrors, flashes... They hit her when she leasts expects them. In the middle of the night, during rehearsals in The Heart, at dinner, lunch, when she’s driving, whilst she’s talking -- she hates them. At first, they told her nothing. They told her exactly what she remembered and nothing more. She’d see the gun in a hand, the barrel inches from her chest. She’d hear the shot echoing in her ears, feel the blood in her hair -- but that was it. 

       Until they changed. Until those flashes grew longer, until they became clearer. And she began to remember. She remembered the drink she’d had in her hand, and the smile she’d flashed at her daughter, and the crowd she’d slipped through on her way across the floor. She remembered the type of gun pressed against her stomach and the colour dress of the woman who dared to pull the trigger. 

                There were times were she wanted these memories to end. Where she wanted nothing more than to wake up from the nightmare of her almost-death. But lately, she’d popped a few pills, hoping that she’d fall in to a deep enough sleep for her to finally see the face of the bitch who put a hole in her heart. It was dangerous and stupid and she absolutely should not be doing that -- but desperation called for extreme measures and Rebecca could not live with not knowing. 

        With the door locked, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest, Rebecca curled in to the corner of her office and closed her eyes, a now empty bottle of what were sleeping pills lying open at her feet. 

                                      And she remembered. 

        It was hazy at first, as it usually is. The noise nothing but white in her ears and dulled, muffled. She can never remember what she was said, could never hear the words -- but she remembered her shoulder knocking in to another’s, she remembered looking up with a smile and the start of an apology on her lips, and she remembered the look in the eyes that stared back at her. 

                Banging on the doors woke her from the image of blood on her hands and Caroline’s face above her own, but Rebecca was too shaken to answer the calls that sounded through her office door. Eyes wide and hands clenched in the fabric around her waist, it took a moment for the shock to wear off before cold-hearted fury began to sweep through her bones. She knew that face, she knew it well. 

       Blindly, Rebecca leaned forward and reached for her phone, sliding it off the table in her disorientation. She fumbled with it, sliding it with a shaking hand -- from shock, or anger, or perhaps from both. It didn’t matter. Bringing up Jabba’s contact, she snarled at her screen, her grip on it growing tighter until, just as she’d pressed send, she threw it at the wall, two words flashing before it disappeared through text. 

trigger warning/s: abuse (I think that’s it, but let me know!)

TW: Blood, fighting, gore

Serena had had enough of the judging eyes, the side looks and the constant whispers. She was a Joker. Big freaking deal. She had the last name and attended the blood bath but that didn’t mean she was apart of the craziness that was her mother. She was apart of the family, had come because everyone had begged her to. And because she had a chance at having her own bar. Her own space to make her own in a way, even if she was co-owning it with a man that couldn’t show his face these days. 

Yes she had attended the gathering at the Heart, hoping to just enjoy a party where no blood was shed. And instead she watched as the woman who lead the Hearts and Clubs be shot. She hadn’t seen who did it, but the gunfire had been herd clearly in the establishment. And it had been the talk of the town indeed. But she had no part of it, and neither did her family. At least, that is what she wanted to believe. And what she prayed was true in some sense of the world.

It was well after closing now, and she had finished putting everything away when she had stepped out into the back alley behind the bar. It was raining, but it didn’t clean the air or wash away the stink of the streets. It only added to it. Pulling her jacket tight about her, she walked past her car, headed down a few more alley’s. She needed to find something to ease her tension, ease the anger that had been building, and ease her hatred against so many.

              Rebecca has never been one to stay still for long. She was a child who liked to fidget, forever scolded by her mother for wringing hands and shaking knees. And she was stubborn, but that was well known. Still, they shouldn’t have expected her for stay in there for much longer. She hated hospitals, if not for it’s white walls and sterile stench, than for the hours she’d spent in here, by her son’s side. A daughter dead, and a son near following. Rebecca hated these rooms, and not just because the colour scheme was atrocious. 

                    So, she left.

                         Against medical advisement, Rebecca mustered what strength she had, signed her name amidst protests and orders - Rebecca could not be ordered, and she could not be controlled... and the morphine may have yet to work it’s way entirely out of her system, but the nurses on staff didn’t need to know that. At least she could breathe on her own, and if she could breathe on her own, Rebecca was of the opinion that she could walk on her own, and leave on her own. Perhaps, she should’ve left a message. Called Marcus to come sign her out, or ask one of the children to escort her home - but she saw the way they looked at her, like she was made of glass, like she could break. She’d always been nothing but bulletproof to them, larger than life, untouchable. 

          How the mighty have fallen, she thinks bitterly as she grimaces, scowls, and trudges along. At least she could be thankful for the clothes she’d asked Ariadne bring, and for once she was grateful for the flats. Somehow, she doubted she’d have made it as far as she had with six inch heels. She doesn’t like this, the sight she must be. The Red Queen, struggling to walk straight after a week under lock and key, under constant supervision, vulnerable, and weak. 

                    She wanted her father.

                                       She wanted to go home. 

         The Manor was almost exactly as she remembered it. Big, imposing, magical - it was a work of art in it’s time, a true castle on a hill that overlooked all of Wonderland. But time had worn it down, and it seemed almost... lonely, now. The gates were rusted and they creaked as she pushed them open with the heel of her palm. The grounds were trimmed, a longstanding agreement ensuring that what had once been the family home remained well-kept - but her favourite oak tree had overgrown. It was almost exactly as she remembered it, but not quite. Wandering towards the trunk, Rebecca lifted her hand and let her fingers gently brush through the branches until she found her way to the middle, where she turned her back on the bark and slowly sat, grunting as her chest tightened in warning. 

Summary: Rebecca flat-lined for a grand total of thirty-three seconds. Or, anaesthesia’s weird and Rebecca’s confused. Mentions: Caroline Heart, Marcus Heart, Antonio Diamond & Vivianne Spade. Second Summary: Basically... Rebecca dreams whilst in surgery. Time & Date: 4.38AM, 3rd of August, 2015. To Note: The bullet nicked Rebecca’s heart, which is why she has yet to wake up. The surgeons had to be extremely careful when repairing the damage and she went in to cardiac arrest where they lost her pulse. But don’t worry. They got her heart beating again and she is now in recovery.

“Caroline?” Her voice carries, it always carries, but the smile she wears widens as giggles reach her ears. Gently, Rebecca pushed a door open, one hand with fingers curled around the handled, the other pressed flat agains the wood by her head. Peering inside through the crack she’d made, Rebecca bit her lip as she glanced around the room. It was rather dark in here, the low lights above casting a dull glow. Most of her winter clothes were stored in this room. Her coats, her jeans, her sweaters -- there was a shelf of knit beanies, a wall of boots alone. Everything a girl could want in a wardrobe... sans a girl. “Baby girl?” Rebecca tried again, a crease forming in her brow.

Her daughter had to be in here somewhere. Caroline loved this game, and Rebecca thought she was getting quite good at it. Another giggle, a peal of laughter, and soft little footsteps on timber floors. Rebecca whipped around, the door still open in her hand as she glanced behind her, before turning on her feel and trotting down the hall. “Caroline?” She called again, looking right where laughter came from left and Rebecca ran. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. They didn’t play like this. Caroline hid, and Rebecca sought, and then they baked cookies in the kitchen. Hide and seek did not involve cats and mice. 

Panic seized her heart and Rebecca spun, turning to face one direction before spinning to face the other. Her wardrobe was huge. It spanned a vast majority of the west wing’s second floor, and it was a maze to those otherwise unfamiliar with it’s floor plan. Rebecca had things hidden in this room that she would rather one not find, especially her children. Most of her secret stashes were dangerous to those with little fingers, especially if they were sticky. But as familiar as these walls were, Rebecca for the life of her couldn’t remember which was was out, or which was was further in. “Caroline?!” she called again, her voice an octave higher and her hands clenched tight by her side. “Caroline, where are you?” 

She ran. Moving through the halls until they began to blur together and she realised her eyes were wet with unshed tears. What was happening? A pain in her gut had her doubling over, her breath hitching almost painfully. Her heart seemed to jump once..... then twice.... and one more time. The light above her began to flicker, and Rebecca stared up at it with wide, frightened eyes. “Marcus?” She tried, choking out her husband’s name as she felt cold air sweep over her skin. Another giggle, more footsteps, and Rebecca closed her eyes. “Non capisco,” she breathed, shaking her head as she felt the rise of panic in her chest. “D-daddy... Viv?” Opening her eyes, Rebecca stared at her reflection in the mirror on the wall. The mirror that hadn’t been there before. Her eyes traced sweat-slicked hair, stared at paled skin and blood on her lips. Slowly, Rebecca stood, sliding her hands from her knees and rising until her back was straight. She bent a little to the side, her head cocking as her chest rose and fell with deep, shuddered breaths. 

CHARACTER ♣ Ben Holmes MENTIONS ♣ Rebecca Heart, Tiger Heart, Whitey Rabbit TIME ♣ 2nd August SUMMARY ♣ A response to Rebecca’s shooting.    TRIGGERS ♣ Blood and violence.

Ben had always been optimistic. It was in his nature to be hopefully for every outcome, positive in times of hardships and discontent. So when Rebecca told him that all of Wonderland was invited to celebrate her birthday, he didn’t expect any rivalry, any brawls or blood spilled. He was tipsy, a little bit high from the bit of coke he’d taken earlier and he had probably stolen about ten kisses to Rebecca’s neck and her lips when no one was looking. It was risky and he knew it, but it was her birthday and he was in too good of a mood to be cautious all night. 

It all crashed down upon him too quickly when he exited the bathroom and they music had stopped, people were crying and crowding around something in the middle of the dance floor and worry gripped him. He hoped, prayed, that someone he cared about hadn’t been hurt, that someone hadn’t slipped and hit their head or something along those lines. He certainly didn’t expect for there to be a scream, a plea to call an ambulance and discovering that the voice had belonged to Caroline made fear take hold of his heart. If it was one of her kids, or a nephew, niece or sister, Rebecca would go mad and he hastened his pace, pushing though the crowd with a little more determination to figure out what was happening.

He didn’t expect to find this, to find her, and time began moving all too fast.

               She loves her birthday’s. Ever since she was a kid, she’d loved them. Of course, her father had gone all out for his little girls. Everything they could possibly want or need, they got. Spoilt was an understatement when it came to their birthdays, and Rebecca had never really grown out of that. Every party she’d ever thrown had been bigger and better than the one before -- except last year. Last year, her birthday had been hell on Earth. Even now, a year later and with her daughter alive and well, it still hurt. 

            She can still remember the agony that pierced her heart when she heard, when she saw what had become of Caroline. She’d had nightmares of that night for months, but this year would be different. This year would be better. 

                                       She had the cake pops to prove it.

              Twirling one in her hand, the other moving up to her hair to ruffle it a little, Rebecca grinned at a few of her guests as she passed. Honestly, it was going... well, and that surprised her. Not that she would’ve been pleased were blood to spill but words, at least, she’d expect to fly. Insults and thinly veiled threats. Of course, she’d had enough of that with Charlotte earlier but, still -- when crime and law and three sides of a war congregate in one place, one tends to expect a fight. 

                Sliding the stick of her pop out of her mouth, Rebecca dropped it on a passing waiter’s tray, smiling, content. From her place, she could see a vast majority of her club, and the people within it. Vivianne, by the bar. James and Lydia, at a table. Tiger -- Caroline, sitting beside Amber across the floor. A quick flick of her gaze finds the boys, her boys, off to one side, and she smiles at the sight of her sons and her husband - together. It wasn’t ideal, with the Jokers in close proximity and law enforcement keeping such a close eye, but it was... good.

                                                Happy Birthday, indeed.

                               Catching Caroline’s eyes with her own, Rebecca smiled softly, raising her glass in a silent toast because, as much as it hurt, as much as she still hurt now, this was her daughter, and no amount of denying it, of pushing it away, could change that. Caroline made her choice -- Rebecca didn’t want to lose her again because of it. 

             She bit her lip, swallowing a mouthful of her wine before walking forward, weaving her way through the bodies dancing. She’s usually graceful, she’s usually able to sidestep a drunk man unsteady on his feet, but there are a lot of people, and the floor is wet with sweat and spilled drinks. She stumbles a little, knocking in to someone and Rebecca turns, her too-good-a-mood throwing her usual glare and insult reaction out the window.

                                                            She smiles.

        It’s not quite apologetic, because Rebecca rarely apologises for anything, but it’s enough it seems, for they smile back, reach out with one hand to steady the Queen as she tries to find her balance. They’re close now, incredibly close, chests pressed together... Their hand tightens on her wrist, Rebecca’s smile falls, and she stiffens. There’s something pressed against her stomach, moving up, up, up -- closer and closer to her chest and she panics. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she pulls back enough to look them in the eye as they smile at her, and...

                                                         BANG 

            The gun shot rings in her ears, tearing through her stomach like fire, and Rebecca doubles over a little, her eyes wide and her mouth open, a strangled gasp flying from her lips. She’s been shot before, but this... this one burns. It’s just below her chest, beneath her breasts but the angle -- there’s a pain in her heart, and she drops her glass. It’s like slow motion, the way it falls over their back until it shatters on the floor and Rebecca grasps blindly at their arm, trying to stay standing as the pain races up her spine.

      Rebecca stumbles back, her hands falling to her stomach where she can feel the lace of her dress begin to fall heavy. Her hands shake, her head bows and she stares at the palms of her hand as she turns them over. Blood. Blood cakes her hands, stains them red. Blood. Her blood. The shock begins to settle in, and she looks up slowly. They’re gone. The shooter. Having disappeared in to the crowd but the corners of her vision are starting to go black, her head begins to feel like lead and she stumbles back another step, reaches out blindly to grab the person standing beside her but her hand misses, and she starts to fall.

                Looking up, Rebecca blinks as tears begin to well in her eyes. Her lips form a perfect ‘O’, framed in red, just like her dress, like her hands, like her blood. Her eyes meet Caroline’s, and Rebecca tries to say something but she’s already falling, and she can’t  keep herself up.

        Rebecca crumbles to the floor, her legs going weak, her knees buckling, and she falls back with her hands pressed against her stomach in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

                                                          It doesn’t stop.

          Her hands shake, her legs curl up as she turns on her side and the music stops, someone screams, there’s shouting and sounds and noise, loud noise that hurts her head. The crown she’d been gifted with, the crown she’d fallen in love with as much as she’d fallen for the person who’d presented it, slides from her head and rolls on the floor, gathering her blood until it glistens red. It takes strands of her hair with her, drenching long brown locks in thick red blood and Rebecca’s breath stutters, her head lolls to the side, and Rebecca stares up at the ceiling light with blood trickling from the corner of her mouth from where she’d bitten her cheek to stop herself from screaming.

                   At least her dress was already red.