Chapter Text
Ever since she was young, Ava found solace in praying.
Not religious praying, not the ‘In the name of thy Father’ bullshit or the trite little ‘amen’ tagline that begs for blessings from an indifferent and frankly useless God, but praying in the most basic sense. Unfiltered, barely-formed expressions of desire, of pain, of emotions good and bad, all offered up and tossed into the ether, no expectation of fulfillment or response tied to any of it.
She’d been doing it long before she even knew what it really was, before a brief stint in Catholicism had warped its meaning, before it became an intentional paradoxical act of rebellion against whatever Powers That Be that put her in this truly fucked-up situation. Even now, as she stares up at the dismal ceiling above her bed, Ava finds herself praying silently before the last dregs of her consciousness spiral down the drain for the night.
She prays for a lot of things, because she wants a lot of things. Frances to choke on her own venom, for one thing. A basic-ass audiobook reader, for another. Use of her limbs would be pretty fucking nice, too.
But none of those desires and hopes and dreams even come close to what’s at the top of her list, the thing she’s prayed for for over a decade now, an idea she’s been chasing ever since she opened her blood-crusted eyes to find herself trapped on this bed — escape. Escape that could come in one of two forms.
The first: a life.
Any life. God. Seriously, any kind of life. She can stay quadriplegic. She can stay wheelchair-bound. She just wants to get the hell out of this ironically godforsaken place, off of this goddamn bed, and live some semblance of a life outside in the real world. She doesn’t have to be coddled, she doesn’t need unconditional love. Just something, somewhere far away from here so she can experience the most mundane activities without any malicious nuns flapping over her head like the aggravating bats that they are.
In her wildest daydreams, Ava conjures up an impossible scenario where genius tech billionaire Jillian Salvius — pioneer in neural interfacing and badass boss lady worthy of idolization — somehow stumbles upon this armpit of an orphanage, takes an immediate liking to Ava and her tragic handicap, and adopts her on the spot either out of the goodness of her heart or in some kind of charitable publicity stunt. Ava would take the latter, no questions asked. She’ll take the exploitation if it means she can access Dr. Salvius’s rad tech. She’ll beg for it if she has to.
But she’s not delusional; something like that would never ever ever ever happen. No one wanted her as a kid. No one wants her now. No one would ever want her for as long as she lives.
So she spends more time praying for the second, more feasible form of escape: death.
Preferably a quick and painless one, but hey, she’s getting less picky by the day.
Because, really, who can blame her for wanting that? She’s got the whole damn nightmare package: orphaned, paralyzed, verbally and emotionally abused by caretakers, crushed by boredom, force-fed Bible verses. She knew by the end of year one of her stay that no distant relative would be coming for her, and by year three that no stranger would ever willingly have her join their perfectly ordinary family. She’s a freak, plain and simple. Paralyzed, useless, completely dependent on others. And she’d learned from an early age that being polite, humble, and obedient really didn’t get her anywhere in life, especially not with these twisted old nuns.
Which is like…yeah, fine by her. Less pretending, more getting under everyone’s skin; fuck niceties, let’s all be miserable together! But sometimes she imagines what it’d be like if she ended up in an actual care facility. Would she be praying for escape there? Would she be praying for death?
It’s a curse, really — to know what she’s missing out on and not be able to lift a literal finger to do anything about it.
And it’s like…she doesn’t want to die. It’s just that she’s so fucking tired. Tired of fighting back against the nuns, tired of being angry at the universe, tired of living this half life and wasting away in a shitty bed in a shitty room in a shitty, shitty building, tired of wondering why she’s been kept alive for this long.
With a grimace and a sigh, Ava closes her eyes, ready to end another hell of a day. No, she doesn’t want to die. But she sure as hell doesn’t want to continue living like this.
None of that matters, though, because in the end, she doesn’t have a choice; she really is stuck here at the mercy of these miserable old crones for all eternity. The only actual escape she’ll get to experience is in her dreams, where she can imagine herself floating away from this wretched place, free from the confines of her body, just drifting away, afloat on the waves, being carried off into absolute nothingness —
“Ava?”
— ah, damnit.
She drifts reluctantly back to shore and opens her eyes again to the dismal ceiling.
It’s Diego, her latest roommate. He’s only a few months into his stay here, but Ava hadn’t expected him to stick around for even that long; he’s young and cute and has a cheeky smile fit for a pamphlet cover. Adoption agencies would probably snap him right up if he didn’t have the immune system of an infant.
In the sanctity of their room, however, behind closed doors when it’s just the two of them, he’s the complete opposite of a sickly orphan. He’s brighter. Kinder. Honest and open, somehow still clinging to that youthful optimism despite the soul-sucking nature of this place. And talkative. So, so very talkative and animated and goofy — a perfect match to her own energy, which Ava loves.
But now, as he calls her name through the dim lighting and stuffy silence of the room, he sounds all subdued and serious and somber, which Ava doesn’t love.
“Are you sleeping?” he asks in a hushed whisper.
As tempting as it is, she forgoes a sarcastic quip. “No, I’m awake.” Her response is met with a long stretch of silence. “Why? What’s up?”
Another minute passes before he speaks again, his voice somehow smaller.
“You won’t…you wouldn’t ever leave, would you? You wouldn’t leave me alone here?”
It’s a ridiculous question considering her condition, and a little out of left field considering they were cracking jokes and howling with laughter just hours ago. But he sounds scared, like this is a genuine fear of his that he’s been sitting on for who knows how long, and if Ava’s being honest, she knows better than to question the unpredictability of impossible scenarios.
Shit. She’s not good at this. Comforting others, she can do easily — Diego isn’t her first younger roommate, and she’s had plenty of practice playing the older sibling role using sympathy and a bit of humor to cheer the others up when they were going through rough patches. But when it comes to her, her well-being and continued existence, Ava doesn’t really know how to balance self-repulsion and self-acceptance.
She wants to be cared for and cared about. She also can’t stand the thought of anyone being burdened with her weight.
“Well, where would I go, bud?” she asks, and then nods towards her body. “How would I go?”
“I dunno. I dunno, but it just feels like…” In the darkness, he seems to shrink in on himself. “Like maybe one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”
Ava frowns, caught up by such a possibility. If by some miracle she’s given an opportunity to leave, she would never do so without saying goodbye to Diego first. But she would definitely leave, wouldn’t she? She loves the kid, they’re practically siblings now, but she wouldn’t sacrifice her freedom to stay in this hellhole to keep him company.
Man, she’s the worst. Maybe it’d be better for her to die. No, fuck, that would still mean abandoning the poor kid.
“Nah. Nah, I’m stuck here,” she assures him. She hates how utterly defeated that statement sounds to her own ears. The reality of it sinks deep into her chest, a cold weight of dread pinning her even more firmly to the bed. “I’m stuck here, so I guess that means you’re stuck with me forever. Sorry dude, I don’t make the rules.”
That earns a short breath of laughter from the other side of the room, and Ava feels the tiniest bit better about it all. At the very least, she has someone who wants her around, someone who’ll miss her when she’s gone.
That, for now, will have to tide her over.