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"Suitcase, are you okay?" Suitcase blinks, turning around to find Cabby looking at her with a concerned but familiar and friendly look on her face.
"Hey, Cabby," She replied, "..Uh.. something you.. need..?"
"Oh, not much," Cabby is quick to reassure, "I just.. wanted to check up on you, is all. How are you holding up?"
Suitcase shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't really in the mood for this sort of conversation right now. "..i'm doing okay."
Cabby nodded, resisting the urge to pull out the shorter girl's file and write something down. "Okay then, that's good. Just wanted to just check up on you," She repeated, patting Suitcase on the head like she was a child. Her gaze softens, however- Suitcase was actually quite expressive, and Cabby could tell she wasn't happy about being treated this way. "Suitcase.. you know you can talk to us about anything, right?" Cabby told her in that sickeningly sweet tone that indicated she wanted Suitcase to open up to her. "We all are here for you. OJ. Knife. Clover.Just- if you need someone to talk to- about anything-.. you know."
Suitcase swallowed, trying to push away the bitter feeling that sent ripples through her. "..I know." She mumbled. "There's nothing to talk about, though." She added, trying to give her a smile.
Cabby sighed. It always awed Suitcase how so many people were able to read her like a book.
"..Suitcase.. You know we're doing this for your own good, right?" Cabby told her. And there it was. "It's-.."
Suitcase turned away. She was always being treated like a child by so many people and she was tired of it. She wasn't allowed near any sharp objects, and if you saw her arms and thighs you'd understand why. Still, it was upsetting - infuriating, even, sometimes - how she was literally one of the 'leaders' in this society, yet so many people still looked down on her. She knew she was nowhere near as good as OJ or Cabby. But she was still trying her best. Was that seriously not enough for everyone- for anyone? No, of course not. It never was. Never had been.
"I know." She repeated dully.
"Are you eating well?"
Suitcase wanted to scream.
Why did it seem like they were all monitoring her every move? Sometimes she could even swear that it's like they try finding the right words that wouldn't hurt her feelings or something. Suitcase isn't some helpless, sensitive little girl- she knows her worth. She's strong. Had she not proven that by now? She'd won Inanimate Insanity's second season, for fuck's sake!
"I-.." Option one was to lie, with a slim chance of Cabby actually believing it- if not, which was more likely, Cabby would either give her a pitying look and tell her to eat something, or make her go out to eat with her, which Suitcase really didn't wanna do as of now. Option two was to be honest.. and Cabby would either give her a pitying look and tell her to eat something, or make her go out to eat with her ...which Suitcase really didn't wanna do right now.
Suitcase takes far too long to respond, giving her away by now. Cabby can almost sense the frustration bubbling in the latter.
"..Look, Suitcase, I-"
"Well- sorry for bothering you, Cabby," What is she apologizing for? Cabby had been the on who'd initiated this conversation. But of course, what could you expect from fragile little Suitcase? Sorry was all she'd ever been. "But I have a meeting with the Safety Squad tomorrow so i'd better get ready for it." Pathetic excuse. She knew Cabby was knew that it was a desperate, half-hearted attempt to get away from this conversation.. and her. Before the other OSC member can say anything, Suitcase walks hurriedly away.
Closing her door and locking it gently, she drags herself onto her bed.. and screams into her pillow. Then those screams turn into sobs, then those sobs turn into her just.. laying there. She inhales deeply and screams before it fades into sobs once more, her pillow hopefully muffling her just enough. She takes a few moments, head in her sheets and catching her breath with shaky, hiccuping inhales and exhales.
She rotates her head, lifting her face off her pillow. Her eyes drifted to her arm, gazing at it intently. Normally, you'd expect her to hate them, to detest them, to want them gone from her body.
...if anything, she wanted more of the discolored skin, more of the scars.
She had a love-hate relationship with them. Sometimes she'd find herself wanting to have scars all over her body, all over her hands, all over her thighs. Other times she'd hate herself and hate them so much that she'd want to rip her skin off. There was no use thinking of either, anyway; again, she wasn't allowed near sharp objects.
She couldn't help but feel her stomach churn. Cabby, OJ, Knife, Balloon - the list kinda goes on - they were all just trying to help her out. Suitcase was being unreasonable. What kind of sane person doesn't want to feel better, after all?