Posted by Civilian Revna Freya McKenzie (Diplomatic Attache) in Healing - Hard, Finding Your Lost Self - Harder

Posted by Civilian Revna Freya McKenzie (Diplomatic Attache) in Healing - Hard, Finding Your Lost Self - Harder
Revna stood side on to the target. She was tired, her back and shoulder muscles protested at the strain and sent tremors down her arms. The now healed, but so long damaged pectoral muscles ached and throbbed. Before the PT session was finished she had to hit the target one more time and then release the string on the bow.

With a deep release of breath out through her nose, Revna released the draw on the bow, lowering her arms. She resisted the urge to bend over and put her hands on her knees. Instead she took a slow breath, deep into every last Alveoli and let it out just as slowly. Then she rolled her shoulders back and squeezed her shoulder blades together, forcing her muscles to release. She looked back at the target, knocked the arrow to the string and raised the bow and in one fluid movement drew the fletching back to touch the corner of her mouth and released. It would have been a beautiful shot, except her shoulders spasmed, her arm jerked, and the string smacked painfully against her left inner forearm. The arrow landed the target but barely. Well it counted for PT anyway.

Eager to be done with this particular session Revna placed the bottom tip of the bow on the ground stepped her right foot between the wood and string and with her left hand gently forced the bow to bend further, just enough to release the tension on the string and release the string. Then picking up the tricorder she took out the probe and did a scan. “Computer send program details and scan results to Sickbay and to my personal console, tagged for Cpt Jameson, USS Centurion and end program.”

Revna collected the two dozen arrows and the bow, placed them in their case. Taking the case she exited the holodeck and headed back to her quarters. She was sweaty, tired, and sore. She walked through the door and set the case to the left of the door and then sat down at her desk. She complied the last two weeks worth of PT sessions and sent them off to Jameson. He had thought the bow and arrow was an excellent activity for her to work towards. It worked all those muscles that had been allowed to go toneless. Revna had always enjoyed the activity, but some days…

She began to unweave the braids and pull the beads off one by one. She was tired and rushed, ready to get them out, and had to take extra time to untangle the knot. She could hear Mike’s low laughter telling her to stop before she ruined all his hard work. She smiled as she pulled the last bead out of her hair and set it in the tray. She moved into towards the shower, dropping clothes as she went and stayed under the hot water letting it soothe sore and strained muscles, until the water went cold. At that exact moment she really missed the gigantic step down tub in their apartment on Event Horizon.

Revna towel dried and brushed her hair. Then in place of her robe she donned a deep blue button down shirt, that was too big for her. It was large and loose on her and came barely to her knees. She rolled the sleeves several times, a playful smirk on her face. She moved back towards her desk, picking up discarded clothes to be cleaned, hoping to see a message from Mike. He sent her songs regularly and she was hoping, but there were no messages. Revna moved back into the bedroom and curled onto the bed. Today was harder; the pain and soreness making the memories closer to the surface and harder to deal with. “Computer Play ‘Mike’s Playlist’ volume level 4.” (https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxyFRt8cv6c57XcUfqI69hPp3HmDFk9Tf)

Leaned back against the pillows, eyes closed, Revna listened as Mike’s voice filled the room. She wasn’t getting up for anything, well one thing…one person, that was it no matter what it was. Not right now.

Revna McKenzie

“What are you doing?!”
“Stop that!”
“He’s got a knife!”
“How did he get that?”
“Hey Walker! What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?!”

She turned sideways trying to slip between two people in the press of the crowd. She couldn’t see what was going on, just hear the shouting. Ow! She banged her knee against a chair as she tried to quickly step past another person trying to get a better look.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU! GET AWAY FROM ME!”
“Knock it off Man!”
“Put the knife down, Walker. You’re gonna hurt someone!”
“Can you get to him?”
“No, over the table maybe?”

She pushed her way forward, gentle hands on shoulders. “No, stop yelling. Let me by.” And then there was no one blocking her way. It felt like standing suddenly on the edge of a cliff with a storm chasing you from behind. Revna stared up into the dark brown eyes of a massive man. Dark raven blue black hair in a braid down his back, the dark tanned skin and dark brown eyes indicative of Native North American tribal heritage. “Walker, give me the knife,” but the words wouldn’t come this time. Her voice was mute and she stood, ice and fear drowning her, rooting her in place.

Then fire, burning, tearing, warmth trickling down her sides and pooling on her chest and the hollow of her throat.

Asleep on her bed, Revna’s respiration increased and then a strangled difficult effort to make sound that never proceeded forth and then she was still…temporarily her body remembering what it was like to be unable to draw air through lungs. Then rapid respiration and increased pulse.

“Code Blue! Code Blue! Surgical Recovery!” Hands, warm hands against frozen skin, voices, indistinct and far away. “She’s lost too much blood. Put a pressure bag on it and pump it!” The sound echoed like from a long tunnel. “Should I intubate?” “No, her lungs won’t survive the forced air. Get her a rebreather, 90% oxygen level but low pressure.” The voices muted, the sounds of equipment muted, alarms dulled…

Revna woke with a start, expecting pain and no air, momentarily forgetting reality for the memories. Instead of muffled painful gasps, a scream issued forth. For what seemed like long moments she was disoriented, not recognizing where she was or how her lungs were suddenly working. Then reality began to settle. She forced herself to sit up, hugged a pillow tight to her chest and tried to ground herself in the present between sobs.

Revna McKenzie

Revna breathed in.

One scent: the shirt smelled like Mike.
Two Tastes: She could taste salt from where she’d been crying and the stale, stuffy air.
Three sounds: She could hear the air running through the vents, the sound of Mike’s voice over the speakers and the music continued to play, and the harsh rasp of her breath in and out of her lungs.
Four things she could feel: His shirt was soft and warm, her throat ached, her eyes burned, and her chest was tight.

She opened her eyes looking around, five things she could see, but it was hard to focus from exhaustion and tears. This wasn’t working. She tried again and it was no better. She tried focusing and counting her breath, but that just brought focus to the memory of lungs that didn’t work. She would have to talk to someone, the new counselor had arrived on board.

In those long months of recovery, when she felt alone, when she struggled, even with Runa there, there was always Mike. Even over a distance, from the other side of a com screen Mike just knew what to do. She didn’t worry if he was awake or asleep, if he might be busy or not, she was struggling and he’d be very cross with her (and she smiled slightly) if she let those things convince her not to call him.

“Computer contact Michael McKenzie, Event Horizon Station”

Revna McKenzie