Trash - Lana Del Rey
Elsa Hamilton // HD
MONDAY: The good Cardinal Robert of the state of New York has decided to pay a visit to his beloved sanitarium. An annual press junction will be hosted at Sacred Cross with reporters and photographers. Plaster on a smile and remember, leave the talking to the staff.
A form came into my field of vision, as a tall, blurry man who I was unable to distinguish as a recognizable person or just a random man. He came closer to me, his sandy blonde hair curled around his ears. He had on a wool sweater and lounging pants, an argyle print covering his stomach. His scruffy upper lip twisted into a broad grin, beaming with a familiar joy. He stopped midway, arms extended out.
I hit the ground running, my hair bow bobbing up and down and my skirt flaring widly. I screamed at the full capacity of my lungs, until it became difficult to sustain. “Daddy!”
He crouched down to the ground, brushing his hair back. “Sweetheart, how is my Elsa?”
His arms swept me up, airborne above the manicured green below. I closed my eyes tight and breathed in the smell of his musk mixed with his peppermint aftershave and a distinct element of honey from his late night teas. Daddy was born in Britain, but left for America after the first war and met Mother, who went to the same high school. They were high school loves and married out of graduation, probably because of Alexander’s conception, a fun fact I constantly chuckle at.
“I miss you, Dad.” I whispered, trying to restrain the hot tears that plagued my eyes. My whole felt a vibration of coldness, as my body prepared for a catharsis. My feet hit the floor and Dad set me down. “Why don’t you come home?”
“I can’t. I made a promise to the country,” He replied, petting the top of my head.
Water welled up in my eyes and I felt a new sensation of physical agony running through my veins. Every region of my body felt a stinging jab. I moaned out. My system was hot, on fire almost. I fell to my knees, pawing at the earth, pieces of ripped turf in my grips. I hollered for relief from the pain, but Dad stayed stoic.
A red stain began to form on his argyle print, at first small then rapidly growing until it almost covered his whole stomach. A loud bang fired and the area was engulfed in smoke.
I writhed on the ground, coughing heavily. “Dad? Where are you?”
The fog thickened, I couldn’t make out where I was anymore. I turned my head, clutching my side. All I could see was thick, gray smoke. A burst of sharp pain hit my head and I slammed down on the ground, grasping my temples. I rolled on the ground, surrounded by the mysterious gray. Everything was sprinning. I kept trying to find Dad. Another cough, but this time blood spewed up my throat onto my clean hands. I screamed.
“Elsa. Elsa, wake up. It’s Nurse Russo. You’re in your room, you’re alright.”
My eyes opened, taking in the solid walls and creaky bed that I lied on. I lifted my hand up to the dim light above me. A trail of dried crimson blood streaked down to my elbow. I touched my face, instantly covered in fresh blood. Nurse Russo grabbed my nostrils with sanitized cotton. Horrified, I evaded her touch. Was it real? Was the blood from the attack in the smoke? It had crossed the boundary of reality and fantasy so closely.
“You have a bloody nose.” She tried to explain.
I smacked her hand away, tears rolling down my cheeks. I shrieked at her, “Get away from me!”
I tensed up, bringing my knees up and ripping out the IV I was hooked in to. Another nurse tried to reapply it and attach it to a clear bag, presumably full of weird narcotics. I threw my pillow at them, standing up with my back against the wall.
“Call the guards,” Russo ordered to her assistants.
Within minutes a line of white shirts stormed in my room, with Roel leading the pack.
I struggled at their grip, but eventually Roel overpowered me and forced me to lie down on my cot. Russo reattached the IV and hooked up the clear bag. I squirmed, but it was to no avail. I felt a rush come over my body and lost all will over my muscles. They stayed relaxed and I couldn’t find the right words to yell.
“What’s wrong with her? I’ve never seen her like this before.” Roel asked Russo.
“She had a night terror. She was yelling so loudly, but I couldn’t make any speech out. I think her condition is worsening, but I gave her a mild sedative. She should regain full motion within an hour.” Russo told Roel, trying to keep her voice low, but I still had my hearing.
“You need to get her dressed. Reporters from the paper arrive in two hours and they’ve specifically named her for a photograph because of her relation to Father Alex. She’ll need to be prepared.” He grabbed my grin, smiling in a sad manner. “Poor girl.”
I held my back straight, sitting at the edge of my bed, legs crossed, staring at my kitten heels. Sister Catherine had came by to check on me, mostly to reassure the rest of the staff, especially Dr. Kent that I was fit for examination by the wonderful press. And that I wouldn’t shove any more nurses. Catherine told me explicitly that I was to wait for Alex to escort me down the Grounds, for a picture in front of the asylum with him and Father Nick. She threatened to inform him of my bad conduct if I tried anything rebellious and “counterproductive” as she put it. For now my psychosis was an oddity even I couldn’t fathom and only Russo, Roel, and Catherine knew. It could have excluded Catherine’s involvement, but she nosed her way into it to defend the calamity of her corridor.
“Are you ready?” Alex asked, as he appeared at my threshold, looking absolutely autocratic in his black robes.
I smooth out my pin curls and nodded, rising to his side. He clutched my arm and led me down the hall, outside to the other gathered patients and slew of journalists. Every year they had an update on the fantastic role of the New York Catholic sanitarium with a picture of Cardinal Robert’s aged face.
I posed with Alex, eyes transfixed on the dark lens and mouth tense, refusing to smile as I was told to. It was quick, painless yet I departed from Alex with a sorrow cast over me. The reporters would never have a full story, only a painfully censored idea of Sacred Cross. I sighed heavily and spotted a slim blonde with high cheekbones holding a pack of fresh cigarettes.
“Can you spare one?” I asked her. She stared with hostile blue eyes and passed a cig my way. “Thank you. It’s Nyasha, right?”
She nodded yes. “You’re the priest-“
“Little sister, yes, yes, the rumors are valid.” I rolled my eyes, popping it in my mouth. She cupped her hand over the butt and lite me up with her rusty silver lighter. I angled my back to the nuns who were preoccupied in fixing everyone to be presentable. “What’d they want you for?”
“A collective photo with the sisters and other girls.” She spoke shyly, exhaling a stream of gray. She was cold as h.ell.
“Right,” My eye turned to the direction, but I coughed suddenly, catching my breath with a wave of panic racing over me.
“Okay?” Nyasha asked.
“Fine.” I muttered. “It’s nothing.” It seemed it could never escape this morning. I wished I could forget.
Nyasha shrugged. I looked back to the crowd and spotted the group of clustered girls, notably the crazy with two people inside her and the Russian Raina, who was always under the close watch of the guard, probably in case she tried anything. Other groups had formed as the guards took patients back inside to the Commons to sit and be observed. Only a select few were chosen for pictures, mostly the sane.
I walked over, leaving Nyasha to her quiet thoughts. “Hey Raina and Dylan, I presume” as I stared at her outfit of ruffled black.
“Yeah, you presume right. You missed Cherry if that’s who you were looking for. I think they took her inside.” Dylan babbled.
“Oh, that’s alright. I’m never looking for anyone in particular. Anyway, Raina, I’m wondering if you caught the name of the paper. Alex likes to keep secrets from me. He’s scared I might use them to cause some terrible action.” I stared at her narrow blue eyes and straight brown hair. She solemnly looked down.
“The Gazette, I heard Corinne say. She always speaks too freely.” She answered. She seemed like an observant type of person. I’d never fully ally myself with another, since personal interests always override any goal, but I did like Raina as an informant type of person. A reliable one.
“What are you going to do with that?” She questioned. “I’m curious.”
“No purpose in the short term, but when anyone gets out they know who to run to.” I grinned. “What an article that would make.”
Both girls formed dim smiles as the white troops marched over and grabbed our wrists to place us back in our brick cage.
INCLUDED: @deidra-le-reve @clairedear @n-efelibata
Sorry for the bad story :( If anyone wants to collab for Wednesday, let me know!