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Warm Me Up (And Breathe Me)
4.

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Lights out.

Two officers inspect each cube, and make sure the inmates are tucked in bed. They don't bat an eye at your wounded face. Either because they don't care, or they simply don't want to get their hands messy. You prefer it that way. You spend the night wide awake, eyes open, ears alert. The alcohol Poussey generously shared with you helped ease the pain, but wrapped under the covers, your face starts to sting and burn. You touch your split lower lip, and roll onto your side.

Alex is a few cubes away. It's that which comforts you, knowing she is close––that she has your back. Neither of you managed to speak for very long. The officers don't appreciate affection, and the last thing you want is for Alex to be given a shot. You've given her enough Hell as it is. That's what you should think. Right? You've given Hell, so you deserve Hell back. The doctor made that clear, in the ward, with the white walls, white lab coats, white doors, and white floors.

You've been very, very bad.

So you deserve punishment.

That's why they sent you to psych.

That's why you start to wonder if you ever left psych at all.

Is this all a dream? Is Williams a figment of your imagination? Are the wounds on your face––did you hurt yourself? Are they self inflicted? Are you simply making up stories in your head? Is any of this real? You sit upright. Are you going mad? Your arm tingles. You pull up your sleeve. Trust No Bitch stares back at you, and you urgently hide the markings again.

Mad, mad, mad Piper.

You can hear their screams.

The other patients. Contained in their rooms. Banging their fists against the door. Yelling and crying out. Desperate for release. It took you six months to become one of them. Ah. You remember. A doctor was smiling at you, grinning, and the needle poked into your skin, and you watched the fluid pour into your body.

It felt like you were high.

You made your fists bleed from hitting the walls. Two nurses had to strap you down to the bed.

Mad, mad, mad Piper.

(Dear God.)

You shove off your sheets and slowly stand to your feet. Are you mad? Are you mad? Is this all a plan? Is Williams part of some conspiracy, to drag you back to psych? Will you return to those quiet, sterile rooms and die there? Rot away into a forgotten name?

'Chapman,' Flaca whispers harshly.

Apparently, you've disturbed her slumber. She grabs you by the shoulder. You jump in surprise, which causes her to retreat. She looks down at you from her top bunk, brows furrowed.

'Get back into your bed; you're gonna get us a shot.'

'I––' You run both hands through your hair. 'I need to go.'

She sneers. 'What the fuck?'

'Got to go. I got to go.'

Flaca says nothing while you leave your cube. The officers don't notice you leave the Ghetto, hands clenching and unclenching. The lights seem to flicker above your head. You feel like you're walking on air. Maybe you're flying? The thought makes you laugh. Mad, mad, mad Piper. You roll up your sleeves, and see all of the little pokes from the needles. One, two, three, four, sixteen, seventy. So many marks.

Maybe you are dreaming, after all.

Maybe you will wake up, and stare up at that cracked, plain ceiling again. Forever.

Those doctors will eat you all up.

You reach the bathroom, pour a sink of water, and you intend to wash your face. It's dirty. You look at yourself in the mirror. Oh, God. What is that staring back at you? A long scar travels from your hairline, a bloody gash across your forehead, bruised, slightly swollen cheek. A black eye, smudged in purple. Split lip. A broken nose. It's at an awkward angle.

This is what you have become.

A monster.

Monster, monster, monster!

'Piper?'

You yell out, and turn around. Alex stares at you, wide eyed, and you think she's shocked at your appearance. You think she's horrified at your face, how ugly you are. They always said you were such a pretty girl. And you'll die this way. Old and hideous.

Disgusting.

Inhaling deeply, you face the mirror. You avoid looking at her.

'Please leave me alone.'

'What are you doing up? You need to rest––' Alex reaches out to touch you. You react. You quickly dodge her hand, but you're moving too fast. You hit the sink, and fall back. Alex responds, grabbing you by your top and saving your fall. She yanks you towards her, and holds onto you so tightly, you're worried for a second you might not be able to breathe.

A long exhale escapes your lips.

You can feel her beneath your fingers. You can feel her breath on your face as she inspects you, and she looks so concerned and worried and scared, and you've never ever seen Alex look at you this way. You swallow, and hesitantly claim her face between your hands. Yes. Yes, she is alive and she is real. 'Piper, what the fuck is going on with you?'

'I––I don't know!' You laugh. 'I don't know!' Your hands slip to your side, and you take a step back. 'I––I think I'm going crazy? Do you think I'm going crazy?'

Alex doesn't answer.

'I'm crazy, yes. I'm going a little crazy.' A giggle. You can't hear yourself. 'She's going to come back and kill me, Alex. She'll kill me.'

'No one's gonna kill you, Pipes.'

'You think so? I'm only alive 'cos she got bored with me.'

'I won't let her kill you, Piper.'

'Alex, I don't know what's wrong with me!' The laughter stops. Suddenly, the world swerves around you, and you panic. You can't stop thinking about that hideous face in the mirror. About Williams' fists meeting your cheeks. About what they did to you in psych. Those needles, smiles and pens on paper, scribbling away. You want to go home. You need to go home. You need––

'Piper. You're going to hurt yourself––'

'Don't let them take me again––'

'Piper.'

She's clinging to your top; she's trying to stop you from moving around so much. You feel her hand on your bruised cheek, and it feels good. It feels good to have her touching you. You really like that. Your shoulders slacken. Your spine feels as if it's lost its strength. Hot tears pour from your aching eyes, and you collapse into her arms. You don't know what's wrong with you, and you want Alex to hold you tightly and never let go.

Hold me. Hold me until the pain stops.

Alex gently ushers you up against the sink, and this helps you find your balance. She doesn't let you go; one hand clutches yours, while the other brushes back a few strands of hair across your damaged face. She's so soft with you, like she always has been. You close your eyes, and feel your body calm. The panic evaporates. You pay all of your attention on the woman before you, so near and close, wonderfully close.

How did it get this way?

How can this be the same drug importer you met all of those years ago?

'Are you real?'

She doesn't laugh. Her left eye twitches, and she watches you silently. Your deepest wounds are beginning to show, and, at first, you're terrified Alex might not be able to handle it. Whatever you are. Whatever psych has become of you.

Alex takes your other hand. 'Yeah, I'm real, and so is everything else.'

You sigh heavily. Relieved. Maybe mad, mad, mad Piper isn't so mad after all. 'Alex?' She's listening. 'Do you hate me?'

A flicker of an emotion passes her face, but it's gone before you're able to identify it. She knows what you mean, why you ask. Alex trails the back of her hand across your cheek. She's always been blunt, she's always been honest with you––for the most part. Alex breathes. 'I've never hated you, Pipes.' She pauses. She's hesitating. Her eyes avert from yours. '...I didn't like what you were doing––before, but that was before. It doesn't matter anymore, all right?'

It's what you expected to hear. You cry again, silently. Your voice trembles as you whisper, 'However I was before, Alex––that's who I am. I haven't been anybody else except myself––' You've admitted it. The truth is out, and it feels like a huge weight off your shoulders. You have been nobody but yourself within these walls.

You watch her, wait.

Alex doesn't argue, and you are in no fit state to argue.

The two of you are resigned from arguing. Your exhaustion hits, and you want nothing more than to fall asleep in her embrace. And that's all you need. You need her to keep you stable, alive––you need Alex. You need her to love you once more.

Your throat narrows, and you start to panic again. 'Alex, please––please don't let them send me back. I can't go back, Alex.' You pull at her top, at her collar, pressing your chest against hers, conscious of her hands at your stomach, and then at your hips. You press your mouth into the crook of her neck, scrunching your eyes shut. 'Please don't take me back there.'

'I won't let them take you anywhere.' You're terrified when Alex starts to retreat, but you realise she only wants to look at you. She claims your wrists in her hands, and her eyes find yours. 'D'you hear me? I won't let them take you anywhere.'

You believe her. Of course you do.

She is the only person left whom you trust.

The weight of her words sink into your mind, and you wrap your arms around the back of her neck. She holds you again, and kisses the corner of your mouth, the cut across your forehead. You gasp, close your eyes, and your heart pounds in your ears. You don't want her to stop. You want her. You need her. Suddenly, Alex is everything. Your everything. Suddenly, only she matters, and you cannot let her go.

'I've missed you,' you murmur. 'I thought––I thought you were dead––' Your voice cracks, you shudder, and kiss her back when she kisses you.

'So did I, for a moment there.'

You press your lips onto hers, firm and tight, break away to breathe. 'Alex.' Your fingers intertwine with hers, and you have to be kissed again, just for the touch, the sensation, the comfort, the reassurance that you are alive. Her breath tickles your nose, and you feel like you're tumbling. So you kiss her harder, again and again, feeling her warmth spread in your chest as she holds onto you so tightly.

The pressure, rush, everything about her forces you to stop and pull away. Alex frowns, a little flushed, a little concerned. 'Piper?'

You're calmer. Breathing is easier, but as you look at her, you don't know what you're meant to think or say. You need to stop crying. 'I just... I spent days, months strapped to a bed and I––I tried to figure out why I did what I did. I'm confused––I don't know who I am anymore.' You may be you, but who is that? Who is Piper Chapman now? Your words clearly pinch Alex. You see her wince. You see her react, and it's devastating to know that your pain causes her pain too.

She knows what that's like though, you realise. She knows what it's like to feel confused about yourself, to stop and panic, wonder what you are and what is going on in your head. She knows what it's like to be entangled into a web of hysteria.

She's been there before. After you left her in Paris.

A small, ghost of a smile reaches her lips. Sad almost.

Forgiving.

'You'll find out soon enough, kid.'

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