#you know mr. 'had malaria twice' here would just

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[chicgeekgirl89]

A Little Bit Broken Chap. 11: Itch

Fandom: SEAL Team

Characters: Sonny Quinn, Lisa Davis, Jason Hayes, Clay Spenser, Trent Sawyer, Full Metal, Cerberus, Brock Reynolds is there but he doesn’t say anything, Ray Perry, Naima Perry

Summary: Sonny is itchy and miserable.

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“So if we breach here and here that should get us in,” Jason said, pointing to the blueprints on the screen.

Sonny tried to listen to the practice drill plans as he scratched at his arm. Damn mosquitoes. They’d bit him up something fierce. He’d told everybody they needed mosquito netting for beds and better insect repellent but nooooooo. Nobody ever listened to Sonny’s concerns. Now they probably all had West Nile. And Malaria. And Dengue Fever. He scratched more aggressively.

“You got fleas or something?” Clay asked, eyeing him strangely.

“Those damn mosquitoes,” Sonny muttered. “Ate me up the entire two weeks we were in country.”

It had been a lengthy, boring op with lots of hanging around, waiting for intel that never came, and green lights that never got lit. Sonny had set up a couple of soccer games for the local kids with all their down time to keep himself from going stir crazy. Everybody was glad to be home and running strategy until the next spin-up. 

“If Full Metal and I come in from the top I think that gives up better coverage,” Ray said.

Jason shook his head. “Too exposed. What about the side?”

Now his leg was itching too. What the hell? How had the buggers gotten inside his pants? God damn it.

He tried to scratch it against the table leg and the whole thing shifted, coffee sloshing around dangerously. “Sorry,” he grunted.

Clay raised his eyebrows and even Cerberus perked his head up, but Sonny ignored them.

“Well whatever we do we’re gonna have to be quick about it,” Full Metal said. “They get one whiff of us and they’ll light the whole place up.”

“What about—all right Sonny, what the hell?” Jason finally asked.

“What?” Sonny asked.

“You’re sitting there squirming like somebody’s shoving a hot poker up your ass.”

Every eye turned to him, which just made him itch more. And was it getting hotter? “It’s those damn mosquitoes. Ate me the fuck up.”

“There’s no mosquito in the world that should make you do what you’re doing,” Ray said pointedly.

Trent grabbed Sonny’s arm and yanked up his sleeve. Sonny stared. His skin was covered in little red bumps, some of which were open and oozing. “That doesn’t look like mosquitoes,” Clay said skeptically.

“Nope,” Trent said. “That’s chicken pox.”

“What?” Sonny looked at him in horror. “No way. That’s for kids.”

“Or adults that haven’t had it,” Trent said. “Did you get it when you were a kid?”

“No. Quinns don’t get sick,” he scoffed.

“Right. Sure. And you didn’t get vaccinated for it?”

“Why the hell would I get vaccinated for a kiddy disease?”

“In case you’re ever around a bunch of unvaccinated kids. Like we were last week Mr. Soccer-Man,” Clay said with a grin.

“Oh Sonny boy, you’ve done it now.” Jason was smirking so hard it made Sonny want to punch him. 

“Trent, it’s gotta be something else,” Sonny insisted, starting to sweat. It was really getting hot.

“Fever, rash, definitely chicken pox,” Trent grunted. “Only thing to do is go home and wait it out.”

“For how long?” Sonny asked, starting to scratch again.

“Stop that!” Trent said. “You’ll scar.”

“Yeah wouldn’t want to mess up that beautiful complexion,” Clay said.

“You shut up,” Sonny snapped at him. “How am I supposed to deal with this?”

“Calamine lotion,” Ray told him. “Stop and pick some up. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”

“Worse?!”

By the time Sonny got home he thought he might be dying. His head ached, he was freezing cold and sweating, and he itched like crazy. He collapsed into bed and fell immediately into a restless sleep punctuated by dreams of fire ants and mosquitoes crawling all over him.

He was woken by a hand tenderly stroking his forehead. He squinted up at Lisa who looked down on him with a fond sort of bemused smile on her face. “You are so stupid,” she said.

“Not my fault.” His voice was croaky and rough.

“It’s definitely your fault.” She shook her head. “All your fears and phobias and you somehow miss getting a chicken pox vaccine? What am I going to do with you?”

“Get me a beer?” he asked hopefully, a hand scratching absentmindedly at his chest.

She trapped it with her own, forcing him to stop. “Do not scratch. You’ll regret it. How about I run you a bath instead? We’ll put some oatmeal in it.”

“I am not taking a bath like some frou frou spa day,” he protested.

“Then itch away my friend,” she said, getting up. “I’m going to make dinner. Let me know when you change your mind.”

He lasted about ten more minutes before he gave in. “All right!” he yelled. “Make me a lady bath!”

She walked back into the room, a smirk on her face. “That’s what I thought.”

As it turned out an oatmeal bath wasn’t too bad. It was actually kind of nice. And it did help a lot with the itching. “I told you so,” Lisa said, sitting on the edge of the tub.

Sonny opened one eye. “This stays between us right?”

She snapped a picture of his face with her phone. “That depends on if you’re nice to me. If not, this goes straight to Clay’s inbox.”

Sonny spent an incredibly miserable week and a half at home in bed. The rash spread all over his body to the point that he couldn’t walk by a mirror without grimacing in horror. He was no Brad Pitt, but now he looked like something the cat had dragged in. Not that he was doing much walking. The fever and body aches had him pretty well confined to his bed or the couch. Never in his life had he been more grateful for Lisa who brought him food and forced him to complete some basic hygiene tasks to keep himself alive and going.

Trent stopped by a handful of times, likely aware that Sonny would die in his own bed rather than go to the hospital if things became dire. Clay came by with some Gatorades and chicken soup. Even Naima came over to check in, probably prompted by Ray’s complete lack of information on the situation. “Looks like you’re on the mend,” she said after taking his temperature. “The spots should clear up within a couple of days. Have you been using the lotion I sent with Trent?”

“Yes. Don’t help much with the itching though.”

“Well there’s not a whole lot we can do about that. It’s got to be getting better though, right?”

“I suppose,” he grumbled.

“Just remember not to—“

“Scratch. I got it.”

“You know you’re pretty lucky. Chicken pox isn’t typically too bad in kids, but it can be really hard on adults.”

“This is lucky?!” Sonny asked.

She gave him a wry smile. “Your fever could have spiked so high it caused brain damage. Or you could have gotten a bacterial infection in your skin. Or given yourself pneumonia. Or—“

“All right I got it,” he griped.

She stood, picking up her purse. “What I’m saying is, next time, make sure you get a vaccine.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice. Thanks for coming by.” She’d worked a full shift before coming over and he knew she wanted to get home to Ray and the kids. But that was who Naima was, if someone on the team was down, she was there to pick them back up.

She patted his shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Lisa came home a couple hours later. “Hey, how was your day?” she asked.

“D’you know The Price is Right is still on?”

“Nope, and it is definitely time for you to go back to work,” she said, settling in next to him on the bed. “I heard Naima came by and gave you the go ahead.”

“Yep. I think she brought lasagna or something. It’s in the fridge.”

“Oh thank god, I was not in the mood to figure out dinner again tonight.” She slid closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Chips?” He offered her the bag of BBQ chips he’d been munching on.

“Thanks.”

He reached across his chest to scratch his shoulder and she caught his hand without looking. “Don’t.”

[u-f-o-no]

it's 1:30am. I'm tired I guess but not tired enough to really sleep. I meant to go eat something a couple hours ago but I haven't felt like it since my dad crumpled up my dinner and threw it off the porch because he was mad at me. I'm really lonely I guess but I also hate everyone right now so I don't know what that means or what to do. I was trying to get over a dislike of someone but then today i got back a peer review by them and all of the comments were the things I hate about myself. I don't feel like living anymore and I don't think there's anything anyone can do about it. I miss Sam. I hope he's doing okay in the hospital or w/e. I wish I could be with him. It'd probably be good for me. Today I was talking to Emily and everyone else in class heard me but her bc she never listens to me and she was probably texting Rachel. I don't know why I'm not good enough for these people?? They're not good enough for me so why the hell am I not good enough for them? I'm so tired and sad. I doubt my depression is a chemical imbalance anymore. I think my life just sucks ass. Which makes me feel ungrateful bc I'm not dying of typhoid fever or malaria or w/e. The comments he put weren't even like bad things you just don't understand what I was thinking you don't fucking know what it's like to be me. I have so many thoughts all the time and you may not have had an original thought in your life. He still gets into better colleges than me. People like him. He's not fucking depressed or dysphoric or a coward. He didn't drop out of ap physics. I should have taken a shower. I don't even know what I did today. I have no clue. I really should go to the hospital but I'm so scared of missing school and not graduating because I know I'm not going to kill myself because I'm scared which will make things worse. I have flashbacks to unsettling surreal dreams all the time now. It knocks me off my feet for a moment but I'm good at not letting it show so no one knows. I don't want to dream anymore. Some of them are cool but mostly they're bad. I downloaded a dream journal app but I've only made one entry because my dreams are so weird and multiplanar that I can't write them or even really describe them. I should have therapy twice a week at least but I feel bad because they're paying so much money. The only way for me to get real honest to God attention for my illness is to make an attempt on my life. I'd love to personally but I hate pain. I have enough of it as it is. I'm so guilty what the fuck. I don't have anything to be guilty about but I am anyway so I'm angry All the Time. No one cares enough to tell me it's not my fault and even if they did would I believe them? I don't even know what It is at this point but it's my fault. That doesn't even make sense why do I feel like this???! because I'm not going to kill myself I feel like I shouldn't be hospitalized and I'm guilty about faking being as bad as Sam or something like that. All my dad ever does is tell me I'm hurting him even though he's hurt me for years. Whenever he asks me what he's done wrong I forget everything like when someone asks you your favorite book and you suddenly forget everything you've ever read. That makes me feel guilty because I can't find anything bad that he's done and so I internalize his words and I have a little voice now that's his voice that screams Your Fault! every second of the day. I want it to stop. I want them to stop yelling at me. When I say this it sounds like I'm some kid who thinks being psychotic is cool and is like "yeah I hear voices" and that makes me feel guilty. idk tho bc I don't like think they're hidden spirits or anything i know they're coming from somewhere inside me but I didn't choose them so? I just want to fucking know what it feels like to be supported. No one person knows both the depth of my mental illness and the lengths of my identity. I allot different tidbits to different friends so that I never have anyone know me fully. I feel so guilty about being trans. Like I'm crazy or losing my mind or that it's just another mental illness I have. But I know it would be worse if I told people because they would think it's a mental illness. My mom would say "gender confused" and I would cry because that's how I felt my whole life until I realized I was this way. My dad would never look at me the same again and pray for me to go back and still tell me he loves me more than all the stars in the sky. And that would really fuck me up because for years all I've been shown is hate in the name of love and it's fundamentally broken me as a functioning human being. I can't stand physical contact because I'm so nervous. I'm so scared I'm going to mess it up and they're going to hate me. The other day my dad moved really quickly and I went into shock because I thought he was going to hit me. He continued like nothing happened but I thought I was going to cry. I was just in the car on the way to church. I rip whole tufts of my hair out now. We're almost at the two year anniversary of me asking to get my hair cut. It took a lot of courage to ask which shows that i really wanted it. I was shut down so quickly and with such contempt I've been scared to share anything about myself ever since. If he wouldn't let me style the dead protein strands on my head the way I want, no way was he going to be accepting of anything in my life besides what he wanted. I hate myself so fully now it's incredible. I used to be the most confident kid in class and now I just radiate self loathing underneath my suave exterior. And by suave like, doesn't have it together but is cool with that. I don't know. I guess I just wish people could see all this about me, but also I don't because I'm already so vulnerable this would make me ashamed and easily exploitable. Shame and guilt are things I should not be feeling and I know it. I'm so angry that the people in my life have driven me to this kind of state. But nevertheless I can't get past it. I'm just a scared kid. In fact, while many are fantasizing about getting old or married or what have you I'm fantasizing about getting to relive my childhood as my "new" or "preferred" or whatever the fuck You want to call it gender. I dream of being adopted by two nice men who love each other and teach me how to love. They are always supportive of me no matter what and comfort me when I need it. What's really fucked up is sometimes this is the only thing that gets me through the day. It's exactly like mr robot. Elliot creates a mental image of his dead father to comfort him because his body cannot handle the loneliness. It's 2am now. I guess I've vented a lot. I can't seem to make myself do anything. I'm in a rut. And I felt good on Sunday. That makes me feel like a fake too. Like I'm just being dramatic about school but I'm fine all other times. Which still isn't true but these things haunt me. No matter how many times I hear "you're valid uwu" I'm still going to hate myself and I'm still going to question. Crazy thing is I'll probably still go to school tomorrow. I'll sit in band class and stare blankly at the other wall dreaming about what my haircut might look like, or things that I'll wear when I look more like a boy. I'll smile at people around me and make sassy comments. I'll pay attention to all the crazy things nick says and think about playing trombone. Alyssa will laugh at something I say. I'll try to make eye contact with Emily when something happens even though I'm mad at her and she hates me. She won't notice and I'll feel stupid and unloved. Mr flood might give me a compliment if I do something well and it'll be the highlight of my day. He'll make a funny joke or say something odd and Alyssa will laugh again and I'll smile fondly. My heart is filled with such love it's absolutely horrible that anything like this has been allowed to happen. On the underneath of the rotting cool girl is a little boy who just wants to be held. Sometimes I call mr flood dad when he's out of earshot. I do that for mr Higdon occasionally too. They smile at me so bright and tell me I'm wonderful and delightful and compliment me on silly things that somehow make my day better even though I don't really care about them. I have dreams where I'm maybe three feet tall with fluffy blonde hair and I'm sort of hunched over trying to be small and unnoticeable and I'm crying and the tears are running down my face but I'm only sniffling, because I taught myself not to cry loudly a long time ago. I rub my eyes with my little child's hands and look up hesitantly to where I see a man standing, bending over slightly to talk to me. he looks sad but understanding and opens up his arms. I'm not sure if I'll go but then I think about being held above the ground away from my problems and I just run straight for them. As I land, I am lifted it up into a string, warm embrace. I feel safe for the first time I can remember. My arm is around his neck and one clings to his back. I bury my face between his shoulder and neck into the soft fabric there. And then I cry. I cry for a long time as the man plants gentle kisses in my hair and whispers soft unintelligible things. He rubs my back carefully and I feel myself relax. There is no tension in my childlike body. Bliss. My wildest dream is to have a loving father like that. Which makes me slightly sick. I understand Harry Potter visiting the mirror of erised so often now. Those desires are truly powerful, and those who already have strong relationships may avoid its allure easier. It's almost 2:30 I think my dad came home but that doesn't sound right. I never know when he's leaving. I'm scared just sitting here. I'm afraid he'll come in I'm afraid of the rodents in the ceiling falling on me and I'm afraid of the endlessness represented by the passing train. This whole existence feels like a cycle I can't break. Every day is blurred together. Every moment. I don't even know now if I've already written this. I do know I hate the noises of the nighttime. It is a time when we are more keenly aware of our aloneness and of all the tiny noises that lurk behind every day bustle. Humans have long been fascinated by the night. It stands as a place of unknowing, where danger can lurk easily. It used to be my greatest fear. Not the night it's self I told my mother, but the robbers in the dark. I'm so much more paranoid now, and I'm told it may be a side effect of the depression manifesting in a sort of pseudo-psychosis. Good to know not even my psychosis is real. Which makes me feel like I'm faking it. Seriously I'm about to go out of mind these squirrels sound like they're going to pounce on me at any second and while I'd like to die; not like that.