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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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The Blood Inside Of Ewe

I’m had this idea for So Long and I’ve finally written it!!!! Except it’s not how I wanted it to turn out. It feels rushed and the ending is abrupt and ughhhh- I may rewrite it at some point, but for now, enjoy this heavy joyride!

TW: Implied drugging, stalking, self harm

——————

When Joan left for Glasgow because of a new job, nobody expected her to return within a week. Maybe she was just visiting early? She may have gotten homesick! That was normal.

However, the disheveled appearance of the ex-SIX pianist was not.

See, Joan had gotten a better paying job up in Glasgow and, despite not wanting to leave get friends and family, she took it. It was the best thing to do. And so, she left.

But here she was again. Standing in the middle of the backstage wings. And something was very, very wrong.

Her skin was an unnatural milky-yellow color, for one thing. And her eyes were so wide- too wide. Her hair was knotted and greasy and in patches upon her head like someone had ripped random clumps out of her skull. Scrapes and cuts litter her knees from where she must have fallen on the pavement.

There were dark purple bruises encircling her thin wrists.

Joan responded to no one when she staggered through the theater. When someone from the crew tried to grab her to get her to explain, she stiffened and scratched them across the face like a terrified animal. Then, she took off up the Stairs of Doom, nearly falling and busting her head open in the process, and sprinted for one of the dressing rooms.

Having her barge in was a little startling, to say the least.

Jane, Cathy, and Katherine were sitting around inside, waiting to go on. Katherine was snuggled up in Jane’s lap while the woman brushes her hair out and Cathy told them about the climax of the latest book she was interested in. Then the quiet moment was ruined when a mangy version of their old music director came tumbling in like there were demons on her heels.

“Joan?!” Jane shouted in shock. She nearly threw Katherine off when she leapt up to her feet.

“What are you doing here?” Cathy asked before really taking in the appearance of the ex-pianist. “Are you okay?”

Joan says nothing. She put a hand on the door frame for support.

“Joan?” Jane took a small step forward. She knew that look in the girl’s eyes... “Joan, what’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Joan stared at Jane for a long moment, then moved directly into her arms. The minute she was clinging to her queen’s costume, her knees buckle and everything goes black.

———

Joan didn’t get better. In fact, she seemed to get worse.

At home, she ignored her roommates and stayed cooped up in her room. She stayed huddled up in her bed for three days.

For three days, Joan shivered, burned, and cried. For three days she was almost completely helpless, unable to function correctly at all. She even had a seizure, once.

She didn’t eat, didn’t drink, as almost everything put in her system was thrown up. Her body refused medicine and water, so she quickly became severely dehydrated, which only added to her misery. Her constant crying and sweating didn’t help, either.

She drifted in and out of consciousness for most of those three days, always waking up to a daze of heat and pain. She remembered dragging herself out of bed to take a bath and had considered drowning herself. She didn’t, only because she wanted to die in a less painful way.

Jane came over quite often, but Joan could barley remember anything they did. Her brain wouldn’t process the memories, or maybe she just hadn’t been awake in the first place.

The fourth day came forth as slow as half-frozen molasses. After the routinely agony that came with waking up, Joan noticed Bessie sitting beside her bed, reading a book.

And, dear God, her head suddenly hurt. She had to shut her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them again she blearily looked around the dimly lit bedroom that smelled of illness. How long had she been out? She didn’t know. An unbidden whine escaped her dry throat.

Joan rolled over onto her side and squinted at Bessie, who eventually looked up. Her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You’re awake!” She proclaimed, setting the book to the side.

Joan made a small, confused noise. How long has Bessie even been here? When did she get here? She couldn’t remember. Not that it really mattered, though. She probably wouldn’t even remember this because she was just going to pass out again soon.

“You woke up a few times before,” Bessie informed. “Only for a few minutes, though, then you blacked out again. But you didn’t throw up! So good job there, sweetheart! I’m proud of you.”

Joan managed to give Bessie a weak thumbs-up.

“Here,” Bessie took a glass of water off of the nightstand. “Drink something, love. You must be thirsty.”

She didn’t miss how scared Joan became when she held the cup out to her, noticing the way she flinched away and whimpered. It was as if she thought the glass was full of poison.

“It’s just water, honey.” Bessie said softly.

Joan shook her head.

“Please? Just a few small sips?”

She shook her head more rapidly.

“For me?”

She whimpered at that, hunching her shoulders in. Her dull, sunken in eyes cast towards the ground, avoiding Bessie’s sad gaze.

“Joan...”

Another whimper bubbled up, which turned into a noiseless sob. Bessie’s heart broke as she watched the poor girl break down, and she quickly wrapped her up in her arms, setting the glass of water aside for now.

“Shh, shh...” Bessie rubbed up and down Joan’s spine. “It’s okay... You’re okay, baby girl, you’re okay...”

Joan didn’t even cry for five minutes. By two she was out again, slumped limply in Bessie’s embrace.

Not even unconsciousness can make her features look peaceful.

Bessie pressed a soft kiss to Joan’s hot, clammy forehead before laying her back down. The girl has already started to whimper in her sleep (nightmares and terrors have become very frequent for her), so Bessie strokes her sweaty hair to try and soothe her. She’s about to pick up her book with the other hand when the doorbell rang. She went to go get it.

“The mother hen has arrived!”

Bessie raised an eyebrow at Jane’s statement as she walked inside the lady in waiting house. She appreciated her attempt at lightening the situation.

“How’s Joan?” Jane asked, her lighthearted tone switching to a maternal and concerned one in an instant.

“Shitty.”

“Details, please.”

“She can’t stomach anything- not even water, her fever is burning her alive, she can only stay awake for a few minutes before passing out again, she’s completely sore everywhere, she’s starting to cry in her sleep, and she won’t speak at all.” Bessie said, nervousness lacing her voice. “To sum it up: whatever is going on is kicking her ass.”

Jane winced. She had been hoping that her daughter figure had gotten a little better, but to no avail.

“Maybe we can make her something,” She suggested. “Like, soup. Something easy on the stomach.”

Bessie glanced at her then nodded slightly. It was worth a shot, even though it would probably just get thrown up if Joan didn’t refuse it.

They ended up making oatmeal, which they somehow managed to complicate and nearly made a huge mess of in the kitchen. They both laughed, which was a nice change to the grim atmosphere, but that somber mood quickly returned when they approached Joan’s room.

“Joan?” Jane knocked on the bedroom door, “It’s me and Bessie. We’re coming in, sweetie.”

Joan was surprisingly awake, which was a change, but it didn’t make her any better. She was curled up under her thick blankets on the edge of the bed, shivering. Her face was very grey, eyes still traumatized and scared. Her gaze momentarily flicked to the two older women, then returned to the floor.

“Hey,” Jane said softly, hurrying over to the girl’s side. “Feeling any better?”

Joan made a weak hum. If her not being able to speak still was any indication, then probably not.

“Do you need anything?”

Joan shuts her eyes. Jane takes that as a “no.”

“We have oatmeal if you’re hungry,” Bessie said, holding up the steaming bowl.

Joan made a bitter face. Even though she was hungry, the thought of trying to stomach anything sickened her. She shook her head.

“Sorry,” She tried to say, but produced no sound and could only mouth it pathetically. Jane smooths out the hair on her head.

“Nonsense,” Bessie waved a hand dismissively, hiding an oatmeal stain on her pants. “It was no trouble.”

The girl nodded slowly, then pressed her face back into her blankets.

“You’re going to be okay,” Jane said, rubbing her back comfortingly. “You’ll get better soon.”

Joan did not answer.

Bessie and Jane lingered in the room for a long time after Joan passed out again, with Jane rubbing the girl’s back and murmuring sweet, loving things in her ear, and Bessie loitering by the door, staring dejectedly into the hot bowl of oatmeal she was still holding.

Eventually, Jane pressed a loving kiss to Joan’s forehead and stood up. She walked to the door, placed a wry hand on the door frame for balance, dipped her head, and then began to weep. Bessie couldn’t get to her in time to catch her before her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, now openly sobbing.

“Jane,” Bessie said in alarm. She darts to the older woman’s side and set a hand on her back, which makes her crumple completely into her lap. She tensed in shock, watching the usually-very-reserved queen cling desperately to her pants and cry against her thighs. “Jane, Jane, hey...” She gently began to stroke her hair, hoping it may soothe her. “Shh, it’s okay...”

Jane shook her head and loudly choked on a sob.

“She’s not getting any better,” She forces out in a shaky voice. Her body shudders in a way that scares Bessie. “What...what if she...- Oh god-”

“Don’t think like that.” Bessie said firmly. “That’s not going to happen.”

“I can’t- I can’t lose her, Elizabeth. She’s my baby, I-I can’t-” Jane broke off into unintelligible crying.

Bessie opened her mouth, but only a whimper came out. She had been worrying about the same thing, Joan not getting better, but, until now, she had pushed those thoughts away and hoped for the best. But seeing Jane Seymour break down in fear makes her own anxiety rise up and, suddenly, there’s tears rolling down her cheeks.

“That’s not going to happen,” She whispered. Her hands clench in Jane’s shirt and she keels over to bury her face in the queen’s silky blonde hair. A soft sob rattles her body. “It’s not...”

There, on the floor, Jane and Bessie weep for their ill daughter.

———

Two days pass. Joan has still not said a word. Jane and Bessie taking off again to watch over her while the show goes on- the director is getting antsy with their constant absences.

Right now, Joan is sleeping relatively peacefully beside Jane, who is dozing in her bed. She has one hand on the curled up girl’s waist, waiting for her to flinch or whimper so she could leap into action and soothe her. Bessie soon appears in the doorway. Jane looks up and smiled softly.

“Hey,” She whispered.

“Hey,” Bessie replied. “How is she?”

“A little better,” Jane said, looking down at Joan, “I got her to drink some water and eat a piece of toast. Poor little thing was so thirsty.” She gently moves a strand of oily blonde hair out of her daughter’s face.

“That’s good.” Bessie sat down on the edge of the bed. Hoping to lighten the mood, she jokes, “We need to get her a bath. Her hair is a mess.”

Jane laughed quietly and picked through a few locks of Joan’s greasy hair, causing her to stir and whine into her pillows. She quickly stops as to not disturb her.

“It is,” Jane said. “Maybe when she wakes up again.” She paused. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Elizabeth.” Jane said, “You let me cry on you- you can tell me things.”

Bessie looked down at the bed sheets, suddenly sheepish. She shrugged slightly.

Jane purses her lips, then covered Joan’s ears, despite her still being asleep. Quietly, in a hushed tone, she asks, “Did you cut again?”

Bessie is silent.

And then she nods very slowly.

Jane got up and took Bessie’s hand. The bassist doesn’t fight her- she lets the queen guide her to the bathroom and press her down on the toilet seat.

“You we’re asleep,” Bessie whispered as Jane started getting out antiseptic and a rag. “I-I didn’t want to wake you...”

“Oh, Elizabeth,” Jane cooed, smiling sadly. “You’re sweet. But you should have woken me up. Promise me you will next time.”

Bessie nodded silently.

“Say it. Please.”

“I promise I’ll wake you up next time.”

(It’s sad that they both know for a fact that there will be a next time.)

“Thank you.” Jane pressed a soft kiss to Bessie’s hairline before kneeling in front of her with an antiseptic-soaked rag. “I’m going to lift your shirt and clean your belly, okay?”

Bessie wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Never use that word again.”

Jane laughed and then pushed up Bessie’s shirt. Her flicker of a faint smile disappears and morphs into a wince when she sees the amount of fresh cuts on the bassist’s midsection.

“Oh, sweetheart...”

“I’m sorry,” Bessie whispered. “I’m- it’s just- there’s a lot going on right now and...”

“Shh,” Jane hushed her, “It’s alright. I’m going to touch you now, okay? It’s just me, darling. Nobody else. Remember that.”

Bessie took a deep breath and nodded. She closed her eyes, doing her best to not flinch or whimper at the sting caused by the cuts getting cleaned.

“You’re doing so good,” Jane murmured sweetly.

“Thanks,” Bessie grunted.

The cleaning continued for several long minutes in silence. Jane’s movements were so gentle and careful; it was relaxing for Bessie to feel against her bare skin.

But that relaxation was demolished when they went back to check on Joan and found her phone lit up with a notification. When they checked it, everything was flipped upside down.

“If you don’t come back in the next 24 hours these will be posted.”

That was what was sent by an unknown number. With it, a link was pasted. Filled with morbid curiosity, Jane clicked on the link and she and Bessie watched it open up to a PDF.

On it were tons of photos.

At first, they were innocent. One was a selfie of Joan sitting at her work desk flashing a peace sign and sticking her tongue out like a cat. Another was of a picture of her with Maria and then another selfie in her work room. Then, things got weird. There were shots of the theater, a doorknob, a window, a license plate, a back door. Other photos were of random scenery and it took Jane and Bessie a moment to realize these were pictures of Joan.

Pictures that she didn’t know were taken.

Joan in a room that nobody else was in, Joan at a restaurant sitting a few tables away from the photographer, Joan during the show, Joan in a hallway, Joan in her bedroom. Jane and Bessie both didn’t want to keep looking, but they couldn’t stop themselves.

The first shot that changed everything was of Joan on a grey stone floor, curled into a little ball. Her face was covered by her hair.

The second was the same scene but at a different angle. She was lying in a dimly light, but nicely furnished and lavish room. Bessie and Jane prayed that this was just a project for Joan’s new job.

But, oh were they wrong.

The third was a close-up of Joan, who had rolled on her other side over some amount of time. Her mouth was half open and her eyes...oh, her eyes. The stare she was giving the camera was not one even the greatest of actors could possibly convey. It was unfocused and dazed. Mortified. Her pupils were dilated unnaturally wide. She didn’t even appear to be looking at the lens. Then, Jane and Bessie noticed the cables tied around her wrists.

The fourth photo was a zoomed out shot. Joan appeared to be more awake, but she didn’t seem to have all her senses together. It was like she was awake, but doped up on Novocaine. She wasn’t staring at nothing anymore, rather whoever was holding the camera. You could almost see the reflection of whoever was doing this because of how glazed over her eyes were.

The fifth was of Joan raising her legs like she was fighting against someone that wasn’t there. She was twisted slightly on her stomach and looked like a fallen fawn trying to lamb from a carnivore.

The next few shots were blurry and out of focus, as it looked like the camera was moving a lot. In the haze of terrible quality, Bessie thought she saw Joan staring up with one leg fully outstretched. It seemed like she had kicked the cameraman. That made Bessie and Jane want to cheer, but then the photos after the messed up ones were of their daughter figure looking utterly terrified. And angry.

After that, there were more blurred photos of the room, some black shots, and then one of Joan sitting up against the wall in the mix. She had her knees pulled to her chest, bound wrists at her face, slightly obscuring it. Tear tracks etched trails down her cheeks, but she looked livid.

More blackness.

Finally, the horrible blowups ended and there was a image of Joan with her shirt unbuttoned. She was on her back and her knees were propped up. Her eyes were glassy again and it didn’t take long for Bessie and Jane to piece together that the girl was probably drugged on god knows what.

Joan looked terrible. Her hair was a mess and she was drooling with mucus mixed with blood dribbling from her nostrils. She didn’t look scared anymore, just completely out of it. The poor thing probably had no idea what was even going on. Not anymore, at least.

Finally, Bessie and Jane got to the images that made them feel horribly sick. They were snapshots of their naked daughter figure. Multiple of them. Blood, saliva, and other bodily fluids created a sheen on her skin, and it’s worse that Joan had no idea what was going on.

There’s a gag behind Jane’s ear- Bessie is sprinting to the bathroom.

Jane stays rooted in place, silent tears running down her cheeks. She can’t bear to look at the photos any longer, so she looks at Joan, but she doesn’t know if that’s any better. In fact, it was worse.

The phone clatters to the floor. The resounding thud makes Joan stir in her bed and slowly wake up. When she sees Jane just standing there, she flinches backwards in fright.

Finally, Jane understands why.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six fanfiction #jane seymour #bessie on the bass #joan on the keys #katherine howard #catherine parr #tw: drugged #tw: self harm #tw: stalking

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