Madam President

Special Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Story is not mine, I only adapted it to FreenBecky Fanfic because I love this piece and I love FB. I want to see them portray the characters in this story.

Farewell gift before I go hiatus.

Let's start early. I'll finish this together with the Heartbreak Princess within this week. I need to focus more on my papers starting next week if I want to graduate college next school year. :)))
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The pain wakes her.

It's a blend of dull and sharp pins dancing across her skin and under. Running so deep she wonders if her organs are bruised, if her body is breaking on a cellular level. She feels like her body is a canvas of pain painted with the heaviest hand.

It takes her nearly ten minutes to open her eyes after trickling into consciousness, and another ten to hold them open against the harsh light from the nearby window.

She realizes that a woman is sitting curled beside her bed in an overstuffed love seat, asleep with her face against her knees.

The woman is snoring softly, and she has half a mind to let her sleep more but the pain in her body and the desert in her throat demand relief so she tries her best to speak. All that comes is a frazzled croak.

Still, it's enough. The woman jolts awake with a gasp, nearly falling out of her chair.

"Freen!" She breathes out like an ache, "you're awake!"

Freen.

My name is Freen, she thinks, and wonders why it feels new and long-known all at once.

Freen blinks slow and careful, every movement a battle, and gestures with her finger tips to the glass of water she sees by the bed. The woman practically leaps to grab it for her, stretching across her body and causing her shirt to ride up.

Freen watches her move with lazy eyes, just catching a glimpse of deep, purpling bruising across her stomach. But then the woman stands straight and her shirt falls back into place and in this moment Freen really only has eyes for that water.

Desperate, she tries to sit up. Her ribs scream inside her in agony. The woman tries to help with her free hand, but they ultimately settle for her holding the water over Freen's face and letting it drip down into her mouth. Most lands on target but some of it dribbles down her chin to pool in her hair.

It helps cool her tongue even as her entire body burns.

"I'm sorry," the woman says once Freen taps out, "I'll try and find you a straw in a minute. And a towel."

Freen just gulps around the last mouthful and sighs back into her pillow. She blinks, finally clear-headed enough to look around.

She's in a plain room with little to see. The walls are white, sterile. There's a painting of a flower by the door, it's purples and greens the only color in the otherwise blank room. She's resting under a heavy white comforter pulled up high on her shoulders.

What she can't see of her body she can feel, a medley of agony from toe to tongue. There are security bars over the large window to her left, and their striped shadows that lay across the bedspread follow the curves of her body underneath.

She can't feel her feet.

"Where am I?" she asks.

The woman, who had thus far been a frenzy of jerky movements, goes still. Her words are slow and calculated.

"Our home. You've been asleep for a day now," she says.

Our home. Freen doesn't miss the implications there and she tries with all her might to remember, but the ache in her head and whole overpowers any notion of concentrating.