I feel my entire body and head hit the carpet hard, moaning in pain when it makes my cranium quake like a blender. There is a dragging sensation on the front of my body and my cheek, the carpet making my skin burn.

"Cleo get the fuck up, right now!" Someone shouts, bringing throbbing pain to my head.

So sleepy...

"Cleo!" 

My head aches like a bitch, there is a disgusting taste in my mouth, my skin feels sticky and uncomfortable and my eyes don't seem to want to open.

"That's it. I can't. You're- You're really going to make me do this?"

"Mai," I groan, but it comes out as more of a weak whisper. That's definitely her, dragging me, probably turning my skin red.

"You took a handful of medication! Before your wedding! Are you really that stupid!?"  She shouts, and that's really not helping.

"Maybe you should have been-" I start, dragging and barely-there voice muffled by the carpet, "-doing your job."

She lets go of my leg then. I hear, but don't really feel it drop to the carpet. I think we're in the hallway now. It's alright; I'll just sleep right here.

At least, I would, until I feel a sharp little prick in the side of my arm. It takes a few seconds for me to react, but my body convulsing, my lungs being filled, my bones rattling, my eyes snapping open all read loud and clear as to what I was just injected with.

"Gah!" I snap, my spine nearly forming a McDonald's arch as I flip over to glare at Mai. "Did you just stab me with fucking adrenaline?"  

The words barely get out because I choke on them, my body not knowing quite what to do with its sudden burst of energy so I just lie there having a seizure.

"Yes," she states simply, squeezing the syringe in her hand so that some of the liquid spouts from the top. "I was told to get you to the venue by any means necessary."

"You are such a bitch! Did you get kicked from the surgeon program because you stabbed your patients with whatever you wanted while they were on the table?" I snap, getting to my feet and stumbling into the living-room, crashing into the table, "Because I'm starting to think my dad found you in a back alley selling someone's organs!"

With one hand over my racing heart and the other pushing my mess of hair out of my face, I keep stumbling over to the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" She demands, following, not helping as I trip over my own feet twice.

The moment I reach out and my fingers brush the secret compartment holding one of my guns, she latches onto my arm.

"Nope! No shooting yourself, no shooting me! You're getting married in six hours so let's go!" 

Reluctantly with my body still vibrating like an erupting volcano, I don't fight her force as she tugs me over to the elevator, pushing my handbag into my chest.

It closes and in the reflection I see that I look like absolute shit.

"This," I say, pointing to my own face, "is your fault."

"My fault?"

"You're my doctor, but my medication was in reach and I was in the state to-"

"When you hide them from me I can't take them from you!"

"That's the point in hiding them."

The argument leads her to nowhere, declaring me the winner. I'm glad watching Sherlock has at least got me somewhere. 

I gasp as the pressure on my heart comes back, making the throbbing feel like it's reverberating through my whole body. I have to lean on the elevator wall with one hand.

"I can't believe you shot me with adrenaline," I repeat, turning to the side of the elevator and pressing my hand against my chest. I feel like I've had thirty-two cups of coffee.

"Your eye will start twitching soon," she says nonchalantly, striding out into the garage.

"Bitch," I voice, and it was supposed to be quiet but it comes out in a shout as I feel another wave of giddy energy course through my veins.

I jog out of the elevator before it closes, getting in the back seat of Mai's Hennessy rather than sitting next to her.

The whole drive is silent only in talking. I can't stop jogging my legs up and down or knocking my fingers against the window. Constantly I have to shake my head side to side, fending off the mix of opposites counteracting each other.

Every now and then I feel a flutter in my heart that makes me jump. It's not nerves; it's fucking chemical adrenaline.

I have no time to be nervous, because suddenly we're pulling up at the house.

"Shit," I say under my breath, as Mai opens the driveway gate to the mansion. She stops the car behind the others already lined up and gets out. The light is blinding when she rips my door open, reaching in and grabbing my arm.

When she pulls me out I push her away, stumbling past the other cars out here that belong to my sisters.

"I have to pick up Klover now," she says like I care, getting back in the car.

I flip her off over my shoulder as I move towards the front door quietly. I push the handle down and lean in to peak around the vast entrance to the house. It's clear, so I step over the threshold and take a right, away from the voices of my family in the kitchen.

Instead I duck through the first living room, tip-toeing against the carpet so I can sneak up to my room and take a shower and maybe down some shampoo.

Just as I'm about to turn the corner for the stairs, I realise there is something not quite right about the living room.

Body frozen, I turn my head to the left too see three mannequins, all lined up against the fireplace like they're in a store window, each displaying the dresses I was supposed to pick from.

I nearly gag at all the lace.

If forced, the first one would be my choice. It probably will be the one I'll end up in, because my mother already has several different things in mind to shove onto me, primarily over hiding my tattoos.

So the dress is my choice, and right now downing that bottle of hair soap for breakfast sounds a lot nicer than donning one of those lacy disgraces.

Pushing the image of myself strolling down the aisle looking like some brainless bimbo from my mind, I ascend the staircase with no noise, creeping up to my room as I pull my hair from its bun.

Just as I near my room Logan pops out of his. Immediately he lights up and starts to speak, but I place my hand over the eleven year old's mouth.

"Shh," I tell him, pinching his face between by thumb and fingers. He just nods, letting me pass. I see the other boys, Gordon and Jeremy, peeking from their own rooms behind me, probably concerned as the adrenaline makes me convulse at the bathroom door again.

If I were them I'd escape the cackling hoard that is my mother and sisters too.

In the shower, my adrenaline jitters start to mellow out, the hot water making me feel a little bit less gross from a night drowning in sleeping pills.

For awhile I stand there with it pouring down my face, searing my skin. Water has always felt cleansing to me, whether it was running down my face in the shower or from the sky, or crashing over me in salty waves.

Water can't save me though from all the eyes that are going to be on me, wearing that lacy monstrosity downstairs. My father's eyes will be dollar signs, Richard Grayson's will be their same annoying crystal blue. Jason Todd's will be pure hatred. Mai's will be smug.

Mine will be a range of things. Anger, shame, exhaustion.

Not fear.

Something like this does not frighten me, compared to what I have seen.

Held under gunfire with sand in my mouth and terror making my heart race does not compare to a seven month lie beginning with this meaningless faux ceremony.

This is nothing but a spectacle. Now all the businessmen can see my father's company has a stable future, which will entice them to invest.

This, the road to the Perich Incorporated's recovery.

When my skin is red raw, I step out, wrapping a towel around myself. I'm about to open my bedroom door when I realise I'm expecting to see someone there, my mother or one of my sisters.

Sighing, I pull the handle down and walk out, finding no one sitting on my bed already half drunk, or hauling a dress across the floor.

"I used an audio barrier," a familiar voice says from behind me.

Confirming I don't need to reach for a gun, I spin around to find Rip Hunter standing there, popping out of thin time like he always does.

"Where's your ship?" Is the first thing out of my mouth.

"The roof."

Of course it is. 

Still dressed in a towel, I frown at him, before my eyes flick to the package flopped over the armchair in the corner he stands in.

"What's that?" I ask, nodding towards it.

Rip looks down at the white plastic sheet with a shrug, "You asked me to bring it to you today." He looks back at me, "Maybe you should put on some clothes."

"Maybe you should turn around," I snap back. He raises his hands in surrender, before turning around to face the wall.

"You didn't mention anything about the plan my brothers and I have today," I say, walking over to my chest of drawers, "Why?"

"What you and Ethan will do during your bouquet throw today affects only his outcome, rather than yours. It was irrelevant," he explains.

I put on some underwear, a plain long-sleeved top and a pair of shorts.

"So it works, then?" I ask, sitting on the bed.

He swivels around and gives me a doubtful look. I know he can't tell me, but it was worth a try.

"I also came to tell you that you're not trying hard enough," he says, straight forward, folding his arms over the ridiculous coat he wears.

I glare at him, "I don't do stuff like this, Rip. Of course it looks like I'm not trying."

"You don't know what's at stake if you fail this," he responds without much care to my own words, "I know last night was hard, but perhaps you can use Richard Grayson to your advantage in that respect."

I'm staring straight out the window at the ocean, ignoring him, so I don't see when he moves, I just hear the rustling of the package he brought with him.

"Perhaps this will help."

I feel the package being placed on the bed. It's not hard to guess what it is, it's obvious. If future-me had any self respect I would send my younger self something to appease one of my worries.

Sure enough, when I zip open the bag after I hear Rip leave, a wedding dress lies there.

And it's perfect for me.