Prompt Post: ROUND EIGHT
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<< ROUND SEVEN | ALL ROUNDS | ROUND NINE >>
Rules post.
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Please use the Discussion Post if you want to talk about community alterations or get starshipbadass' modly attention. Do not ( Read more... )
The morning after Cuba, Charles never wakes up.
I dont know what this prompt is, but I'm tired and it seemed important to write.
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I. It starts when there’s no moon in the sky and his mother is drinking her way into another man’s arms, disregarding the leg she’s showing, the lips she’s pursing, the flouncy way she imagines herself despite herself. Because if she doesn’t pretend that she’s already laid out with Kurt Marko between her legs, or under another man to fix her before she drowns in the pool of vodka she’s swamped in, she won’t be able to pretend that she’s still that perfection on a billionaire’s platter and that’s a problem for her self-esteem ( ... )
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“You can’t take my brother, he’s too young, he’s too young, what the fuck are you doing, get back, get back - I miss him, I miss him and the feel of his hands before he left me - I wonder if he knows, I wonder if he sees me at all - is she real, is she here, does she exist - why can’t I find it, why can’t I find myself, where am I, am I still sinking in this tank, I just want to fly, I just want to scream - I can’t, don’t do this, don’t do this, this is wrong, you’ll get hurt, this won’t help, stop, stop, stop, no, stopIt hasn’t been this bad in years, hasn’t been this frantic since he was young and caved to alcohol and easy women in his youth and Charles doesn’t know that he’s projecting - mildly, but projecting none the less - and when Raven meets Erik in the hall, both of them pale and sallow, dark bags under their eyes a signature of Charles, they both know why. Their eyes meet for a moment ( ... )
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“Charles.” Erik kisses it into Charles’ hair, and Charles stays like that, smiling, knowing, peaceful.
“Charles.” And he finally knows it, for certain, no longer guessing, no longer weeding his way through everything that tethers him to everything he isn’t.
VI. For two weeks, every night, after chess, after wine, after talks of peace and promise and revenge, Erik lays next to Charles. For two weeks, every night, after training, after searching for others, after embracing and forgetting, Charles glides into the puzzle piece perfection of Erik underneath the sheets ( ... )
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The hospital is loud and Charles sees the linoleum as he’s wheeled around, as he’s stripped of his suit, as doctors and nurses ask him inane questions, and he sinks away, sinks further into nothingness with each sweep of motion meant to aid him. He can’t register any of his body’s movements, doesn’t sense the surgery but instead senses the steadiness of the doctors, the strength of the nurses, the confidence of the people in the post-op. The feeling of the stiff bed in his hospital room does nothing to soothe the aching in his chest as it beats faster and faster, the journey of sleep forbidden ahead of him in the waning moments of his disregarded distorted reality.
He stares at the ceiling for hours, blankly forgetting himself.
X. “Charles? What are you - are you okay ( ... )
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