And Now, I'm Drunk Again
Who: Herz and Leo (Closed)
When: Around four in the morning, early Tuesday.
Where: Sergei's kitchen
Warning: PG-13 to R for violence and possibly not-so-nice imagery.
The nightmares were getting worse.
Logically, he knew he must be getting some sleep, if he's slipping in far enough to dream of his past, but it doesn't feel like it. The frequency, the intensity of the nightmares is probably what steals the most of his strength. Every time wakes tangled so tightly in his sheets, he must have been putting up some kind of fight, tiring himself when he really needs the exact opposite.
Waking up unable to move and not immediately knowing why may be the worst part. Maybe that's the fear keeping him out of his bed tonight.
Among other things.
Getting drunk...had never been apart of the plan. But Herz was alone, had been alone for hours now, and eventually it seemed like a good idea.
It made him feel...better, in that he felt less like himself. The anxiety was still there--if not worse--but he didn't feel so weak anymore. It was probably the anger. Usually, he kept all of that locked down where he could be ashamed of it, but after a few bottles, it sweet-talked its way into the rest of his system and started gorging itself on his self-pity.
Now, he was sitting at one of his counters, contemplating how Joe keeps so sharp as he turns the blade over in his hands. He never sharpens any of his knives; does Zeke? Does the Stewardess?
When: Around four in the morning, early Tuesday.
Where: Sergei's kitchen
Warning: PG-13 to R for violence and possibly not-so-nice imagery.
The nightmares were getting worse.
Logically, he knew he must be getting some sleep, if he's slipping in far enough to dream of his past, but it doesn't feel like it. The frequency, the intensity of the nightmares is probably what steals the most of his strength. Every time wakes tangled so tightly in his sheets, he must have been putting up some kind of fight, tiring himself when he really needs the exact opposite.
Waking up unable to move and not immediately knowing why may be the worst part. Maybe that's the fear keeping him out of his bed tonight.
Among other things.
Getting drunk...had never been apart of the plan. But Herz was alone, had been alone for hours now, and eventually it seemed like a good idea.
It made him feel...better, in that he felt less like himself. The anxiety was still there--if not worse--but he didn't feel so weak anymore. It was probably the anger. Usually, he kept all of that locked down where he could be ashamed of it, but after a few bottles, it sweet-talked its way into the rest of his system and started gorging itself on his self-pity.
Now, he was sitting at one of his counters, contemplating how Joe keeps so sharp as he turns the blade over in his hands. He never sharpens any of his knives; does Zeke? Does the Stewardess?