This is what I get for writing at three in the morning.
[ "Wait until the dust settles. You live, you learn. You love, you learn. You cry, you learn, you lose, you learn. You bleed, you learn. You scream, you learn." ]
He could feel it, surging through him, tightening in his chest, and setting his little heart aflame. It didn't scare him, not as much as it once had, before his surgery- before all of the mistakes made in diagnosing him, before all of the near overdoses, before the faux doctor doing what he did and trying to get him to believe that it was all of his fault- not the fault of the man in the stolen white coat. But that was a whole other story, and this now was ten times more important than the rape he could not, and never would, remember.
Stumbling over tossed clothes, a hand on his chest, and squeezing, slapping, tapping; working desperately to get that pounding louder, to get it really heard because it wasn't as scary as it once was, but it was still pretty worthy of a mite few panicked thoughts. His right hand left his side, reaching out for the orange bottle on his dresser, knocking it over, spilling his medication all over the floor. Vision already blurring, stomach lurching, and threatening not to take any of it down.
Time was slower for him, as he dropped ungracefully to his knees, head spinning; hurting. Lungs drawing in ragged, too-small breaths. Was he hyperventilating? He felt like no matter how much he breathed, he couldn't get enough air, and as he looked up, all he saw was that big water stain, swirling above him and promising to fall. Promising to spill rancid, month old water onto his face. Promising to drown him.
You should have known better, he thought, panting as he watched the walls join the spot- all turning, right 'round him like a carousel, only the speed began to pick up the longer he laid there. The longer he, god, felt that burning in his chest.
"Fucked," he whispered. "I'm fucked..."
[ "The fire trucks are coming around the bend. You live, you learn. You love, you learn. You cry, you learn, you lose, you learn. You bleed, you learn. You scream, you learn." ]
He could feel it, surging through him, tightening in his chest, and setting his little heart aflame. It didn't scare him, not as much as it once had, before his surgery- before all of the mistakes made in diagnosing him, before all of the near overdoses, before the faux doctor doing what he did and trying to get him to believe that it was all of his fault- not the fault of the man in the stolen white coat. But that was a whole other story, and this now was ten times more important than the rape he could not, and never would, remember.
Stumbling over tossed clothes, a hand on his chest, and squeezing, slapping, tapping; working desperately to get that pounding louder, to get it really heard because it wasn't as scary as it once was, but it was still pretty worthy of a mite few panicked thoughts. His right hand left his side, reaching out for the orange bottle on his dresser, knocking it over, spilling his medication all over the floor. Vision already blurring, stomach lurching, and threatening not to take any of it down.
Time was slower for him, as he dropped ungracefully to his knees, head spinning; hurting. Lungs drawing in ragged, too-small breaths. Was he hyperventilating? He felt like no matter how much he breathed, he couldn't get enough air, and as he looked up, all he saw was that big water stain, swirling above him and promising to fall. Promising to spill rancid, month old water onto his face. Promising to drown him.
You should have known better, he thought, panting as he watched the walls join the spot- all turning, right 'round him like a carousel, only the speed began to pick up the longer he laid there. The longer he, god, felt that burning in his chest.
"Fucked," he whispered. "I'm fucked..."
[ "The fire trucks are coming around the bend. You live, you learn. You love, you learn. You cry, you learn, you lose, you learn. You bleed, you learn. You scream, you learn." ]