Morning after
When she finally managed to pry her eyelids open she realized what getting hit by a truck and then dragged down two miles of bad road felt like. She blamed it on the Firewhiskey she drank, not the massive amounts of Opium she managed to smoke. She had smoked so much her throat felt as if it was on fire, an interesting mix of sand paper and third degree burns that was rubbed together every time she tried to speak or swallow. Delightful.
Laying on her bed, her cheek pressed against the dark red fabric she idly watched the sunlight move through the leaves of the trees outside her window and listened to the noise the birds made in the nearby branches. This would all be very idealistic if her stomach stopped doing flip flops and her brain stopped screaming as it started up after the few hours she had managed to turn it off. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a little part had kept on chugging away, making sure she breathed and that she continued to do her job. As the rest of her started to wake up, so did all the memories she desperately tried to repress. All the smoke, and the Firewhiskey could not seem to drown the offer of marriage, and then the revoking of the offer. The brain cells that held on to the anger, and the fight would not let go of those memories despite all the smoke she blew at it.
Gone were the details, but the raw, hurt and depression that came from those events were still there, loud, annoying and playing like a big brass band around and around her head. All the defenses she had to put up to deal with those, where gone and she felt herself overwhelmed, falling and all of a sudden everything seemed like a complete catastrophe. She could feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose to drop on to the fabric and stain it a dark, angry red. When they started to fall faster, and she was about to give into a sob she felt the bed stir behind her. Half of her, a quarter of her, the quarter that was still apparently high - thought it was Grady, but when she turned, it was definitely not Grady.
The older man looked peaceful, or just passed out, his hand on his scarred and tattooed chest - fingers twitching, lips moving silently and for a long time she watched him. When it was clear that the sun light was bothering him, she got up and shut the window - yanking a thick curtain over it to plunge the room in semi-darkness once more. Climbing back on to the bed, she weakly crawled over to him and, in an odd act of neediness she wrapped an arm around his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. Out of habit, he wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders and murmured something under his breath that she couldn't make out. Listening to him breath, to his heart beat she lost it again, weeping silently into his chest for a lot of things that she couldn't properly name at that moment, the least of them, herself.
He licked his lips and idly stroked her hair - still more asleep then anything and managed to murmur: "S'okay. S'okay."
Laying on her bed, her cheek pressed against the dark red fabric she idly watched the sunlight move through the leaves of the trees outside her window and listened to the noise the birds made in the nearby branches. This would all be very idealistic if her stomach stopped doing flip flops and her brain stopped screaming as it started up after the few hours she had managed to turn it off. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a little part had kept on chugging away, making sure she breathed and that she continued to do her job. As the rest of her started to wake up, so did all the memories she desperately tried to repress. All the smoke, and the Firewhiskey could not seem to drown the offer of marriage, and then the revoking of the offer. The brain cells that held on to the anger, and the fight would not let go of those memories despite all the smoke she blew at it.
Gone were the details, but the raw, hurt and depression that came from those events were still there, loud, annoying and playing like a big brass band around and around her head. All the defenses she had to put up to deal with those, where gone and she felt herself overwhelmed, falling and all of a sudden everything seemed like a complete catastrophe. She could feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose to drop on to the fabric and stain it a dark, angry red. When they started to fall faster, and she was about to give into a sob she felt the bed stir behind her. Half of her, a quarter of her, the quarter that was still apparently high - thought it was Grady, but when she turned, it was definitely not Grady.
The older man looked peaceful, or just passed out, his hand on his scarred and tattooed chest - fingers twitching, lips moving silently and for a long time she watched him. When it was clear that the sun light was bothering him, she got up and shut the window - yanking a thick curtain over it to plunge the room in semi-darkness once more. Climbing back on to the bed, she weakly crawled over to him and, in an odd act of neediness she wrapped an arm around his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. Out of habit, he wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders and murmured something under his breath that she couldn't make out. Listening to him breath, to his heart beat she lost it again, weeping silently into his chest for a lot of things that she couldn't properly name at that moment, the least of them, herself.
He licked his lips and idly stroked her hair - still more asleep then anything and managed to murmur: "S'okay. S'okay."