Prison Break ficlet: we hide in ways
we hide in ways
prison break, sara (michael/sara), r, 588 words, general season two, for vreeland. who bribed me with me music. yes. i can always be bribed with music. lots and lots of brilliant music.
Daddy’s legs go twitch, twitch, twitch.
Are you such a dreamer?
radiohead, 2+2=5
-
Monsters under the bed?
Daddy says I’ll keep you safe, princess.
-
You want to talk about the drugs, right?
Well, it starts in college, slipping on stairs and girls with wide, glassy eyes that breathe secrets into the neck of boys with hard cocks.
Your daddy’s the governor, they say.
Flex fingers, curl them into fists, tap-tap against her forearm- are you still with her?- and that charming smile everybody likes. There’ll be photo-ops during Christmas.
The needle slips into her skin, her thumb pressing the top, and Sara always likes the taste of a sigh.
She has to be ready.
-
She’s a brilliant doctor, pasted with plaques in gold and long sleeves.
It’s crystal clear here- on hot days, even her buttons don’t push open. She’s good at it, all right? Pretty, little liar.
-
Rehab tastes like dust.
She remembers the longing and the craving, the twisting of her hands in her lap. Eyes closed, sara dear, paper after paper- this is withdraw.
Daddy calls once, tired, and says you don’t have to worry about a thing.
She always hated country music.
-
(she always wonders when he starts to watch)
From rehab to half-witted smiles, Sara remembers occasionally what it’s like to just be okay. And it’s fine, you see, it’s fine getting up with coffee in the morning to go carry a muffin behind high-volt bars.
But they still say it, quietly, behind palms with sad fits of nervous laughter.
What a pretty girl, the governor’s daughter.
-
Michael is an easy story.
There’s a beginning and a middle (the current work-in-progress), but she seems to understand how drift, few and far between obsession. She’s not the first to understand motivation, maybe that’s why she does it. But here’s a theory- and sit down, it’s kind of hard to get it out-
What would you do?
-
Don’t forget-
Michael’s palms are warm against her skin, his fingers curling into her hair. There’s a slip of tongue, a brush, and an ache.
Her we can’t is ready, but Sara’s always been a smart girl. Two words are merely pretty things to say.
-
Daddy’s legs go twitch, twitch, twitch.
This a nightmare and she wakes up to motel rooms, lips dry and cracked. Oh, wait- this is present day now, skipping ahead.
(reader’s note: sara calls it a blur, simply a blur- too many things have happened to recount, detail to detail- but rest assure, what you know still remains to be the bigger truth)
Between all his words, clues, she longs for a simple you’ll find me soon. And in the dark, with paper cranes, she might hear it.
If she wants to try.
-
Monsters under the bed? (No, Daddy, you’re not here anymore.)
She has reasons, you know, for leaving Michael behind. The taste of terror is the first, the surge of panic roll up her throat. It’s a funny basis for commitment, the longing for the security of his hands pressed against her hips and she’s not that much of an idealist, he’ll never be done with this mess.
But here’s a secret, Kellerman’s appearance, his cold hands around her shoulders and her wet hair pasted against her skin, is nothing terrifying.
- she’s tired, very tired, and for a moment, rope burning against her wrists, she thinks about it.
Drowning is the scariest way to die only if you don’t let go.
-
Daddy was a fisherman.
Hold your breath, baby, hold your breath.
end.
prison break, sara (michael/sara), r, 588 words, general season two, for vreeland. who bribed me with me music. yes. i can always be bribed with music. lots and lots of brilliant music.
Daddy’s legs go twitch, twitch, twitch.
Are you such a dreamer?
radiohead, 2+2=5
-
Monsters under the bed?
Daddy says I’ll keep you safe, princess.
-
You want to talk about the drugs, right?
Well, it starts in college, slipping on stairs and girls with wide, glassy eyes that breathe secrets into the neck of boys with hard cocks.
Your daddy’s the governor, they say.
Flex fingers, curl them into fists, tap-tap against her forearm- are you still with her?- and that charming smile everybody likes. There’ll be photo-ops during Christmas.
The needle slips into her skin, her thumb pressing the top, and Sara always likes the taste of a sigh.
She has to be ready.
-
She’s a brilliant doctor, pasted with plaques in gold and long sleeves.
It’s crystal clear here- on hot days, even her buttons don’t push open. She’s good at it, all right? Pretty, little liar.
-
Rehab tastes like dust.
She remembers the longing and the craving, the twisting of her hands in her lap. Eyes closed, sara dear, paper after paper- this is withdraw.
Daddy calls once, tired, and says you don’t have to worry about a thing.
She always hated country music.
-
(she always wonders when he starts to watch)
From rehab to half-witted smiles, Sara remembers occasionally what it’s like to just be okay. And it’s fine, you see, it’s fine getting up with coffee in the morning to go carry a muffin behind high-volt bars.
But they still say it, quietly, behind palms with sad fits of nervous laughter.
What a pretty girl, the governor’s daughter.
-
Michael is an easy story.
There’s a beginning and a middle (the current work-in-progress), but she seems to understand how drift, few and far between obsession. She’s not the first to understand motivation, maybe that’s why she does it. But here’s a theory- and sit down, it’s kind of hard to get it out-
What would you do?
-
Don’t forget-
Michael’s palms are warm against her skin, his fingers curling into her hair. There’s a slip of tongue, a brush, and an ache.
Her we can’t is ready, but Sara’s always been a smart girl. Two words are merely pretty things to say.
-
Daddy’s legs go twitch, twitch, twitch.
This a nightmare and she wakes up to motel rooms, lips dry and cracked. Oh, wait- this is present day now, skipping ahead.
(reader’s note: sara calls it a blur, simply a blur- too many things have happened to recount, detail to detail- but rest assure, what you know still remains to be the bigger truth)
Between all his words, clues, she longs for a simple you’ll find me soon. And in the dark, with paper cranes, she might hear it.
If she wants to try.
-
Monsters under the bed? (No, Daddy, you’re not here anymore.)
She has reasons, you know, for leaving Michael behind. The taste of terror is the first, the surge of panic roll up her throat. It’s a funny basis for commitment, the longing for the security of his hands pressed against her hips and she’s not that much of an idealist, he’ll never be done with this mess.
But here’s a secret, Kellerman’s appearance, his cold hands around her shoulders and her wet hair pasted against her skin, is nothing terrifying.
- she’s tired, very tired, and for a moment, rope burning against her wrists, she thinks about it.
Drowning is the scariest way to die only if you don’t let go.
-
Daddy was a fisherman.
Hold your breath, baby, hold your breath.
end.