Jazz's eyes flew open, a strangled sob caught in his throat. He could hear the quiet drone of the ceiling fan, his heart pounding against his ribs. Sweat drenched him, a shiver running through his body as he pulled the covers tighter around him, his sobs finally escaping him.
He wanted to reach out to his left; wanted to turn to that side of the bed. But he knew it was empty, just as it had been for weeks, now. Besides, his shoulder throbbed, threatening to ramp up to screaming if he so much as moved it, even in the vain search for another body.
Images of Savin, held at knife point, flashed behind his eyelids. Savin throwing Jazz's wedding ring lingered longer, along with the heavy weight settling itself in his chest.
It was only when he settled back into an uneasy sleep that they stopped, replaced with other harrowing images; other events that never happened.
It started when he was seven, tears rolling down his face after his mother had ushered him back inside the house. The house that was eerily quiet without the usual football game playing on the television.
He had picked up a pen and grabbed a piece of paper. His counselor at school had suggested it, as a way to help him cope. His first letter was uneven and scattered, sentences barely stretching across a line or two. They read: I miss you, Daddy, and Why did you have to die?For years, he wrote a letter to his father whenever the urge struck; whenever he felt alone and as though he couldn't cope. The letters grew longer as he aged; as he gained more words and experiences he wanted to share
( ... )
#16 -- Hearing Someone They Hate is Deadtheun4givablesSeptember 30 2015, 13:59:41 UTC
Jazz blinked as Amelia walked inside the Council room, her jaw set and her shoulders thrown back. "Is there something wrong, Ms. Samson?" he asked, raising an eyebrow
( ... )
#16 -- Hearing Someone They Hate is Dead pt 2theun4givablesSeptember 30 2015, 14:00:16 UTC
With that, he kept walking. Once he knew he was out of sight, he let his shoulders slump, just a little. His mind turned over the last time he had seen his mother; the anger in her eyes and the sting of her nails as they dug into his arms. Jazz bit his lip and shook his head, slipping inside his living quarters without so much as making a sound.
He leaned against the door, looking out over the living room, his eyes barely registering the sight of his glass coffee table or the lush couch. Instead, his eyes filled with tears and he threw his head back against the door, a strangled sob escaping him.
He was on the floor in seconds, one knee tucked close to his chest as he collapsed in on himself, his arms wrapping around his bag and holding it close to him. His mother. Dead.
For Sarah -- who asked for Savin and #1 theun4givablesOctober 2 2015, 14:33:45 UTC
Savin glanced around the Palace reception hall, his eyes landing on a familiar head of blond hair. He stood with two other men, his expression oozing nothing but professional courtesy, his body language relaxed. From where Savin stood, he watched as Jazz lifted his glass of wine to his lips
( ... )
Jazz curled himself around Devin, his arm draped protectively over Devin's waist as he nuzzled Devin's shoulder. Sleep threatened to overtake him, his body still overly warm from the couple of glasses of wine he'd had over dinner
( ... )
Comments 23
Reply
He wanted to reach out to his left; wanted to turn to that side of the bed. But he knew it was empty, just as it had been for weeks, now. Besides, his shoulder throbbed, threatening to ramp up to screaming if he so much as moved it, even in the vain search for another body.
Images of Savin, held at knife point, flashed behind his eyelids. Savin throwing Jazz's wedding ring lingered longer, along with the heavy weight settling itself in his chest.
It was only when he settled back into an uneasy sleep that they stopped, replaced with other harrowing images; other events that never happened.
He'd rather have the nightmares.
Reply
Thank you so much for writing this.
Reply
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
He had picked up a pen and grabbed a piece of paper. His counselor at school had suggested it, as a way to help him cope. His first letter was uneven and scattered, sentences barely stretching across a line or two. They read: I miss you, Daddy, and Why did you have to die?For years, he wrote a letter to his father whenever the urge struck; whenever he felt alone and as though he couldn't cope. The letters grew longer as he aged; as he gained more words and experiences he wanted to share ( ... )
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
Made me realize he's experienced a lot more loss in his life than I meant to give him, woops.
Reply
Reply
Reply
With that, he kept walking. Once he knew he was out of sight, he let his shoulders slump, just a little. His mind turned over the last time he had seen his mother; the anger in her eyes and the sting of her nails as they dug into his arms. Jazz bit his lip and shook his head, slipping inside his living quarters without so much as making a sound.
He leaned against the door, looking out over the living room, his eyes barely registering the sight of his glass coffee table or the lush couch. Instead, his eyes filled with tears and he threw his head back against the door, a strangled sob escaping him.
He was on the floor in seconds, one knee tucked close to his chest as he collapsed in on himself, his arms wrapping around his bag and holding it close to him. His mother. Dead.
They’d never be able to reconcile, now.
Reply
I need to make coherent comments on things later but ow ow.
Reply
Reply
1 …doing something they know they shouldn’t
(guess what I thought of)
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment