Post by Airron Tide on Dec 9, 2014 2:30:02 GMT
Two weeks. Two agonizing weeks without her, without anyone. It was his fault, all of it- even if it wasn't intentional. He knew what would happen the moment he let his flannel clad self march into that house. The party would capture him, drinks tempt him, and women persuade him. Now, fourteen days after he had slept with a blonde woman he couldn't even remember the name of and Alice broke them up, he laid in the bed he hadn't moved from for some time now. Life lost meaning. He lost purpose. Breathing became irrelevant. This was his fault, and he knew it, he kept branding this words into his brain. His fault. It always was, wasn't it? He took the only good thing he's ever had and smashed it into a million pieces all by a drunken mistake. Airron was alone. His parents were long gone, swallowed up by the sea when he was only eight. He didn't have any siblings, but he did have a cousin he'd always been closer to. Maze. After what happened with Lydia, though, she had drawn back from him- not to mention problems of her own. Friends? Did he really even have any of those left? After sleeping with half of them or their girlfriends when he was younger, he'd kind of lost touch with everyone. He was completely by himself and it was his own doings that got him here.
Malnourished and lacking any true sense of hygiene, the shaggy haired man took a break from his moping to push himself up, finding it incredibly hard to do with his decaying strength. He was letting himself go. What was the point of living if he'd lost his only reason to go on? Stumbling to his feet, he used the wall as a form of support as he carried himself to the bathroom. Empty. The word described the feeling in the crevasses of his mind, in the pit of his stomach, in the vastness behind his hazel eyes, and in the hollow shell of his once throbbing heart. Why was he so stupid, seriously? He nearly lost his life saving her, could have been tossed right back in that wheelchair but he acted without thought and tossed himself between her and that mutt some two years ago. Alice wasn't just some girl, she was the girl, and he'd blown it. Even if she did come back to him, he couldn't take her back. She deserved so much better, needed more than him no matter how much he loved her. Airron would throw himself in front of a gunman to save her, even now. Sighing, he scratched at his crusty hair, the once silky smooth locks gone to waste. That alone was enough evidence that he just quit caring. His luscious brown tendrils were him.
Pulling himself reluctantly into the restroom, he didn't bother looking in the mirror as he dove right into the sink. Turning the handle and splashing his face with the gushing fluid, he clawed his skin, letting out a frustrated cry as he was smacked by reality once again. This was driving him insane, he was love sick and heartbroken. Restraining himself, he stayed bent over the counter until he was in as calm of a state as he'd ever be in. Inhaling sharply, he shot his head up, readying himself to leave the bathroom and head back to the bed to sulk further, but something caught his eye. Turning his face towards the mirror, he held his chin upwards, slowly bringing it down as he head shook from side to side in a jerky fashion. His mouth morphed around words he couldn't say, eyes wide with terror as a string of black veins crawled under his flesh. They swam towards the center of his face in a hasty fashion, growing larger and darker with each shaky breath he took.
He screeched, but the words didn't meet the image before him. He thrashed, but the image in the mirror was still, he was still. His limbs were anchored at his sides, lips sealed shut, but he knew he was screaming. He knew he was moving. Why couldn't he see it? Why was he so vividly jerking about, but visibly calm, captivated by the slugs inching closer and closer to the bridge of his nose.
Then it hit him, all too literally. Airron snapped out of it, whatever it was, and came face to face well, her face was pressed against his sternum, with a female his hazel eyes were too blurry to make out. He was shaking, frail in his brute suit of flesh. His face was shallow, eyes sunk in and body trembling. His appearance was breathtakingly ill, and very clearly giving off the sense of mistreatment. His hands rushed to his face, batting his skin as if to search for the color that had clogged his veins, but he came up with nothing but a smooth surface. A dream, no, a nightmare. Or rather, at this point, a hallucination from the lack of care. No food, no sleep, no clean patch on him. He was a mess, and now his brain was rotting too. Thankfully, though, that's all it was- even if it would only get worse with time. Shaking the thought, he just focused on the girl before him, eyes blinking repeatedly. Was this a hallucination or was this really, "Brielle?"
Malnourished and lacking any true sense of hygiene, the shaggy haired man took a break from his moping to push himself up, finding it incredibly hard to do with his decaying strength. He was letting himself go. What was the point of living if he'd lost his only reason to go on? Stumbling to his feet, he used the wall as a form of support as he carried himself to the bathroom. Empty. The word described the feeling in the crevasses of his mind, in the pit of his stomach, in the vastness behind his hazel eyes, and in the hollow shell of his once throbbing heart. Why was he so stupid, seriously? He nearly lost his life saving her, could have been tossed right back in that wheelchair but he acted without thought and tossed himself between her and that mutt some two years ago. Alice wasn't just some girl, she was the girl, and he'd blown it. Even if she did come back to him, he couldn't take her back. She deserved so much better, needed more than him no matter how much he loved her. Airron would throw himself in front of a gunman to save her, even now. Sighing, he scratched at his crusty hair, the once silky smooth locks gone to waste. That alone was enough evidence that he just quit caring. His luscious brown tendrils were him.
Pulling himself reluctantly into the restroom, he didn't bother looking in the mirror as he dove right into the sink. Turning the handle and splashing his face with the gushing fluid, he clawed his skin, letting out a frustrated cry as he was smacked by reality once again. This was driving him insane, he was love sick and heartbroken. Restraining himself, he stayed bent over the counter until he was in as calm of a state as he'd ever be in. Inhaling sharply, he shot his head up, readying himself to leave the bathroom and head back to the bed to sulk further, but something caught his eye. Turning his face towards the mirror, he held his chin upwards, slowly bringing it down as he head shook from side to side in a jerky fashion. His mouth morphed around words he couldn't say, eyes wide with terror as a string of black veins crawled under his flesh. They swam towards the center of his face in a hasty fashion, growing larger and darker with each shaky breath he took.
He screeched, but the words didn't meet the image before him. He thrashed, but the image in the mirror was still, he was still. His limbs were anchored at his sides, lips sealed shut, but he knew he was screaming. He knew he was moving. Why couldn't he see it? Why was he so vividly jerking about, but visibly calm, captivated by the slugs inching closer and closer to the bridge of his nose.
Then it hit him, all too literally. Airron snapped out of it, whatever it was, and came face to face well, her face was pressed against his sternum, with a female his hazel eyes were too blurry to make out. He was shaking, frail in his brute suit of flesh. His face was shallow, eyes sunk in and body trembling. His appearance was breathtakingly ill, and very clearly giving off the sense of mistreatment. His hands rushed to his face, batting his skin as if to search for the color that had clogged his veins, but he came up with nothing but a smooth surface. A dream, no, a nightmare. Or rather, at this point, a hallucination from the lack of care. No food, no sleep, no clean patch on him. He was a mess, and now his brain was rotting too. Thankfully, though, that's all it was- even if it would only get worse with time. Shaking the thought, he just focused on the girl before him, eyes blinking repeatedly. Was this a hallucination or was this really, "Brielle?"