07-13-2018, 12:25 AM
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SING, GODDESS, OF THE RAGE OF ACHILLES
His body was shaking and he didn't know how to make it stop. God, withdrawal was a bitch, but it was even worse when he had already given his body a little taste of what he'd been denying himself -- now, the hunger set in with a vengeance, consuming him almost before the hangover even let up from the day before. He spent the morning puking, the afternoon trembling and hating himself for giving in so close to the two week mark, and that evening swearing that the hallucinations had started again. There was only one thing he wanted, his appetite shot, but there was no way in hell he was going to give in again. He couldn't stand himself if he did.
He could barely stand himself now, and every time he swallowed he tasted the tang of wine once more, a taunting reminder of his slip-up. Fuck. He'd been so convinced he could do it, that he didn't need to wean, that he was strong enough to resist. Zaniel hadn't even forced him over the edge, he was certain -- things were hazy but he was almost positive he had broken down all on his own. Pathetic. How Hazel hadn't torn him apart was a mystery to him, and when he clenched his hands into fists he could still feel the phantom heat of her fingers laced through his. He still didn't know what to make of the willing touch, the lack of fear -- of much fear. Bastille wasn't sure what he would have done if he'd felt that flicker of fear again last night, and his mouth tasted sour. He didn't want to find out.
Perhaps it was her quiet acceptance last night, or perhaps he would have gone to her anyway. He wasn't so certain himself. All he knew was that he was shaking so hard that sometimes his balance was unsteady, and his skin was on fire, and he just wanted to sit with her and remind himself why he couldn't give in again. Wanted the reassurance that she could save him from himself, even if she didn't particularly want to. He kept trying to tell himself to believe her, believe that she cared, but it was a hard notion to accept. It was easy, however, to believe that she had a good soul and would try to help because she had the heart to help even those who didn't deserve it.
He inhaled a shuddering breath and stood outside her door for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. He hadn't visited her room in... a while, actually. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd sat reading to her, nor was he entirely certain if her panic attack here had been before or after that all stopped. It was all very... distant. A blur. He missed her, and he swallowed against the knot in his throat as he knocked on her door softly.
"Haze," he called, low, "Can I come in?" It was possible she was angry with him and unwilling to let him near her, not after he'd broken down once more, but he could only hope she wasn't that angry. "Please?" he added, trying not to reveal just how desperate he was and likely failing.
He could barely stand himself now, and every time he swallowed he tasted the tang of wine once more, a taunting reminder of his slip-up. Fuck. He'd been so convinced he could do it, that he didn't need to wean, that he was strong enough to resist. Zaniel hadn't even forced him over the edge, he was certain -- things were hazy but he was almost positive he had broken down all on his own. Pathetic. How Hazel hadn't torn him apart was a mystery to him, and when he clenched his hands into fists he could still feel the phantom heat of her fingers laced through his. He still didn't know what to make of the willing touch, the lack of fear -- of much fear. Bastille wasn't sure what he would have done if he'd felt that flicker of fear again last night, and his mouth tasted sour. He didn't want to find out.
Perhaps it was her quiet acceptance last night, or perhaps he would have gone to her anyway. He wasn't so certain himself. All he knew was that he was shaking so hard that sometimes his balance was unsteady, and his skin was on fire, and he just wanted to sit with her and remind himself why he couldn't give in again. Wanted the reassurance that she could save him from himself, even if she didn't particularly want to. He kept trying to tell himself to believe her, believe that she cared, but it was a hard notion to accept. It was easy, however, to believe that she had a good soul and would try to help because she had the heart to help even those who didn't deserve it.
He inhaled a shuddering breath and stood outside her door for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. He hadn't visited her room in... a while, actually. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd sat reading to her, nor was he entirely certain if her panic attack here had been before or after that all stopped. It was all very... distant. A blur. He missed her, and he swallowed against the knot in his throat as he knocked on her door softly.
"Haze," he called, low, "Can I come in?" It was possible she was angry with him and unwilling to let him near her, not after he'd broken down once more, but he could only hope she wasn't that angry. "Please?" he added, trying not to reveal just how desperate he was and likely failing.
[b]BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS — ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — TAGS
Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago, Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword, Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door. [b][sup]▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃[/sup][/b]