|Rasui (sleepdeprived) wrote in cirque_rp,|
@ 2017-08-14 22:01:00
Twists and turns, bends and breaks, nothing filled the space of Issac's mind more than the torture he had endured. Sleep had never been friendly to the Mentalist, everyone's minds constantly going, constantly telling him things even when he did not recognize the words. The noise still existed. After everything, beyond all the sounds of minds, sleep attacked him rather than passively sitting at his side being loud. It hurt him.
The stapler sat on his table three feet past the mental magic barrier that blasted itself into place at his mention of locking himself inside. Fear sparked in electrical bursts shimmering across the space between his bed and the rest of the trailer. Issac bent his leg across the threshold of the barrier trying to obtain the stapler for its intended purpose.
Everyone wanted to make him sleep, but no one understood. He wanted to keep himself together. While magic healed the physical wounds the Templars made, and the doctor felt him healed, she did not see the wounds would open again if he slept. He would split in half, ripped apart, stitched back and ripped again. He would not allow anyone his mind. It was his!