InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "It was a wardrobe malfuction!!"

Micah and Hayden taste like raspberries (andcream) wrote in doorslogs,
@ 2012-07-22 12:11:00

Entry tags:

hayden mcclaine, plot: memories

Who: Micah Callaghan / Hayden McClaine
What: Memories Plot
Where: The jazz club he plays at
Things to avoid: Nothing.

It was one of the rare moments of peace that Micah still experienced there at the club. Here, nothing could touch him, nothing could hurt him. It was just him and his music, the sounds of the piano filling the air as he leaned in to the ivories, playing for an audience of just himself. He didn't need applause to validate him in these moments, wouldn't want an audience to spoil the magic. Instead, he simply played, attempted to forget, and tried to heal, if only for a few moments.

At first, he ignored the headache that spiked behind his eyes, pain something he was used to ignoring, but when the nausea hit and his vision blurred, fingers finally fumbled and he drew his hands away from the piano keys. The sound of heaving breathing filled the air where the piano had once occupied, and he had to brace his hands against the top of the piano as he leaned forward, willing this to pass.

(Post a new comment)

Warning: Triggery

doorsanon
2012-07-23 01:57 am UTC (link)

You're standing in front of the bathroom mirror, except you aren't you, not at all. You're female, and you're young enough that no one believes you when you give them your ID. You're topless, and you're trying to cover the long, red scar that maps your body from shoulder to breast with your long blonde hair. Even with the scar covered, you don't feel whole, and it's like something is perpetually wrong, something is perpetually over your shoulder. You feel like you're looking at someone else's reflection, like you don't quite match anymore.

You look down, and the orange pill bottle on the counter is too bright, and it bears someone else's name, but that doesn't matter. You stare at it, just like you have every morning for weeks now.

"Today?" you ask your reflection, but it doesn't reply.

You take one pill, then another, then a third, and then a fourth. One more than yesterday. Two more than the day before.

Then you put on a shirt, and you turn off the bathroom light, and the memory goes dark.

(Reply to this)