Adrina Black (noplaceforthee) wrote in darker_london, @ 2014-08-15 02:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | adrina black, eamon wakefield |
we all feel black and we feel blue - Adrina, Open/Standalone
The self proclaimed Goth Puppy sleeps like a cat, all curled up and forgetting sometimes that she's sharing a bed with another less tiny being. (Eamon is triceps and biceps and abs and an Apollo's belt that honestly makes Adrina want to weep sometimes. Adrina has no muscles to speak of and the only definition that appears on her is the type created by corsets.)
She's not the easiest person to sleep with: besides her kittenish curling ways, Adrina is a perpetual blanket thief who'll unknowingly build herself a nest and leave her (perfectly sculpted) lover to face the cold.
She often snores, doubly so at the slightest hint of a cold. She needs to be poked into silence for anyone else in the room to get a good sleep.
Her night terrors are rare events nowadays, but when they come they are violent hurricanes that no force can stop or placate. Her solution to them becomes to simply not sleep until exhaustion forces her to. It isn't a good system, but since she was fourteen years old it has been the only one she's ever managed to adopt long term.
Sometimes her sleep is disturbed by Mac, lurking always somewhere just below the surface of her psyche and always too close. Sometimes it's the spectre of her uncle and the memories of everything he stole from her. Sometimes it's the woman who kidnapped her one cold London night to hold a scalpel to her throat thinking she was the willing accomplice to a paedophile. Sometimes it's even an imagined life built up with said pedophile, of a month of dates turning into true love while she never knew his secret.
But most often her terrors are nameless and faceless. She wakes drenched in sweat, fighting to get enough air into her lungs. But in the swallowing dark there's never enough air to go around.
Tonight's a little like that, with thin, stale air all around while Adrina fails to sleep. The rest of the house is quiet, the television on to help her stay awake on this, her third night without sleep, and a cup of steaming tea held between her hands.
Someone's left a notepad on the coffee table beside the couch with just the words yellow shirt enigmatically scrawled on it, and Adrina has spent at least an hour thinking on different tangents from that note, her brain unable to stay on anything clearly with her lack of sleep.
She's so very tired and the cracks of light coming in from the windows behind the reruns of Friends (always there's reruns of Friends) aren't helping that feeling. She thinks now that maybe the time has come to close her eyes. They want to close quite desperately and Adrina is reaching the point where she might have to agree to let them. Always her physical needs manages to defeat her mental desires and it's hardly fair.
She puts her tea down on the floor beside the couch. She yawns, not for the first time. She pulls the blanket around her shoulders a little more. She twists herself - catlike goth puppy - into the corner of the couch. She sleeps.
She won't wake until well into tomorrow evening, and not a single nightmare will find her.