great_pretender (great_pretender) wrote in genome_project, @ 2010-04-26 23:13:00 |
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Current mood: | stressed |
Who: Chris
What: His run, his very long run
When: Directly after this
Rating: PG-13
Status: Solo (closed)
As Chris’ breaths got shorter and sharper and the burn in his chest increased until it was an all consuming fire he knew he’d almost pushed himself to the limit, his legs felt like shards of glass and his throat was doing that thing where it closed up and complained.
He’d been running for hours, earphones in both ears and sweat had not only pooled in the nape of his neck but had trickled its way down the back of his neck and along his spine, causing the dark fabric of his t-shirt to cling to his frame.
The run cleared his head, worked the tension out of his frame, gave him something other than the thoughts whirring around in his mind to focus on and it was also part self flagellation. A way for him to hurt himself for being part of this giant intricate lie, for not being able to say no to his father, for not being his own man and for letting feelings get in the way of reason and logic.
Eventually his body demanded he stop, demanded he bend over and lose what precious little he had in his stomach, finishing the session of throwing up with a couple dry heaves before he straightened up to suck in breaths to replenish his struggling lungs.
“Fuck,” Chris muttered as he rubbed a hand over his forehead and then through his hair, pulling the sweat dampened strands off his temples. All he could hear right now aside from the loud screaming sounds of the rock music in his ear was the clear sound of his heartbeat rushing through his head and the awkward sounds his chest was making as it attempted to pump enough air around his body to keep him conscious.
The view of the ocean was gorgeous and had Chris been someone else someplace else he might have enjoyed it, but as it was he was himself and on this island so there was little enjoyment to the view.
What the fuck was he doing?