damien harrington, human x-ray machine (seesthrough) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-01-05 10:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! narrative, ! plot: kidnapping, damien harrington |
WHO: Damien Harrington (mentions of Savannah Bordeaux)
WHAT: Being ill
WHEN: From evening, 4/1/13 to the early hours of 5/1/13
WHERE: Canadian safehouse lodge
WARNINGS: none?
STATUS: completed
It gets worse before it gets better, or so they say. His sleep is fitful, stirring every twenty minutes or so to throw off the covers from the bed. Her breath was cool against the back of his neck as she’d stayed with him, and her arms were a comfort to his aching body, but his Savannah-shaped attachment has finally been shooed away by one of the medical staff. It wasn’t the first time they’ve fallen asleep like that: holding on for some kind of solace. But now he’s alone. It’s good that she’s away and resting, the dark circles about her eyes had been clear to him even through his own pain, but he hadn’t wanted to be alone. After so many days where he was constantly with people, being alone feels huge. Terrifying. He’s clothed but freezing, covered in bedclothes and sweltering from the heat. The disparity between his body temperature and how he feels gets greater and greater, and he finds himself alternating between sweating and shivering. They say it gets worse, but then it gets better. It’s not getting better, it’s only getting worse. He stares out at the wall, the window in the distance. He’s supposed to be asleep, but he can’t rest. He hardly dares to move. He’s spent all of his afternoon trying to assure her that he’s feeling better, but his heart isn’t into it. People died, and there’s still the lingering idea that perhaps he’s dying too. The idea is the one that lies there, a dull note of dread in everything that he does. Maybe this is the end. He’s scared by it, he doesn’t want to die. Not even there, outside of that horrible room and with someone who loves him, he still can’t die. Teeth grit, he keeps staring at the window. It’s larger than the one he became so used to, where he would watch the dawn all the way through the day until dusk. That meant another day had passed, waiting and dreading what could happen next. He’s been staring so long that he’s forgotten where he is, and it’s only when the rushing sensation in his ears has quietened that he hears the quiet once again and knows that he’s somewhere else. When he next wakes, it’s still that night. Savannah is back, draped across a few chairs that she’s pulled together. She’s asleep, and he smiles. That was probably her idea of a compromise. It’s the early hours of the morning, and he breathes deeply. It got worse. But now he’s breathing normally, and his temperature is down a little. He pulls the covers up to his neck. Maybe now it’ll get better, as so many other things were about to get worse. |