WHO: Andrea Rojas WHAT: Restless Evenings WHERE: Wherever they're staying at in Hawaii WHEN: Tonight Status: Closed-Narrative RATING: PG
Andrea laid on her side, simply staring off onto nothing. Her eyes were in the direction of her wall but if you were to ask her what she saw she wouldn’t be able to exactly tell you. If you were to pass by her line of sight, at the moment she wouldn’t have reacted, because what she was looking at was beyond the room. Not in the current situation.
Her eyes blurred, slightly, as her hearing was blocked by headphones blasting ‘Bye, Bye, Bye’ by *N’SYNC. Just ever so barely she heard the words, her mind elsewhere and on nothing.
Reflexively, unconsciously her arms wrapped tighter around the pillow that she had pressed against her chest, kept pressing against her chest just trying to diminish the burning sensation where she was pretty sure that it heart was. Her breathing-when she took a breath in-was relatively normal … except the odd gasping breath that would come through her nose every … uncounted seconds. The feeling, this burning sensation where her heart was supposed to be?, was the feeling one got after being given a shot. It was the feeling of having long needle stuck and slipped in, before being yanked out after three seconds. Then repeated, and repeat. It was quite different than having a scalpel stuck at her side, repeatedly, over and -- It was quite different from …
She didn’t see the wall in front of her and she barely heard the music in her ear. But she felt the burning sensation and when she stared hard enough she could see his face, and her heart would skip a beat. And there would be a churning, churling feeling and her heart would skip yet again. And her breathing would stutter. And she didn’t feel fear, she never felt fear-yes she did-what she felt was hatred. There was a sharp pain in her head. Just at the side and just a bit above the brow.
She still kept on staring. Even when she felt a sharp, numb pain by her shoulder and then on the side of her arm. As if he’d been there when he hadn’t been. He hadn’t been.
There is a bit of self-loathing.
She blinked, moved a bit and her breathing manages to slowly even out. Just enough where her eyes droop and she gets bored enough, tired enough, to sleep. Because she’s not agitated enough.
Andrea’s sleeping hours had never been regular, not for some years now. But her body managed to adapt. Bodies always adapted. It had yet to adapt to this. Not even with the forced-semi-natural fun of Hawaii.
When she slept she had nightmares. And she remembered how much she hated Lawrence, Kansas, how much she wanted to hate everything but quite couldn’t make it. She had yet to decide if that was a bad thing or a good thing. When she slept she saw more than she did when she was awake, except certain moments.
When she slept, she saw him and heard the screaming and that would just bring about the irritation. Self-irritation was strong. Because it hadn’t been that bad for her. It could have been worse. And she was alive. And she wouldn’t have gotten --if she’d just listen … how could she be so stupid? How could she be so --
Her eyes flew open as one hand went to the scar that was still there. And another to her chest. Her body jerking up and forward as if she’d been pulled by puppet’s strings. Her spine was shaking. Her muscles seized and it hurt. Everything hurt so much.
It felt like ... it felt like something ... SOMETHING -- Andrea took in a deep gasping breath, from her mouth this time, and her chest seemed to clench up holding it in before deciding to let it go to the rest of her body -- something was coming! Everything was wrong. It felt as if someone had just grabbed her from each side, each of her arms and was squeezing tightly while also attempting to squeeze her in.
Everything was wrong ... everything SO -- the breath that would be sucked in deeply only to be hold for what seemed to be nothing, because it wasn't calming her down -- everything was so ... she didn't know. That seemed to be her response to everything when it came to explaining what she felt, what she truly felt. She didn't know. She just didn't. She didn't know. It wasn't something that she wanted to know. She didn't want to be angry. She didn't want to be distrusting or hateful or scared or whatever ... This. She didn't know what this was. So she did what she wanted to know and she made herself enjoy it. Because she wasn't going through this. She was not.
Bending forward, she came ... one could say she came to. Her stomach was upset and her chest still burnt, and there were weird twitching along her body. That hadn't been a panic attack. She'd had one her second night here. Just one. There would only be one. It was stupid. She didn't want to think about it. Forcing herself to lay back down, she paused, before twisting slightly and stretching to pick up the pillow and place under her head.
Closing her eyes, just before twisting and turning a bit, the burning intensified once, before she settled on her other side and turned on the television.