Elias Gordon (malkovian) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2016-11-15 09:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 057, august, cecilia, erran, rae |
Who: August, Rae & Cecilia.
When: Late morning.
Where: August's room.
For the most part, August stayed in his room. The ever-watchful eye of the camera was something his gaze could not stay away from, but since his room was several floors up, he didn't feel comfortable wandering down. Sometimes he managed to creep out into the hall, as he had the one time with Rae, but he kept to himself otherwise. He didn't know any of these people, and what was more, he couldn't bring himself to trust them, no matter what they said. His fingers never crept too far away from the bulge in his neck, and even with the medication delivered to him by the on-site nurse (what was her name again? Celia? Something like that, things were starting to blur a little), he found himself missing a dosage here and there. He had only been there for a few days, but it was enough of an upset that his mind was struggling to cope.
A little voice crept in. At least, that was the best way he could describe it. He had never heard voices before, thank god; that was one quirk he was more than happy to say didn't belong to him. But sometimes the mania encouraged certain ideas, like putting a spotlight on one button over another. He knew he didn't want to be here, and what was more, he didn't want to be tracked. His fingers brushed over the lump in the back of his neck again, fiddling with it like worrying a scab. It was just beneath his hairline, and it felt like the shape kept changing. He couldn't be sure, no matter how hard he tried to see it in the mirror in the bathroom. He scratched at it, as though this would help alleviate the strange pin-pricking sensation he felt, but he was only carving deeper and deeper lines into his own skin. The voice prodded at him; without any of his usual security nets, not even a phone to call Shauna for her to talk him down, he came to the stark and simple conclusion that there was only one way to handle this.
He went back into the bathroom and pulled open the drawers; it wasn't long before he found what he was looking for. It had been some time before his mother had trusted him with razors again, after the last manic episode that had sent him on a drunken binge. The blade was embedded in a plastic handle for safety, which made him inwardly cringe and laugh at the same time. He thought of his father, and smashed the plastic on the marble countertop, thinking how he'd only ever wanted his sons to be men. August thought of his mother, and how she'd be disapproving of his actions, but he tried to soothe the thought in his mind that he was only doing what was best for himself. The little sliver of a razor pricked his fingers as he picked it up; it would do nicely. Staring at his gaunt and pale reflection in the mirror, he brought the razor to the back of his neck, and started to cut.
It hurt. It took him a few tries to actually press the razor deep enough that he could feel blood welling on his skin, but he fought off the nausea. He couldn't see the blood, and he hoped that would help him in this endeavor. He pressed harder, deeper. It felt like the implant was digging into his flesh like an insect, burrowing and unwilling to be caught. The wild thought that the thing might seep into his brain pushed August to cut down almost to the bone, where a deep abscess of pain awaited him. He tried to push back against it, but it rose up and overwhelmed him. He swooned, bringing his hands down to clutch at the counter to keep steady. That was when he saw the blood all over his hands, the trails of it starting to drip around his neck. Smears stained the countertop where he'd touched it, and August stumbled back. He sucked in a deep breath, darkness edging in around his vision, and he dropped like a stone to the floor.