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Apr. 27th, 2007 04:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wellownedbkupAbout Nix.
Broken:
He is lying in bed, eyes closed against the light and faces of pitying family members. He wishes he could turn off his ears as well, to tune them out and not have to hear whispers about what he has done. He does not want to listen to them anymore and he wishes he could curl into the far corner, where there is nothing but dust and a couple of discarded drafts from the past week. It would be nice, he thinks, to curl up over there with the trash and dust and be forgotten and forget for a while.
Do you think he is…
You should not talk about it. Remember what Jaden said. The boy is fragile.
Why would he…
He cannot move, no matter how much he would wish it now, with an arm sling on his left arm, and the right hand held tightly by a dainty hand that he can only guess belongs to Ailis. He can feel the pain radiating across his shoulders, crawling and snarling into the muscles that hold him together. He can feel it, tighter and tighter and spiraling around his spine like the posture exercises his ballet teachers forced on him for so long. He does not move, though, for fear of what they would say. Of hearing their fake politeness, and pussy-footing around the taboo of what he has done.
Did he take his name that seriously? That he would--.
Please! He could hear you.
But off the roof?
He nearly gasps aloud as Ailis squeezes his hand tightly for a moment. The pain starts throbbing in his left shoulder, and he can feel where the ragged edge of bone was pushing at the skin, how the knitting of the two ends together will create another lump of bone along what used to be a perfectly strong collarbone. He just keeps taking in breath after shallow breath, faking his medicated sleep. He could wait them out, he is sure of it. Soon they would tire of staring at the bruises on his face and arms, the stiff plaster casts that are holding the bits of bone together. A little while longer, and he could be alone, he can be sure of it.
He knew it was going to hurt, right?
I do not know anymore.
Was there a note?
Enough time passes that they eventually leave the room, a painful squeeze and a few wet kisses to his forehead before they go. He manages not to whimper as they press against the bruises and broken bones under the lacking padding of bandages. And when the door shuts behind them, a keening whine wells up from deep inside, the sound what little strength he had shattering just like the weak bones that hold him together. He is some sort of freak who survives his own suicide attempt, manages to make it out whole, for all intents and purposes. Inside, he feels his chest ripping to shreds and wishes he could crawl over to the corner and just leave this world behind once and for all.
Nix cannot even bring himself to take a painkiller for the throb of his broken collarbone.
Broken:
He is lying in bed, eyes closed against the light and faces of pitying family members. He wishes he could turn off his ears as well, to tune them out and not have to hear whispers about what he has done. He does not want to listen to them anymore and he wishes he could curl into the far corner, where there is nothing but dust and a couple of discarded drafts from the past week. It would be nice, he thinks, to curl up over there with the trash and dust and be forgotten and forget for a while.
Do you think he is…
You should not talk about it. Remember what Jaden said. The boy is fragile.
Why would he…
He cannot move, no matter how much he would wish it now, with an arm sling on his left arm, and the right hand held tightly by a dainty hand that he can only guess belongs to Ailis. He can feel the pain radiating across his shoulders, crawling and snarling into the muscles that hold him together. He can feel it, tighter and tighter and spiraling around his spine like the posture exercises his ballet teachers forced on him for so long. He does not move, though, for fear of what they would say. Of hearing their fake politeness, and pussy-footing around the taboo of what he has done.
Did he take his name that seriously? That he would--.
Please! He could hear you.
But off the roof?
He nearly gasps aloud as Ailis squeezes his hand tightly for a moment. The pain starts throbbing in his left shoulder, and he can feel where the ragged edge of bone was pushing at the skin, how the knitting of the two ends together will create another lump of bone along what used to be a perfectly strong collarbone. He just keeps taking in breath after shallow breath, faking his medicated sleep. He could wait them out, he is sure of it. Soon they would tire of staring at the bruises on his face and arms, the stiff plaster casts that are holding the bits of bone together. A little while longer, and he could be alone, he can be sure of it.
He knew it was going to hurt, right?
I do not know anymore.
Was there a note?
Enough time passes that they eventually leave the room, a painful squeeze and a few wet kisses to his forehead before they go. He manages not to whimper as they press against the bruises and broken bones under the lacking padding of bandages. And when the door shuts behind them, a keening whine wells up from deep inside, the sound what little strength he had shattering just like the weak bones that hold him together. He is some sort of freak who survives his own suicide attempt, manages to make it out whole, for all intents and purposes. Inside, he feels his chest ripping to shreds and wishes he could crawl over to the corner and just leave this world behind once and for all.
Nix cannot even bring himself to take a painkiller for the throb of his broken collarbone.
