The next thing he knew, Moira and Raven were dragging him across the deck of the ship, desperately seeking shelter from the raging whirlwinds of Shaw’s mutant. He was tripping over his own feet, trying his best to follow their lead even as he instinctively cringed away from their hands.
Fear lurked somewhere on the edges of his consciousness, but there was no room in his chaotic, over-strained mind to do anything but move forward and cling to his own sanity.
He automatically reached for the comfort of his sister’s mind, but the moment he opened himself up the tiny fraction necessary to connect with another he found himself swept up in a torrential wave of anger.
Rage so much rage.
He was drowning in it. In everything. Fast, so fast, everything at once, all mixed up and traces of diamonds, sharp, cutting deeply in every direction, meant to hurt. Meant to kill. Losing everything. Water pressing down, lungs straining -
Pain.
The glint of knives, like diamonds and glass, a coin in his hand and destruction everywhere. Hunger, his insides clawing in on themselves and so many blank faces. The smell of burnt flesh and ash staining his skin and sonderkommando. Aren’t you happy I’ve protected you from this?
Terror.
Always afraid and always angry and alone forever and ever.
She was gone. She was gone.
And he was young, standing before a desk and there was a manmonsterdemon smiling with false promises and the smell of chocolate and –
Move the coin
He couldn’t, he couldn’t –
And his mother –
Charles clung to the woman’s face as everything swirls together. Something solid, something real. The look in her eyes.
He watched her lips move,
Alles ist gut. Alles ist gut. Alles ist gut!
The promises spoken in a language he does not speak, but understands anyway. Lies, all lies, nothing she could do, but she tried. She tried. And Charles had known such devotion was possible, in theory. But it had always been something he could only dream of. A fairytale, meant to be experienced only second hand and never like this, so strong and bright, in the darkest of nights.
But here she was, staring down eminent death with a smile on her face. A smile for him, for her son.
Her face is overlaid with another, blond and blue eyes, but cold, so cold and the words did not match, the mouth did not move, merely tightened in polite disinterest. Worthless, so worthless, she’d give him up in an instant, to save herself, for just one more bottle. But here, he could feel it, her devotion and he coveted it. Would die again and again to feel it. Just for a moment, even with the water pressing down, choking, swallowing him up.
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timeasmymeasure
[Fill] Stained (37/?) Warning: Rape-Related PTSD
Date: 2012-03-17 12:55 pm (UTC)Fear lurked somewhere on the edges of his consciousness, but there was no room in his chaotic, over-strained mind to do anything but move forward and cling to his own sanity.
He automatically reached for the comfort of his sister’s mind, but the moment he opened himself up the tiny fraction necessary to connect with another he found himself swept up in a torrential wave of anger.
Rage so much rage.
He was drowning in it. In everything. Fast, so fast, everything at once, all mixed up and traces of diamonds, sharp, cutting deeply in every direction, meant to hurt. Meant to kill. Losing everything. Water pressing down, lungs straining -
Pain.
The glint of knives, like diamonds and glass, a coin in his hand and destruction everywhere. Hunger, his insides clawing in on themselves and so many blank faces. The smell of burnt flesh and ash staining his skin and sonderkommando. Aren’t you happy I’ve protected you from this?
Terror.
Always afraid and always angry and alone forever and ever.
She was gone. She was gone.
And he was young, standing before a desk and there was a manmonsterdemon smiling with false promises and the smell of chocolate and –
Move the coin
He couldn’t, he couldn’t –
And his mother –
Charles clung to the woman’s face as everything swirls together. Something solid, something real. The look in her eyes.
He watched her lips move,
Alles ist gut. Alles ist gut. Alles ist gut!
The promises spoken in a language he does not speak, but understands anyway. Lies, all lies, nothing she could do, but she tried. She tried. And Charles had known such devotion was possible, in theory. But it had always been something he could only dream of. A fairytale, meant to be experienced only second hand and never like this, so strong and bright, in the darkest of nights.
But here she was, staring down eminent death with a smile on her face. A smile for him, for her son.
Her face is overlaid with another, blond and blue eyes, but cold, so cold and the words did not match, the mouth did not move, merely tightened in polite disinterest. Worthless, so worthless, she’d give him up in an instant, to save herself, for just one more bottle. But here, he could feel it, her devotion and he coveted it. Would die again and again to feel it. Just for a moment, even with the water pressing down, choking, swallowing him up.