Post by cobalt on Jul 23, 2015 16:02:42 GMT -6
The room was dead silent. It was well-furnished, a bedside table, a queen-sized bed, a dresser, a few rugs, and even a couch. Edward’s bedroom was one he slept in alone, having mostly kept to himself since his last partner left his side.
He figured moving out of the house he shared with Mark Allen would let him clear his mind. There were too many memories there, memories he couldn’t stand to relive. Every time he woke up with panic in his eyes, clinging to the warm body next to him out of fear. Every time he jolted up with tears streaming down his face, the ghost of a deceased friend haunting his thoughts. Every time he screamed out and woke up his soon-to-be-stepdaughter sleeping on the other side of the house, who was more than used to his episodes, as they came often.
But, now, the warm presence Mark had was gone. The ghost of Carolina Darkwaters was now made of flesh and blood once again, and Tiffany had vanished along with her father. And he was no longer in the bed that housed his nightmares and panic attacks.
He was in his own bed. In his own apartment. With silence as his only roommate.
The quiet air made him uncomfortable, like he was vulnerable. Like he was left alone with his own thoughts, for them to prey on him. Like suicidal, crazed lions. Like they were ready to tear him limb from limb, let the crimson run down their faces as they pounced on his psyche for dinner, and let him suffer through it.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t live with a roommate, and he couldn’t live alone either.
White noise flowed through the apartment. Usually rain, thunder, something peaceful like that. But it didn’t quite put a stop to his mind’s twisted games. Occasionally, as he fell asleep, he’d hear her scream. He’d heard Carolina cry out in agony, and sometimes he’d even hear a gunshot along with it.
Edward would rush out of bed, he learned to wear sweatpants when he slept, in case something something like this had happened. He’d scramble to undo the four locks on his apartment door, two of which he had his sister install herself, and he’d stumble out next door to Carolina’s neighboring residence.
He’d pound on the door as he grabbed desperately for the spare key, and fought his way into the keyhole urgently, and panicked. He’d throw the door open and barge in, ready to fight off Carolina’s shooter, adrenaline rushing through his veins.
To find Carolina herself reading in candle light, with a panicked look on her face.
“Everything okay, Edward?” she’d ask, nervously.
That happened about once every week. Maybe every two, if Edward was lucky. It was better than when they both moved in, he and Carolina might meet at midnight about three times a week, Edward, a mess of adrenaline and panic, Carolina, a force of peace and serenity to soothe his nervous tendencies.
It was honestly unfair to her. She shouldn’t have to put up with it, and Edward knows it. Carolina tries to look on the bright side, and considers it good practice. She’s in medical training, looking to get her doctorate, and specialize in the field of psychology.
Edward considers it a burden.
He’s tried to keep himself from checking, but that only makes it worse. For him, anyway. He has trouble remembering the next morning, but the few times he’s done kept himself from checking on Carolina, he’s woken up with her on the couch a few feet from his bed, and with all of his knives hidden. Carolina’s tried not to talk about those nights, she claims bringing them up won’t be easy for either of them. She always had tears in her eyes when she said that.
The pills he’s been given help, but Edward forgets to take them, or chooses not to. He doesn’t like who he becomes on them, he doesn’t feel like himself. Though everyone else doesn’t seem to realize that, or they stay quiet out of courtesy.
The worst part about life after the second battle of Olympus, is that Edward thought he’d be healing. Phantom convinced him of that, and he still tries to, when they meet. And Edward wants to believe it, he does. But it’s been about nine months, and he doesn’t feel any better. Sure, he’s having less attacks, but he doesn’t feel any better. He’s constantly paranoid of losing his best friend again, and he’s too afraid to up his dosage, find a partner, or anything that might actually help him.
Edward’s life has become a cycle of feeling okay, and suffering so much he’d rather die than continue on. And he’s not happy about it. But he’s too afraid to do anything about it. He feels completely powerless.
But, somehow, Carolina finds a way to make everything okay, just for a bit. She doesn’t even have to do anything. Even after being around her for nine months after her revival, whenever their eyes meet, he feels like his problems are solved. Like she was just revived again. She’s offered to move in with him, and Edward has offered her her peace every time. But next time, he just might take it.
Because Carolina Darkwaters is the only thing that could possibly get Edward back on track again.
He figured moving out of the house he shared with Mark Allen would let him clear his mind. There were too many memories there, memories he couldn’t stand to relive. Every time he woke up with panic in his eyes, clinging to the warm body next to him out of fear. Every time he jolted up with tears streaming down his face, the ghost of a deceased friend haunting his thoughts. Every time he screamed out and woke up his soon-to-be-stepdaughter sleeping on the other side of the house, who was more than used to his episodes, as they came often.
But, now, the warm presence Mark had was gone. The ghost of Carolina Darkwaters was now made of flesh and blood once again, and Tiffany had vanished along with her father. And he was no longer in the bed that housed his nightmares and panic attacks.
He was in his own bed. In his own apartment. With silence as his only roommate.
The quiet air made him uncomfortable, like he was vulnerable. Like he was left alone with his own thoughts, for them to prey on him. Like suicidal, crazed lions. Like they were ready to tear him limb from limb, let the crimson run down their faces as they pounced on his psyche for dinner, and let him suffer through it.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t live with a roommate, and he couldn’t live alone either.
White noise flowed through the apartment. Usually rain, thunder, something peaceful like that. But it didn’t quite put a stop to his mind’s twisted games. Occasionally, as he fell asleep, he’d hear her scream. He’d heard Carolina cry out in agony, and sometimes he’d even hear a gunshot along with it.
Edward would rush out of bed, he learned to wear sweatpants when he slept, in case something something like this had happened. He’d scramble to undo the four locks on his apartment door, two of which he had his sister install herself, and he’d stumble out next door to Carolina’s neighboring residence.
He’d pound on the door as he grabbed desperately for the spare key, and fought his way into the keyhole urgently, and panicked. He’d throw the door open and barge in, ready to fight off Carolina’s shooter, adrenaline rushing through his veins.
To find Carolina herself reading in candle light, with a panicked look on her face.
“Everything okay, Edward?” she’d ask, nervously.
That happened about once every week. Maybe every two, if Edward was lucky. It was better than when they both moved in, he and Carolina might meet at midnight about three times a week, Edward, a mess of adrenaline and panic, Carolina, a force of peace and serenity to soothe his nervous tendencies.
It was honestly unfair to her. She shouldn’t have to put up with it, and Edward knows it. Carolina tries to look on the bright side, and considers it good practice. She’s in medical training, looking to get her doctorate, and specialize in the field of psychology.
Edward considers it a burden.
He’s tried to keep himself from checking, but that only makes it worse. For him, anyway. He has trouble remembering the next morning, but the few times he’s done kept himself from checking on Carolina, he’s woken up with her on the couch a few feet from his bed, and with all of his knives hidden. Carolina’s tried not to talk about those nights, she claims bringing them up won’t be easy for either of them. She always had tears in her eyes when she said that.
The pills he’s been given help, but Edward forgets to take them, or chooses not to. He doesn’t like who he becomes on them, he doesn’t feel like himself. Though everyone else doesn’t seem to realize that, or they stay quiet out of courtesy.
The worst part about life after the second battle of Olympus, is that Edward thought he’d be healing. Phantom convinced him of that, and he still tries to, when they meet. And Edward wants to believe it, he does. But it’s been about nine months, and he doesn’t feel any better. Sure, he’s having less attacks, but he doesn’t feel any better. He’s constantly paranoid of losing his best friend again, and he’s too afraid to up his dosage, find a partner, or anything that might actually help him.
Edward’s life has become a cycle of feeling okay, and suffering so much he’d rather die than continue on. And he’s not happy about it. But he’s too afraid to do anything about it. He feels completely powerless.
But, somehow, Carolina finds a way to make everything okay, just for a bit. She doesn’t even have to do anything. Even after being around her for nine months after her revival, whenever their eyes meet, he feels like his problems are solved. Like she was just revived again. She’s offered to move in with him, and Edward has offered her her peace every time. But next time, he just might take it.
Because Carolina Darkwaters is the only thing that could possibly get Edward back on track again.