Cadogan Thomas | Jack of Diamonds (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
diemwnt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
houseofcards_rp2013-11-29 06:40 pm
diemwnt) wrote in houseofcards_rp2013-11-29 06:40 pm
Entry tags:
[ota] join jack and the boys; be in a band
The world gets small. That's the worst part.
The period of probation is good, really. Being away from work, sitting in the solitude of house arrest, makes the loss of interest in the rest of the world less damaging. Lets him work his way around to a normal sleep schedule again; get through the sharper periods of nightmares and into the dull sort of sleep he lives with generally. Gives him time to work on the shakiness in his hands and the way he jumps at tiny noises, to refocus on what's immediately before him rather than letting his mind skitter everywhere.
But the world gets small. The world stays small even when, with a firm slap on the wrist, he's let back into his office. The future sits on the end of his desk, barely extending to the end of the week.
He barely notices he's gone out to the gardens. Barely realizes he's bummed an actual cigarette off one of the kitchen Threes and settled in for a proper smoke.
Fifteen months was a good run. And the world is so small. And yes, the smoke entering his lungs spikes the pain of each breath at first, but the nicotine hit--real, proper, after all these months--is more than worth it, in a world that surely isn't going to last more than through the rounding of the next few days.
He'll drop the cigarette if approached, of course. He'll even pretend it was on purpose, and not the shock of tension at the sudden sound of another human being.
The period of probation is good, really. Being away from work, sitting in the solitude of house arrest, makes the loss of interest in the rest of the world less damaging. Lets him work his way around to a normal sleep schedule again; get through the sharper periods of nightmares and into the dull sort of sleep he lives with generally. Gives him time to work on the shakiness in his hands and the way he jumps at tiny noises, to refocus on what's immediately before him rather than letting his mind skitter everywhere.
But the world gets small. The world stays small even when, with a firm slap on the wrist, he's let back into his office. The future sits on the end of his desk, barely extending to the end of the week.
He barely notices he's gone out to the gardens. Barely realizes he's bummed an actual cigarette off one of the kitchen Threes and settled in for a proper smoke.
Fifteen months was a good run. And the world is so small. And yes, the smoke entering his lungs spikes the pain of each breath at first, but the nicotine hit--real, proper, after all these months--is more than worth it, in a world that surely isn't going to last more than through the rounding of the next few days.
He'll drop the cigarette if approached, of course. He'll even pretend it was on purpose, and not the shock of tension at the sudden sound of another human being.
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His face is still cloudy as he shakes his head, pulls back to get his hands speaking again.
/Getting better. Shaken./
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/She needs to rest./
She also needed someone who wasn't part of the problem. At the moment, bearing new fresh scars and bruises from being part of the violence, how could he possibly be what she needed in her life?
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/She doesn't need me like this./
She didn't need him with a visible crack. She didn't need him smoking and jumping and staring into space. Sophie didn't need him like this either, frankly.
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But she trusts his judgment. She doubts he'd associate with anyone like that. "We don't lean very well, do we?"
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His eyes close briefly as he sighs.
/Not really. Still learning./