NDrabble: Fixed - a double drabble
Oct. 3rd, 2006 12:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
peg22OR: How PMS and Hutch post fix are the very same thing. I mean, really. The need for chocolate. Irritablility that results in the tossing of items. Lashing out at the ones you love . . .
So here's what happens in the middle of the night.
Fixed
by Kaye
The ache never goes away. The bruises pale, the
sickness wanes, track marks fade to freckles. He’s
now gone an entire day without thinking about it.
Twice. But the thrum of need always whispers back in.
Relentless. Under every sentence, every step, every
caress. Every raised eyebrow.
He’s tried to walk it away. Took to the beach one
night, almost outran it. Caught up with him at the end
of the pier. Chased him back to Venice, where he
stood staring up into dark windows, wondering when it
had became less about stopping the ache and more about
just stopping.
*****
He can’t stop. The sleeves are shorter, the hair
longer, the swagger is back. Almost. He’s now gone an
entire week without worrying about it. Too much. But a
dozen unanswered rings sends him across town at three
in the morning. Sidelong glances at every twitch have
become an unwanted reality.
Standing guard between what happened and what might
occur has left him exhausted. He lights the cigarette
they both know doesn’t touch the need, accepts the
need for the lights on, and sits alone in the dark.
Waiting for the other shoe. Waiting for the ache to
go away.
So here's what happens in the middle of the night.
Fixed
by Kaye
The ache never goes away. The bruises pale, the
sickness wanes, track marks fade to freckles. He’s
now gone an entire day without thinking about it.
Twice. But the thrum of need always whispers back in.
Relentless. Under every sentence, every step, every
caress. Every raised eyebrow.
He’s tried to walk it away. Took to the beach one
night, almost outran it. Caught up with him at the end
of the pier. Chased him back to Venice, where he
stood staring up into dark windows, wondering when it
had became less about stopping the ache and more about
just stopping.
*****
He can’t stop. The sleeves are shorter, the hair
longer, the swagger is back. Almost. He’s now gone an
entire week without worrying about it. Too much. But a
dozen unanswered rings sends him across town at three
in the morning. Sidelong glances at every twitch have
become an unwanted reality.
Standing guard between what happened and what might
occur has left him exhausted. He lights the cigarette
they both know doesn’t touch the need, accepts the
need for the lights on, and sits alone in the dark.
Waiting for the other shoe. Waiting for the ache to
go away.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 06:33 pm (UTC)"But the thrum of need always whispers back in." Felt that shiver, right there.
Give right on in to all that irritability, petal. You know you want to...