DECLAN
do not mistake me for my mask
you see light dappling on the water
you see light dappling on the water
Declan's not sure what the fuck Ray's doing when she stares into his eyes, and if it weren't for the situation at literal hand, he might've made some crack about it. But he can't even stop and think about that, and fortunately she takes literally two seconds before she already starts talking at him. Her words hit his ears in an auditory blur, and he furrows his brows as if he doesn't speak her language.
Then, his brain allows a gap in its racing adrenaline to register what she's said. It definitely helps that she's trying to be calming, but it's a bit late for any of that. Declan can't decide whether he wants to punch a hole through the brand new walls or drink himself into oblivion. There's memories, trauma resurfacing, brought on by all of this body business.
He shrugs into her, perhaps putting a little too much of his own weight on her. He's halfway between hugging her and collapsing, though, so he just helps her help him into a cot before he's completely crashing.
"Fuck, Ray, I done somethin' ya ain' gonna like," the words that leave him are breathy, uncharacteristically honest and they're a warning. Right now, he doesn't have the energy or the mettle to gloss his words with charm or cleverness. Whether he's referring to today or a different day, even he doesn't know, as he slumps into the cot.
This is the part of adrenal crash where Declan has poor control over his emotions. As he slouches on the cot, staring down at his bloody hand, peeling away the cloth that's barely keeping pressure on it, a silent sob shakes through him. "I'm sorry," the words are muffled through his pain, and he brings his cut hand up to rub his tears and all of the dirt away, to rub the stress from his temple. Inadvertently, or maybe he doesn't care, he gets blood all across his face. "I shouldn'a come here," his eyes, glazed over, open and he can feel the panic rise again. "I have to leave, I shouldn't'a come here."
Then, his brain allows a gap in its racing adrenaline to register what she's said. It definitely helps that she's trying to be calming, but it's a bit late for any of that. Declan can't decide whether he wants to punch a hole through the brand new walls or drink himself into oblivion. There's memories, trauma resurfacing, brought on by all of this body business.
He shrugs into her, perhaps putting a little too much of his own weight on her. He's halfway between hugging her and collapsing, though, so he just helps her help him into a cot before he's completely crashing.
"Fuck, Ray, I done somethin' ya ain' gonna like," the words that leave him are breathy, uncharacteristically honest and they're a warning. Right now, he doesn't have the energy or the mettle to gloss his words with charm or cleverness. Whether he's referring to today or a different day, even he doesn't know, as he slumps into the cot.
This is the part of adrenal crash where Declan has poor control over his emotions. As he slouches on the cot, staring down at his bloody hand, peeling away the cloth that's barely keeping pressure on it, a silent sob shakes through him. "I'm sorry," the words are muffled through his pain, and he brings his cut hand up to rub his tears and all of the dirt away, to rub the stress from his temple. Inadvertently, or maybe he doesn't care, he gets blood all across his face. "I shouldn'a come here," his eyes, glazed over, open and he can feel the panic rise again. "I have to leave, I shouldn't'a come here."
and you forget the deep, cold dark beneath
