#angstedition

PROMPTS [ [#] angst - angst - angst || dialogue ]

[01] slipping on ice - breaking bones - unable to move || "you should have never come here." [02] unhealthy coping mechanism - overworking themselves - somethings never die || "you were just a child." [03] new trauma brings back repressed memories - memory loss - ptsd || "i don't want to remember." [04] fever - hallucinations - long recovery || "you stayed." "i promised."

[05] victim blaming - toxic relationships - tricked || "it's always your fault." [06] broken promises - betrayal - guilt || "everything will be alright, i promise you." [07] feeling tears while sharing a kiss - bathed and cared for by another - tired || "i'm sorry." [08] running away - left all alone - deep longing || "i feel safe, when i am with you."

[09] touch starved - flinching away from a kind touch - blood || "don't let them-" "i won't." [10] won't stop hurting - child abuse - sign language || "i could never leave you behind." [11] bad habits die hard - anxiety - relapsing || "won't you let me see?" [12] rough childhood - demons of the past - sexual assault || “i won't let them lay a finger on you, never again."

[13] chained - forced to lie - shot || "i'd never flinch from your touch." || [14] painful escape - forced to choose - career ending injury || "please stop." [15] eating disorder - panic attacks - self-harm || “but you love me anyway, don’t you?” [16] hiding an injury - infection - stitching themselves up || "you're over reacting."

[17] heavy breathing - fainting - feeling uneasy || "stop!" [18] sensory deprivation - overstimulation - strapped down || "you have to hold on." [19] passed out from the cold - can't open their eyes - has yet to wake up || "i hate you." [20] stab wound - being let down by someone they once trusted - first aid || "what happened to us?"

“Dammit,” Kevin spat under his breath as he passed his racquet to his right hand. He used his teeth to tear at the velcro of his left glove, pulling it loose from his hand. He flexed his fingers, making a fist and extending the digits over and over again as he tried to lessen the pain. It had become a chronic problem due to Kevin’s resistance to taking the proper time to heal when he had first made his way to Palmetto; he paid the price for it every time he played, now, even if he never let the others see it. The way he looked at the scars which marred the back of his hand was full of hatred and anger that had never died. 

It wasn’t Riko he was angry at, not really. He was pissed at himself for not being good enough to overcome the obstacle. This should never have beaten him the way that it had. His resentment over that fact continued to fester like an open wound. It was why he spent every night on the court, working himself to the bone to claw his way back to his former glory. He was the son of Exy, of Kayleigh Day. Being anything other than the best was completely unacceptable.

He wasn’t sure how long ago Neil and Andrew had slunk off to the locker room together, and he wasn’t nearly stupid enough to go looking for them, even if he was ready to call it a night. Instead, he made his way off of the court and deposited his stick, gloves, and helmet in the common area between the locker rooms. Getting to the offices was an easy task, and Wymack had even left the door to his office unlocked; he really shouldn’t be so trusting.

Kevin rifled through the lower right-hand drawer of Wymack’s desk, pushing away files in their disarray until he found what he was looking for. His fingertips brushed glass, and he withdrew a bottle of whiskey with his hand gripping the thin neck. He sat down in the office chair and wrenched the screw-cap off of the bottle before putting it to his lips.

The amber liquid burned its way down his throat in a way that brought him a sense of comfort, and he gulped down as much of it as he could as quickly as possible. When he pulled the liquor bottle away, it was only to draw in a much-needed breath of air.

Kevin looked at the bottle in his hand, noticing that he’d downed enough of it that Wymack would surely notice that someone had been in here. It was too much for the coach to gaslight himself into thinking he’d drank it himself without knowing. The right thing to do, the moral thing, would have been for Kevin to put the alcohol back in his drawer, apologize, and offer to buy another bottle.

Kevin chose to empty the bottle down his throat, instead. 

Jean couldn’t hide the horror on his face when Riko’s words sunk in. He wished he could have; the delight that crossed Riko’s features in return told him that this wasn’t going to be the last time that he was asked to do such a thing. With pleading grey eyes, he looked to Kevin, only to find the older boy looking anywhere but at him. That fact made his body feel cold. He understood; of course he did. Kevin hated to watch when Riko tortured him, but never before had Riko decided that his torment should be inflicted by Jean’s own hand. This was certainly a new circle of hell.

“I said break it yourself,” Riko snapped at him, growing impatient with Jean’s hesitation at his order. “Do it, or I’ll break your whole hand.”

Jean knew that he could play with a broken finger; he would have four on the same hand to compensate. A broken hand could end his career. He knew all too well that his whole life hinged on his ability to play Exy. If he couldn’t play, the most he could hope for was a merciful bullet between the eyes. 

Jean was intimately aware that his inevitable death would never be so easy.

Riko never said what hand. With any luck, his cruelty lacked the foresight to cripple his dominant hand. If he could break his left middle finger… that would be the most strategic. He could use the rest of them to maintain a proper hold on his stick without risking a slip in his ability to play. 

Jean drew a shuddering breath as he made his decision. He wrapped his right hand around the middle finger of his left and closed his eyes. Every instinct that he had, animalistic to the core, screamed at him not to follow through with his intention. He had no choice. He clenched his jaw and wrenched his right hand as hard as he possibly could; if he didn’t succeed on the first attempt, he knew he would not be able to make himself try again.

Behind closed eyelids, his vision whited out, and his own blood roared in his ears as a wave of pain drowned him at the sickening snap and subsequent agony. Jean lurched forward as he heaved. There was nothing left in his stomach, and bile seared his throat on the way up. He coughed and sputtered at the vile taste only to heave again.

“Disgusting,” Riko spat. Fortunately, he’d drug Jean into the locker room rather than to their tower. The mess Jean had just made wasn’t his problem in the slightest. He looked over to his partner, who had gone a bit pale and seemed incredibly interested in a particular tile on the floor. “Let’s go, Kevin.” 

As Riko turned to leave the locker room, Kevin spared Jean a quick glance, one in which his green eyes were filled with a mix of horror and sorrow.

“Kevin!”