#anleor

send me a 💙 and I’ll list one character I want to rp with

Sleep was already in short supply; a PRECIOUS GIFT, if you managed to rest well. The last  time Martin had seen the likes of that, however –—— was long before the fall. He made it work, though; found a way to function ( even if barely ) through the shit storm closed eyes would bring. Now was entirely different.

Now was brutally vivid, loud and in every way, UNFORGIVING. It was the same dream, too. The same fucking dream night after night —– plucking eyelids open, leaving his chest aching and his throat raw. He didn’t want sleep, and could you blame him? It wasn’t easy this time; hiding it. The extended torment crept it’s way into his FOCUS, into his attitude, hell —-even his speech. It was only a matter of time before Tess had called him out on it.

❝ You look exhausted. ❞

A GRACIOUS confrontation, but one all the same. It wouldn’t do to deny it, either; not when the bags under his eyes were dark enough to be mistaken for a pair of black eyes. Not when he’d gone nearly two days without saying a single word —– not when he couldn’t move his own damn hands without TREMORS. God, how embarrassing ( as if embarrassment is the most troubling thing on his mind…). She had caught him staring off into nothingness; food left untouched. Then she’d spoken, and after a few long moments of silence —- Riggs snorted.

❝ God, is it that obvious? ❞ as usual, everything was a JOKE to him; a way to escape and pretend his hands weren’t shaking now in his lap. He must have looked wretched, and the thought alone made him laugh. Loud, boisterous—- even a bit HYSTERICAL, but look close enough and even he couldn’t deny the fresh line of tears carving a path through grime along his cheeks. The laughter died, rather abruptly, and by a throat that strained against a noise he REFUSED to go of. a sob. So he pressed a palm to his face, hiding himself just a little more.

And then it was quiet again.

Quiet for a good, long while.

❝ Exhausted would be an UNDERSTATEMENT. Personally, I’d love for ya to just blow my fucking brains out,  because I can’t ——–- I just…can’t.❞ It’s with a labored sigh, but it’s what he needed to calm down, before drying his eyes and wiping it away in his mess of hair. Finally, he looked to her.

❝ I can’t sleep. SIMPLE AS THAT. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have something strong, or incredibly mind numbing in that mystery bag of yours—– would ya? ❞

▬♦M♦▬ Have you ever watched someone falling apart right before your eyes? It’s sickening.   A gut wrenching ride of guilt, fear, and desperation. You’d do anything to help- to stop the progression of the pieces slipping loose.    To patch them back together. Be it with words, tenderness, or hell--- even a moments peace of mind. But you can’t. There’s no words for someone who’s suffering, and so resolute in keeping it reigned in. No way of knowing how to even begin. Because he’s not talking about it.    Not really.  Deflection- attempts at humor- outright denial. Yet nothing that gives her a clue as to what to do. There’s no way she’s helping him end it. No way she’s going to let him dope himself into a coma either. But how do you comfort someone who can’t embrace the pain? Can’t seem to bring themselves to admit they need it? Watching him made her ill. Stomach rolling in anxious uncertainty. This was PTSD. She knew the signs. She had a few herself. However, mental health wasn’t exactly her expertise.  And in a world where even she found it hard to hope-------- What was she to do?  Tess wrang her hands in indecision, teeth worrying away at her lower lip as she cautiously moved closer. Close enough to see him trembling. Lack of sleep? Some stage of a panic attack? It didn’t matter. She wanted to stop it. To steady his hands. One of which had fallen upon the table after he’d gestured towards her bag, and so she gingerly laid her own hand upon his, as she slipped a leg upon the table, and rested there beside him a bit. --Absently wondering if he felt the slight tremor she too shook with due to catching him in such a state. She tried not to let the images of her mother, breaking down and begging for release, cloud this moment. Tried to keep her emotions from causing her own cheeks to be trailed with tears.  It was feat of immense strength of will to keep from crying when she finally spoke. The choked off way it came out though, couldn’t be helped.

“I--I’m sorry---” The lump in her throat was almost to big to swallow around, and ached something fierce when she tried. It forced her eyes to burn with unshed tears, and the taste of bile to rise with how hard her guts were rolling right now.

“I’m sorry-- I’m too selfish.” It was her fault he hadn’t gone out in some self imposed blaze of glory. It was her fault she’d essentially guilted him into sticking with her. Her injuries be damned. She should have seen this coming. Done something sooner to ease his pain. That look she’d caught right before he’d given up--- It had scared her in a way she hadn’t been frightened in ages. Abandonment.    A fucking awful word. A worse feeling.    He couldn't leave her back there. Something in him wouldn’t let him die without knowing she was okay. Now though--- now he was leaving her in a very different, yet equally terrifying fashion.