#hexedwanda

As easy as it got, as much as he improved, it always seemed to fall apart at night. Lying in bed, Isaac was transported to his chamber, to his cell. It had always been so dark, and he had been unable to manage his control of gravity, and he had never known which way was up. Fifteen years later, and Isaac still couldn't abide the dark. But now, in this compound, even his nightlight didn't help. When he needed to be resting and relaxing, his heart would set to racing, and try as he might he couldn't calm it. Even as his aching body cried for a reprieve, his mind tortured him. It was unbearable. Some nights- more often than not, it seemed recently- Isaac simply surrendered. When it was clear oblivion would never come, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his Xavier's School hoodie, and trudged into the kitchen. Being in a different room helped a bit; it was reassuring and distracting. Settled at the dining table, Isaac buried his face in his palms, rubbing at his face and through his hair. He must have looked like a complete mess- and he felt like one, too. Another sip from the water bottle before him and Isaac lapsed back into motionlessness. He focused on what little he could make out in the dim glow of the light above the oven. The silence was a comfort, and he opened himself to it, floated along with it. Let himself drown in it. Just the slightest sturring reached him, though, and when he heard a light scuffle, he tensed. Not a panic, not even embarrassment, he straightened up a bit and turned his red, blurry gaze towards the door. Feeling caught at a disadvantage. Vulnerable. He could only hope it wasn't- well, really, he hoped it wasn't any of them. So he just scratched at his scrubbly cheek and attempted to arrange a non-depressive expression on his face to level at whoever had come to disturb his midnight reverie.