#poseflex

a burst of anxious laughter punches out of his lungs in a humorless wheeze . ‘ you kidding me ? of course i won’t , i’d be toast on my own . ‘ hands trembling with adrenaline fumble as he tries to get the torch of his phone to turn on but he can hardly feel his fingers through the numbness of panic spreading up his arms . he’s not a fan of the dark , or confined spaces , and being in a situation where the two congeal to one piss poor situation is pushing all of his nope - buttons like a monkey on bongos . ‘ could you try the door again ? like , maybe it’s pull and not push .  ‘

“You wanna try?”

[txt:] wait….. are u really defending the girl who’s insulting me all over twitter? am i SLEEPING right now or something? 

[ 📲 • bailey] not after you spoiled me with left-over desserts, at least.

“Is it cool if I just like, close my eyes for a second…” He’s blinking back a wave of blurry, concussed nausea, cold through the fingertips and feverish in the cage of his skull. Bailey is the only reason he hasn’t slumped over in the dirty, mouldy tunnels, and he gives her a faint smile. “Don’t yell at me, I’m trying, I swear,” he laughs, and the sound is watery. Graham lifts a hand from his side, regards the thick, dark red where he’d stumbled, fallen from a Lucid’s grasp, down, down. He closes his eyes, eyebrows furrowing down in a concentrated effort to stay conscious. “I’m scared, Bailey.” Please don’t leave me here.

( ✉ → sms ) drink water tho ok. im gonna be at the party later if u need a ride back 2 clubhouseee

“Don’t touch me–Don’t fucking touch me–” Panic tastes like iron in his mouth–it drowns him, chokes him out, and he’s twisting, stumbling away from the blurry figure in front of him. Two hands shake him at the shoulders, and suddenly it’s not the Lucid’s ghoulish features, it’s not the far-away voices hissing in his ear, it’s Bailey, eyes wide with concern. He stops struggling with her in a horrified instant, eyes flashing around the tunnels in a disconnect. “Where am I–” Bailey is the anchor, steadying the keel of the tipping boat that is his emotional state. “Was I– Was I asleep? I thought– you were them.” You’re okay, you’re okay. Graham. He blinks,  dizzy on his feet, stares back at her with his remorse. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”