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Claire Keane
Today's Document
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Love Begins
YOU ARE THE REASON
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@theartofmadeline
occasionally subtle
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@twicebittenheart
Something that makes me laugh is how we, the fandom, looked at Caleb and collectively decided he's a panty sniffer/thief.
What's even funnier to me is how we, for the most part, portray it as hot. Obsessive and possessive but hot. Usually that's portrayed as pathetic or gross. It's a trait given to a character we look down on.
But when Caleb does it? Yeah no that's good shit.
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I just think it would be so reassuring to have someone check my pulse when I'm starting to get nervous. To remind me to take nice, deep breaths. Maybe demonstrate for me, let me follow their rhythm.
To know that if my heart really started to get out of control that they'd listen to it. Help me slow it down and bring it under their steady influence. How comforting it would be to be able to trust my heart to someone else.
I feel like when it comes to my favorite scenario, I’m much more interested in a more half-conscious state rather than being unconscious during a full cardiac arrest. I’m MUCH more into the victim being aware but in a twilight of consciousness, struggling to stay awake and breathe. They can feel their heart struggling and they can hear their broken gasps for air.
I’m crazy about lungs struggling to inflate, and the victim feels as their nose gets pinched and as lips seal over theirs to give them a rescue breath. They can feel their chest expand with every breath and feel as it deflates. When the rescuer stops to see their condition, the victim has a clearer mind, but they’re still struggling. The breath offered a brief moment of respite, but not enough to strengthen weakened lungs. So, rescue breaths continue with the rescuer timing their rescue breaths every time the victim attempts to breathe on their own.
I’m obsessed with the victim being aware of how much their heart is struggling. They can feel how close their body is to giving out. However, the rescuer prevents that. They apologize as they position their hands on top of the rescuer’s sternum, their sputtering chest meeting the rescuer’s hands, and the victim can feel the heat of their hands against their cold skin. They can feel as their chest begins to bend under the pressure of chest compressions, their body jerking to each one as the rescuer helps their sick heart finally beat properly. They can feel as every bit of air still in their lungs gets shoved out of their body. Their body’s in pain and their head becomes light as it’s even more difficult to get air in. The rescuer notices, provides more rescue breaths, and then continues with compressions to keep someone alive who is nearly gone already.
The victim can hear the rescuer the entire time. They can hear soft curses, words of encouragement, gentle praises, desperate pleas for them to hang in there. Their vision swims in and out, but they can still make out the form of their rescuer. Is it someone they know? Someone they don’t? Who are they, and why are they fighting so hard to keep them alive?
The shocks come in soon to try and restart their heart into a proper rhythm. It hurts much worse than anything else they’ve come to experience. Their body jerks as it feels like they’ve been struck in the chest, their back arching as the shock runs through their body, a strangled breath of air being forcefully squeezed from their body. They go limp, and as their vitals are taken, rescue breaths continue.
I have so many thoughts and I’ll be sure to add more when it’s not 4am
First Meeting
I twitch my fingers against the slightly rough surface of the table so I don't rub them against my chest. Nerves ill at ease as I question my courage in showing up for the umpteenth time.
You slide into the seat across from me, smile wide and hand extended as you give me your name. I mirror the gesture and give you mine in return, heart fluttering at the contact - minimal as it is. This is the point, I tell myself firmly. To meet new people in a low pressure environment.
Your fingers tighten when I start to pull away, turning my hand so the watch on my wrist is facing up.
"Is this accurate?"
The question catches me off guard.
"I-I think so? I mean, I've never tested it, but it's been accurate enough."
Your gaze is fixed on the watch face and the numbers displayed there.
"87 is a little high for someone sitting down."
It's almost like we're holding hands. But your fingers are wrapped around my wrist. So I don't get lost, or so you say.
The press of people is overwhelming. I wonder if you can feel my pulse ticking up and unsteady as my nerves. My face feels hot and my head a little dizzy. I'm grateful your back is to me, tugging me along as I try to match your sure strides.
I want to ask you how much further, but the words don't come. There are too many people and not enough air. My foot catches on something and my heart stutters. For a horrible moment your grip loosens and I think I really will be lost. But then your fingers curl tighter, we change direction to pull free from the throng of people. And then it's just us. Just you. Guiding me until my back meets a wall as solid as your presence.
And finally I can breathe.
Or I could until I look up and your expression makes it catch in my throat. And now I'm flushing for a different reason.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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