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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 30, 2010 8:59:01 GMT -8
"I'm glad I could be of help." Ashlin liked seeing Michael smile, it was a nice smile, but there was something painful about it as well. Like something was keeping him from really smiling, but he was still going to try. Ash smile liked that sometimes, had done it a lot in high school when her parents asked about her day. Ash didn't like this smile so much now that she thought about it. She wanted to see Michael really smile. "What kind of foods do you like? That way next time we have tea I can have something I'm sure you'll like." She questioned him with the slightest hint of red to her cheeks, for some reason she was feeling a bit shy. She wasn't quite sure the reason for her sudden hesitance but simply chalked it up to being nervous about messing something up and losing her first friend.
Unconsciously Ash to fiddle with Bo-Bo who had been left on the couch that morning. The little doll had always been her security blanket and diary all wrapped into one. She'd spent many a night confiding her fears, and secrets to the red (faded slightly to orange) and white little doll, and just talking to it the way she couldn't talk to anyone is real life. Having it with her made her feel more confident, and more comfortable.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 30, 2010 15:52:57 GMT -8
It had been rather a long time since Michael had REALLY smiled. He was trying, he really was...he felt at-ease here, like he could relax, even if by a fraction...but there was still much weighing on his mind. He set the teacup down, reaching up to rub at his tired eyes a little. "...I am not picky, in point of fact," he mumbled, starting to feel the room spinning a bit. He leaned back against the couch, wincing ever so slightly as the sword dug into his back. "And perhaps I could bring something...next time I come back."
The couch was very comfortable, he thought to himself somewhat dimly. The faint rasp had returned to his voice, and he tried to clear it, his stormy eyes sliding over towards Bo-Bo. It was a cute toy, to his eyes. He didn't really have anything of that sort. The only item of security he had was in his jacket pocket, ever present, a reminder. A reminder to keep his poise...which he wasn't quite doing at the moment.
But the couch was really quite comfortable.
In spite of himself, he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, blinking rapidly in a futile sort of effort. This wasn't very professional of him, was it? It wasn't good behavior for a guest to fall asleep mid-conversation with their host, of course. Still, in spite of himself, his eyes slid shut. He was just resting them, just for a moment. He wouldn't, couldn't be that rude to her. She was being quite hospitable and kind to him....
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 30, 2010 17:18:04 GMT -8
It took Ashlin a moment to realize that Michael had fallen asleep, but when she had she smiled warmly. She didn't take offense to him falling asleep mid conversation, if anything it made her happy. He didn't seem the type who fell asleep easily, and he'd certainly seemed tired. Putting down her tea cup softly she padded over to the chair, grabbing the old quilt hanging across the back. Laying the quilt over top of him she did her best not to wake Michael up. He looked peaceful like this she thought with a smile, she hadn't realized how stiffly he'd been sitting till he was relaxed like this against her old couch. The sword strapped to his back probably didn't make it easy to relax either.
Almost reaching out to brush some hair from his eyes, Ashlin managed to stop herself at the last second. He probably wouldn't like that, she thought, blushing slightly. He hadn't seemed too pleased when she'd gotten the paint out of hair the other day after all. Instead she pulled back and began to gather up the tea things, smiling softly. She'd let him sleep for now, he looked like he needed it, especially if he was falling asleep mid conversation. And well, she didn't have it in her disturb him when he looked so peaceful. Ashlin hesitated for a moment she looked back at Michael, and caught a glimpse of Bo-Bo from the corner of her eye. Getting an idea she placed the little doll with Michael. Hopeful that Bo-Bo could offer him the same comfort he did her, Ash moved to bring the tea things back to the kitchen, a very quiet hum escaping her.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 31, 2010 21:38:36 GMT -8
The young man didn't wake as the blanket was placed over him, his only reaction a soft, low groan in the back of his throat. He looked peaceful enough for the moment, and for a few minutes, he was. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, lips curled into just the tiniest of frowns. Despite the sword digging into his back, he didn't move...he didn't so much as twitch from that spot.
...But it was shortly after she left the room that his brows furrowed, face growing troubled in his sleep. The dreams...the dreams would always come back, wouldn't they? Even here. He dreamt of fire...of searing pain...of the screams from down the hall....
By the time Ash returned to the room, she would find Michael still sprawled against her couch...his arms wound loosely, instinctively around the little doll she had placed with him.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 31, 2010 22:31:03 GMT -8
Ash smiled at first when she noticed Michael cuddling Bo-Bo, but that smile quickly slipped from her face when she noticed that Michael no longer seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Moving toward him softly toward the couch she knelled next to him on the floor. Despite her earlier hesitation Ashlin reached out, laying her hand against Michael forehead, he was sweating she noticed. Was he having a nightmare she wondered with a slight frown. Unconsciously she began to run her finger through Michael's hair, the way her dad used to when she was a little girl and she'd woken up from a nightmare (before she'd stop telling them of her nightmares, now filled with visions of pills, and white rooms with no windows or doors.)
She wondered what Michael was so afraid of that it would haunt him even in sleep. She wondered if she could help. She didn't quite understand her own feelings around Michael, why she was so eager to help him. He was her first friend though, so perhaps that was it. She was twenty-two and had never had a friend before, that was rather sad wasn't it? Ash had never really thought about it before, it was just how things were after all, but now . . .
Ash was smiling sadly as she began to pull her hand away. She didn't know how to help him, she'd never had to before. She'd never wished more than right now that she did though, never wished so much before that she was someone different. "Sleep well Michael." she wished softly, eyes sad.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 31, 2010 23:26:22 GMT -8
Michael groaned again as she swept her fingers across his forehead, running her fingers through his hair...in his sleep, he leaned into the touch. It reminded him of something from a long, long time ago...another soft hand sweeping through his hair when he had troubled sleep, wiping away his tears and his cold sweat. He gave a little shudder, wincing a little as he shifted in his seat. His back arched a little, trying to pull away from the sword strapped there.
Despite Ashlin's wishes, he just...wasn't going to sleep peacefully. Not right now. She didn't know, couldn't know how her wishes to be someone different were echoed...echoed even as he slept there on her couch. Cigarette smoke crept into his mind's eye...soft laughter, a hoarseness in his own throat.
When she moved to pull her hand away, he reached up for it unconsciously, loosely grabbing her wrist so that she would meet resistance. Clinging to her in the slightest, desperate for some manner of link back to a less terrifying world.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Dec 31, 2010 23:45:33 GMT -8
Freezing slightly when Michael grabbed her wrist, she sat completely still for a moment waiting to see what would happen. When Michael did nothing else though she began to relax slightly, moving her hand back through Michael's hair. If he didn't want her to move away (however unconscious a desire it was) then she wouldn't. It worried her slightly, seeing him arch like that, he seemed like he was in pain. Should she wake him, she wondered, biting her lip. He seemed so exhausted but then how restful could this sleep be. She continued stroking his hair, running her fingers through it. It was the only comfort she could offer, but it couldn't be enough. Nothing she could do was ever enough.
Without being quite aware of her own actions her other hand rested on top of Michael's, stroking it lightly with her thumb.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 1, 2011 3:12:22 GMT -8
He seemed to relax a little, if only by a fraction, when Ashlin went back to stroking his hair...as if reminded that the images he was seeing wasn't the world he would see upon waking. Subtly, his hand pressed back against hers, trembling in the slightest degree. He wanted to wake. He was trying to. He didn't want to see the flames anymore, didn't want to feel the heat against his flesh, didn't want to hear the laughing or the screaming or breathe the smoke, the smoke was starting to choke him and burn his throat and he knew why there was smoke but didn't know why there was smoke or why he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time because it wasn't his fault, no, it wasn't HIS FAULT -
He woke with a bit of a jerk, eyes snapping open and breath coming in sharp gasps for a moment or two. His gaze flicked about wildly for a second, the room was unfamiliar, where WAS HE...and then settled on Ash, standing over him and petting his head. He blinked somewhat dimly, then, steadily, started to redden in the face a little.
Oh, no. He'd only meant to rest his eyes....
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Jan 1, 2011 7:33:38 GMT -8
"Are you alright?" she asked (worry evident in her voice) once Michael had calmed down in enough to focus on her. "It seemed like you were having a nightmare and I wasn't sure if I should wake you up or not because you certainly must have been tired to fall asleep like that. And I wasn't sure what to do but you seemed to calm down a little when I was petting your hair and. . ." She was babbling again, she seemed to do that a lot around Michael. Ashlin was often babbling in her mind, thoughts moving in a million different directions all at the same time, but she'd never had the problem of it all spilling out before. She'd never felt a need to explain herself before. Usually she said too little actually, leaving out how she made her jumps in logic and topic and it always left whoever she was talking with as confused as they usually left her.
Finally noticing his red face she moved her hand to his forehead, biting. "Do you need ice? Your face feels a little warm, and you're a little red." There was still nothing but concern his voice, Ash seemed to be rather immune to awkward situations most of the time. A skill that seemed to come at the price of her causing awkward situations more often then not.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 1, 2011 21:51:52 GMT -8
Ah - errrr - uhhhhhhh - there's a - GIRL - I - errrr - eerrrgh...oh, shit.
Michael really, REALLY wasn't sure what to say or do about all this. He was still shaking - his scars stung, his body too-hot even though it was a chilly day...and he was craving a cigarette. Obviously, he didn't have any on him...he didn't really smoke, only once in a while...so he pushed the urge from his mind. Which left him having to think about the fact that Ash had been petting his head while he slept. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He opened his mouth to try to speak.
"...Buh...." A cough escaped him...why was his mouth so dry? He swallowed hard, eyes flicking to and fro, trying to gather his thoughts. His mouth tasted like ash. His head hurt. It had been lately, but it was getting worse, wasn't it? And here...he hadn't meant to fall asleep HERE....
"...Errr...aaahhhhhn....nnnnnnnoooo." His voice sounded awful - a thick rasp shredded his words. He tried to clear his throat, to no avail. "...Water...?"
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Jan 1, 2011 22:13:50 GMT -8
Growing more concerned at Michael's inability to string a sentence together, Ash began biting her lip to keep from babbling again. When Michael finally manged to express that he wanted water (completely understandable, his voice sounded terrible.) "Of course." she said nodding worriedly. However when she tried to leave she was stopped by a grip around her wrist. Looking back down she realized that Michael still hadn't let go of her from when she'd tried to pull away before. Blinking she just stared at where Michael was holding onto her, seemingly frozen and unsure what to do.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 1, 2011 22:26:59 GMT -8
As she tried to pull away, he felt his arm start to move along with her - eyes widening in surprise as he realized that he was holding on to her. Why had he done that? Had he done it while he was sleeping? Reflexively, he tightened his grip a little...then loosened it again, very quickly as if he had gotten shocked by her skin. He swiftly retracted the hand under the quilt like a turtle might draw into its shell, hiding behind it even though he felt overheated. It would pass, he knew that, it always did. Right? It would this time, too, leaving only the rather difficult subject of what had happened...what she had seen, what he may have done in his sleep....
His eyes lowered to his lap, brows furrowing.
He wasn't good at being a guest. That much he was figuring out.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Jan 1, 2011 22:46:17 GMT -8
For a moment it almost felt like Michael was gripping her tighter, trying to stop her from leaving, but then he was letting go of her. He pulled away so quickly that Ash was sure she must have imagined it.
She couldn't explain why that thought left her feeling just a little sad.
Opening her mouth to say something, anything, nothing came out. Looking sadly at Michael for just another beat, she turned away and moved toward the kitchen. He looked as if he'd been burned when he'd pulled away from her, she thought gripping the cabinet handle. He really hated to be touched didn't he? Or was it just her, she wondered sadly, that he didn't want to touch him? No, no she wouldn't think like that she told herself, grip tightening on the cabinet till it was digging into her hand slightly. He'd come to her for help, he trusted her so he could hate her could he? No, no he couldn't. By the time she returned to the living room with Michael's glass of water she was back to her normal (if concerned) self, the only proof that anything was wrong was a red mark on the palm of her hand. Even if she'd pushed the thought away though it was still there (buried down with the rest of her fear and her doubt) the thought that Michael was starting to see the wrongness in her that made everyone leave her. Everyone always left.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 2, 2011 3:31:23 GMT -8
What is happening to me? The thought rattled in his brain, making him run his hand back over his hair in agitation. He didn't know the answer to his own question. Sleep was getting harder, and the waking was getting worse. His chest rattled when he drew a deep breath, forcing him into a rough cough. What WAS happening? Why couldn't he just...rest? He pulled his hand away from his hair and was struck by a strange sensation against his palm - something chalky, in his hair, on his skin. A quick glance told him there was nothing there, but he could feel it clinging to him, to the sweat on his palms; he scrubbed his hand furiously against his pantleg, trying to rid himself of the feeling.
When Ashlin returned to him, he was sitting still once more, staring dimly at his empty palm as if inspecting it for something. He was wide-eyed - scared - and it took him a moment to noticed she had returned at all. Wrapping his arms around himself, he coughed again, looking to her with an almost pleading expression on his face. His voice was a weak rasp.
"...I am...sorry if I frightened you, there...." His speech wasn't quite all there...he was still groggy, still trying to wake fully. "...I was just...having...another nightmare...." He didn't know what to say about his clinging to her...didn't know if he would say anything. The only thing that was clear was the fear in his eyes...fear Ashlin would likely recognize. He wasn't used to being without Mister Stewart - he wasn't used to being on his own.
He was scared to be alone.
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Post by Ashlin Thomas on Jan 2, 2011 9:22:50 GMT -8
Handing Michael his water she sat down on the couch next to him. For a moment she didn't speak, looking at her own hand clasped in her lap. And then without warning she told him "I wasn't scared." Looking up at him now, looking him in the eye, she said "I was worried, about you. You looked like you were in pain and I . . ." Looking down again she finished sadly "and I couldn't do anything to help." She wanted to help him, she wanted to be a good friend. Because maybe if she could be a good friend, could be useful he wouldn't see it. What she could never find but knew was there somewhere, making people leave her.
When she thought this though the realization of exactly what emotion was in his eyes hit her. Was. . . was he afraid of the same thing she was? He'd told her people didn't talk to him much either, so maybe. . . Risking to look up at him one more time she hesitated before she told him. "I used to have nightmares about my parents sending me to a mental institution." Please let her not be making a mistake, please not let this scare him away. "I used to make up stories about, about things that couldn't really exist when I was little. It-it worried them, s-so they sent me to doctors and they gave me pills, but they just made me feel sick all the time. I wasn't suppose to know about it. I never told them I knew, but I heard the doctor tell them once that I might, might need to be sent somewhere f-for my own protection." She was holding back tears now, she'd never told anyone about this before. But, but maybe if Michael was scared like her, maybe if he knew she could understand the fear he wouldn't have to be scared around her. They wouldn't have to be scared around each other. She curled herself into a small ball, hugging her knees. "I- eventually they took me off the drugs. They said they'd made a mistake," she gave a shaky, bitter laugh at this, a few tears escaping. "I wasn't crazy I just had an-an intense fear of abandonment, because my parents, my real parents, hadn't wanted me, and gave me away." She could only make herself look at Michael for a moment, the fear of being alone, along with all her other fears reflected in her eyes. Please let me have done the right thing, she thought desperately, please let telling him not be a mistake. "I used to not be able to go more than two days without waking up at night from one, and I could never get to sleep afterward."
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