Author Topic: HURTS LIKE HELL . . . private  (Read 186 times)

Offline MARS.

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HURTS LIKE HELL . . . private
« on: November 22, 2018, 10:23:37 PM »

His normally steady hands had become shaky, constantly trembling, and his jaw ached from constantly clenching it and grinding his teeth. His hands cramped from roughly massaging them so much, and old wounds started to throb dully. Migraines plagued him more and more often, and his nights became more restless, and he became so, so exhausted. He didn't know how much longer he could keep running and hiding.

He wasn't sure he wanted to, anymore.

He couldn't recall exactly why he'd run off in the first place. Of course, there was the whole thing with him being an absolute dumbass and going behind his friends' backs, but he couldn't recall why he hadn't talked more with them or let them lock him up right there. It would have made things so much easier on them, and he owed them that much after the shit he put them through.

And fuck, he was so stupid. He truly believed he was protecting them by joining the "other side," the evil side, and trying to get them to go in the opposite direction of wherever the good side was headed. Somehow, he'd ended up telling more information than he thought he had, and his friends got hurt in the process. He was the one who nearly brought them all down and dug their graves, and he could still feel the anger, confusion, and crestfallen eyes staring into his own when some of the Hydra agents laughed and congratulated him on a job very well done. He could hear the threats, laced with nothing but malice and determination to go through with them, and see their lips quivering while they tried to hold back tears to no avail.

He could still feel his heart break, over and over and over.

They'd managed to fight off the Hydra agents, and of course he helped, but they understandably kept pushing him away, telling them his help wasn't needed anymore. There was so much yelling, and so many hot, angry tears, so many hurt faces and eyes filled with betrayal, and he stood there and took it all in. He didn't bother defending himself, because he knew, now, what he'd done was stupid, and he hadn't protected them, but had been the source of their pain. He'd become the evil—the monster—he'd been trying to protect them from, and it hurt.

It hurt more than anything that had ever caused him pain before.

Briar's hands were hidden in the pockets of his jacket, his head held low, a cap atop his head and shades shielding his eyes. His jaw clenched and he ground his teeth together, brows knitted together. His shoulders were slumped, and his pace was leisure, not in any hurry to get anywhere. His stomach growled loudly, causing him to huff out in frustration. He wasn't hungry—he couldn't eat. He'd had trouble eating since months ago, when it happened. He hardly had time, anyway, with trying to keep a low profile and become a ghost, constantly moving around from city to city, state to state.

As he turned the corner, he gasped, bumping shoulders, or arms, with someone much shorter than him. He apologized quickly and stopped, hands out, about to ask if the person was okay, before he saw their face. His eyes widened behind his shades, and he gulped thickly, hands trembling. He was frozen for a few moments, breathing heavy, before he finally maneuvered around her to quickly walk away, fast-walk turning into a jog, turning into a run, turning into a sprint. Her fast footsteps echoed behind him, and he was simultaneously glad and disappointed there weren't many people out. (It was pretty late, but still.)

He—they—ran for awhile before Briar felt as if he were going to pass out, and tried to hide himself in an alleyway to catch his breath. That's what you get for not eating or sleeping, idiot, he scolded himself, hands on his knees as he hunched over. He startled at the footsteps skidding to a stop, and he looked up to see her in front of him, just a couple feet away. He looked at her for a few seconds before hanging his head in defeat. After he mostly caught his breath, and stood straight, eyes gazing in Micah's general direction, but refusing to make eye contact.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, over and over, trying to hide their shakiness.

/ @finny. Here We Go :'D
« Last Edit: November 22, 2018, 10:33:47 PM by fitz »
*:・゚✧ THE ONLY DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A HERO AND A VILLAIN IS WHO SELLS MORE COSTUMES ON HALLOWEEN