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Week Four Excerpts
orion_mk3 | AshleyEpidemic | amaliegreen | RhondaParrish | sunflowerrei
Jonathon staggered into his apartment, and dropped his keys in the direction of the dish by the door. When they hit the ground, he decided he didn’t care. This was beginning to become a habit. He was beginning to think he’d never come home able to walk straight. His neighbours probably thought he was a drunk.
“Promise me you’ll go to right to sleep,” William said as he picked up the keys. Jonathon wasn’t sure what to say to that. William had been running race times in his head all night, and if he was trying the blocking tricks of the others, he really wanted to make sure Jonathon didn’t pick up on something. That pretty much guaranteed the request wasn’t as simple as it looked.
“Of course. Not like I’m fit to do anything else right now.” It was easier to lie when he didn’t have to look at him. He left the lights off and closed the drapes.
“Yeah, right.” It didn’t sound like he was convinced, but he accepted it anyway. “Tylenol?”
“I’ll get it, thank you.” He dropped down on the couch, and then waved William toward the door. “I appreciate the ride, but if I have to hear the Olympic races one more time, I’m going scream.”
William grinned. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Jonathon listened to him as he walked down the hall, but William had gotten better at this over the past month. He kept it going until he’d driven out of range. It was impressive, but inconvenient. He wanted to know what William had planned.
Still, it wasn’t enough to force him to follow the orders to go to bed, even if it did sound attractive right now. He had to accept that this was a part of his life now. Either he learned to work around the pain, or he gave up. He wasn’t ready to do that yet.
What he needed was some defences. The others had managed to find a way to block him. Why couldn’t he find ways to block them? If nothing else, he had learned that the mindscape could be manipulated by his own thoughts. He stretched out on the couch and tried to find an image that would signify protection. To his chagrin, the first thing that came to mind was a Hazmat suit, right out of a virus apocalypse movie. He felt ridiculous right away, until he realized the static was muffled.
Hope sprung up in his chest, and he concentrated on the image until he couldn’t hear the noise anymore. It was as silent as the coma wing, but not as disturbing. This wasn’t a silence he could fall into, it was more like a bubble. It was almost the most comforting experience he’d had in the past year. The only one that was better was when he was with Sean.
The disappointment almost punctured his suit, but he held on. It was better to let that go. He had known what he was getting into. There had never been a sign that Sean felt the same way about him as he felt about Sean. It was always the danger of his entering a relationship, and this time it had finally done the damage he’d been afraid of.
Jonathon shook it off. That was just a distraction right now. He needed to focus on what he was doing. As soon as he had a firm grip on the image of the suit, he pushed it into the back of his mind. Now he needed to make sure it held up while he was distracted. Otherwise he’d still be trapped in his room.
The only way he could think of to test it, was to go looking for Lorne again. It was a risk, but it wasn’t like he didn’t do that on a regular basis anyway. If he stopped, Lorne would get suspicious. Even with the last time, he knew Jonathon was more stubborn than that.
Relaxing again, Jonathon reached out with his mind, and followed the same path he’d used to find Lorne before. He wasn’t surprised to find that this time it didn’t led him to his brother. Still, it was a start. He used the initial starting point, and searched around for some sort of trace. It was like trying to find something in the dark. His thoughts skimmed over the area, searching for anything that might hold a trace of his brother.
To his surprise, he found something. It was an impression, a thought wrapped and left in the corner, holding a family picture from when their mother was alive. Lorne had carried the real thing in his wallet for years. He might even still have it, though he hadn’t let any of them see it in years. It was bright as a pebble in moonlight, the family connection making it far too easy to find.
He might as well have emblazoned it, “This is a trap.” But it didn’t matter, because Jonathon was going to pick it up anyway, as Lorne knew he would.
His mental touch picked up the photograph. A wave of sadness and longing washed over him, and he was overwhelmed by the sense of loss. It resonated with his own mourning for their mother, and in the connection he felt himself next to Lorne.
… you’re too predictable. …
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