‹ Prequel: Lost Cause
Sequel: Dinner Date With a Rock Star ›
Hallelujah
Supernatural
I sat again in the near-soundless sanctuary of the mixing booth, my legs crossed Indian-style in the grey swivel-chair, elbows connected to my knees and my eyes closed tightly against the single fluorescent light.
That damn buzzing wasn't helping my head in the slightest.
My thoughts slid slowly in and out, replaying old moments, the sound muted to a low murmur in that odd cinematic way people sometimes view things and letting the almost pure silence overcome me. The back of my head twinged again and I swayed slightly, despite the stable position I was in. A song played endlessly in my head.
Her headaches
Are constant,
Increasing in pain...
"Headache?" Matt's voice asked. I winced as a new dagger of pain slashed across my forehead, my hand flying up to my temple as I responded:
"Migraine." I wondered dimly how the hell he'd invaded my personal box of quiet without my immediate notice. I waited two utterly quiet seconds before Matt's hand gently cradled my face, his thumb gingerly sliding across my bottom lip. "Don't," I couldn't handle this right now, my sharp one-worded answers a let-on to how irritable the return of my stress migraines made me. He pulled his hand away quickly, as though my tone has physically stung him. I felt his footfalls on the thick grey carpet, heard the egg crate foam-covered door open.
"I could go get Brian, if you want me to," He sounded slightly offended, a little defeated. Guilt flooded though me. It wasn't fair to him.
"You don't have to- Oh God..." I'd made the mistake of opening my eyes. When were the six Excedrin I'd taken (unfortunately not enough to kill me... Oh darn.) supposed to exorcise the demon from my skull and stop its incessant pounding? I closed my eyes again and rubbed the top of my head, bending myself more towards my legs as though it'd keep the pain from intruding any longer. I heard nothing. Apparently Matt had decided to let me continue my suffering alone.
But I was wrong on that part, for his hand rested on my shoulder in comfort. I smiled in spite of myself. I unbent my body and opened my eyes, braced this time for the twin knives stabbed into my eye sockets. A small wince Matt could still read; His hand tightened a bit on my collar bone as I looked up into the ever-changing eyes of the man I was once (or am I still?) in love with.
So... what was supposed to happen this time? Silent sex on the floor? Or would that cause too much chafing? Probably, but wouldn't it be worth it? I won't deny it.. Oh, and by the way, shut the fuck up. Never!
We stared at each other for a long moment, the wry smile on my face lessening by the second as the pain continued to wreak havoc with my concentration. Again Matt's hand moved for my cheek and the side of my neck. I didn't stop him when his thumb glanced across my lip this time, though it sent chills throughout my body. I didn't stop him when he leaned down and brushed his lips against my forehead (though it lightened the severity of my pain quite drastically). I didn't stop him when he stood a second time and whispered,
"Just feel better, Babe." (My heart cracked down the center as if it was made of porcelain.) And I couldn't bear to stop him when he walked away and out the thick door without a last look.
Supernatural patience
Graces his face,
And his voice never raises
It's all because of a love.
Never let go of,
Never let go of.
How could I 'feel better' when every time he moved my heart broke again? I was beginning to hope maybe it would just stay unintact.
With a miserable sigh I dropped my head back into my hands, the thoughts whirring in my aching mind like a tireless hamster running the little wheel, waiting for that intolerable demon to subside back to its furtive corner.
That damn buzzing wasn't helping my head in the slightest.
My thoughts slid slowly in and out, replaying old moments, the sound muted to a low murmur in that odd cinematic way people sometimes view things and letting the almost pure silence overcome me. The back of my head twinged again and I swayed slightly, despite the stable position I was in. A song played endlessly in my head.
Her headaches
Are constant,
Increasing in pain...
"Headache?" Matt's voice asked. I winced as a new dagger of pain slashed across my forehead, my hand flying up to my temple as I responded:
"Migraine." I wondered dimly how the hell he'd invaded my personal box of quiet without my immediate notice. I waited two utterly quiet seconds before Matt's hand gently cradled my face, his thumb gingerly sliding across my bottom lip. "Don't," I couldn't handle this right now, my sharp one-worded answers a let-on to how irritable the return of my stress migraines made me. He pulled his hand away quickly, as though my tone has physically stung him. I felt his footfalls on the thick grey carpet, heard the egg crate foam-covered door open.
"I could go get Brian, if you want me to," He sounded slightly offended, a little defeated. Guilt flooded though me. It wasn't fair to him.
"You don't have to- Oh God..." I'd made the mistake of opening my eyes. When were the six Excedrin I'd taken (unfortunately not enough to kill me... Oh darn.) supposed to exorcise the demon from my skull and stop its incessant pounding? I closed my eyes again and rubbed the top of my head, bending myself more towards my legs as though it'd keep the pain from intruding any longer. I heard nothing. Apparently Matt had decided to let me continue my suffering alone.
But I was wrong on that part, for his hand rested on my shoulder in comfort. I smiled in spite of myself. I unbent my body and opened my eyes, braced this time for the twin knives stabbed into my eye sockets. A small wince Matt could still read; His hand tightened a bit on my collar bone as I looked up into the ever-changing eyes of the man I was once (or am I still?) in love with.
So... what was supposed to happen this time? Silent sex on the floor? Or would that cause too much chafing? Probably, but wouldn't it be worth it? I won't deny it.. Oh, and by the way, shut the fuck up. Never!
We stared at each other for a long moment, the wry smile on my face lessening by the second as the pain continued to wreak havoc with my concentration. Again Matt's hand moved for my cheek and the side of my neck. I didn't stop him when his thumb glanced across my lip this time, though it sent chills throughout my body. I didn't stop him when he leaned down and brushed his lips against my forehead (though it lightened the severity of my pain quite drastically). I didn't stop him when he stood a second time and whispered,
"Just feel better, Babe." (My heart cracked down the center as if it was made of porcelain.) And I couldn't bear to stop him when he walked away and out the thick door without a last look.
Supernatural patience
Graces his face,
And his voice never raises
It's all because of a love.
Never let go of,
Never let go of.
How could I 'feel better' when every time he moved my heart broke again? I was beginning to hope maybe it would just stay unintact.
With a miserable sigh I dropped my head back into my hands, the thoughts whirring in my aching mind like a tireless hamster running the little wheel, waiting for that intolerable demon to subside back to its furtive corner.