 |
To Be Numb | Triggers: Self-harm/drugs
To Go Numb What did it really take to go numb? In his mind, he once thought he knew. The first time he had experienced this pain, he had tried to erase it all with drugs that had damaged over seventy-five percent of his esophagus. For a while things had been great. He had forgotten everything, from the emotions, the near death experience, to even fond memories of his childhood. But that void didn't last forever and his actions had caused him a worse pain as his throat began to suffer more and more. Proton had driven himself into a horrid state. Every breath, every cough, every motion of his vocal cords caused scabs that had been burned into his throat to rip open. Every single time, he'd choke on his own blood and swallow those scabs for fresh ones to form. In the end, surgery had been required to save his life; least he die from his attempt to escape.
This time around, that desire to flee had been met again. He had tried other tactics - even found another mate for a couple months. But with Cipher, the two had done nothing but fight. Proton just couldn't handle him; it was different and he hated it. Sure, a spawn had been made due to the demon being capable of such. But Proton wasn't even sure he wanted Horus at first. What for?
There was already the troubled runt in his life known as Hunter. While he did love Hunter, he wasn't cut out to be the parental type. Every time he went to discipline the child, he just thought of how his own father would beat him and it made him troubled with how to handle the boy. For a while, Proton had even handed Hunter off to Madame. If anyone could raise a child and be good about it, he figured she could. There were just things to him that didn't make him a fit parent. It didn't matter if he was well off in terms of money, a job, housing, that sort of thing. Hell -- he had all of that and more. From his grandparents he still had a trust fund; it landed in the million range. He didn't need Team Rocket; they needed him.
But as was known, the relation with Cipher had ended tragically and Horus had been taken away. Perhaps that was for the best since he was still unsure of how he felt about the hybrid. Now he was left to his own devices again. Instead of downing liquid intoxicants that would burn his throat and leave him worse for wear, he turned to the simpler things.
Many believed that feeling pain could remind one they were alive. Was it true? Maybe. It was hard to say how his mind would process it, but he had tried. The cold bite of a blade; he was used to it. Proton's body held so many scars on it from his life that a few more would probably go unnoticed. Choosing the easiest places to reach he had settled on his arms. The cuts had been deep, horizontal. Vertical cuts were the proper way to go if one was trying to kill themselves. He didn't want to die though, not yet. He just wanted release. For a short while, the slicing had worked. It had calmed his mind as he gave into the burning sensation of the blade. The scent of blood always seemed to lull him out of some chaotic tailspin. Sometimes when he was doing it he would think back to when Ariana was around.
One time in particular about Ariana always stood out in his mind. There had been a night when Proton had been having one of his chaotic episodes. Ariana had thrown her arms around him, taken him down to the ground, then sliced her own palm open for him. She had held the younger executive while he cried in her arms and tried to soothe him with the sight of her own blood. It was an odd memory, a comforting one. Comfort only lasted for so long. Cutting could only last for so long before he'd take that dark turn again.
Weed, Ecstasy, Cocaine, experimental drugs that he made in his own office. All of it was starting to blend together again and at the end of every trip he'd always want more. He'd always come to the same conclusion. He'd never be rid of the damned emotions that weighed down on him as long as he worked as apart of Rocket. But the team had become like a family to him. They had accepted him, taken him in. Family didn't end in blood. But he'd always wish that he could forget what it was like to ache over something like this.
He was stuck. As long as a shadow lingered in his blind spot, he'd remain conflicted and lost. Work and drugs would have to remain his content distraction. Otherwise he'd just drive himself further down a dark hole - maybe death would take him soon after all.
|
