Keep Your Head ↠ IANOWT ² [O.H.]

o. do you have what it takes?

*trigger warning: themes of PTSD

P R O L O G U E
❛ do you have what it takes? ❜

THEME:
new slang — the shins

THE SHARPLY-LIT DESK LIGHT IS HIS ONLY SOLACE; the only thing keeping him from doing something brash. Or stupid. Or harmful. He's done a plentiful amount of those things in his lifetime, but nowadays it's different. This isn't one of those drunk nights out when he was a teenager, or one of the practical jokes he used to pull on his brother.

     Don't think about it...

On the splintered wooden desk, somehow coated in dust despite being placed only a few days ago, lies an unfinished puzzle. He steals a fleeting glance at the box lid, which lies propped up against the concrete wall — 'Japanese Garden' 1000 pieces — before re-focusing his throbbing eyes on each fragmented piece. His finger tips shift them aimlessly across the wood, like pucks across the ice rink from his High School hockey days.

He doesn't even like that puzzles that much. Hell, when he got it from Sean for Christmas, he almost questioned if his brother even knew him. Sean was the one who enjoyed puzzles; he was the one who'd ran in and swiped his handiwork off the table when they were kids. So, was he that destructive even then?

Don't think about it.

Absentmindedly, he tries cramming in a puzzle piece disfigured to the gap he has chosen. A sudden spurt of self-loathing stabs his bloodstream, can't believing he would be so stupid, and he digs the bottoms of his palms into his eyes until phosphenes float around before him. Deep breaths. In through the nose, a big inhale of the musty basement air, and out through the mouth.

Do. Not. Think. About. It.

It had been so close. And it came out of nowhere, too — he was pretty sure nothing had triggered it this time. One minute, he had been poking fun at his daughter's teen angst-filled excuse of a first day at the new school, making his younger son giggle as he poked at his lasagna. But then the next, the tremors began. Cutlery and glasses on the table began quaking, only noticeable to him at first, but gradually picking up momentum. By the time it had started to arouse suspicion, he'd barely excused himself before bolting to the bathroom, doing what he always tried to do in these situations: splash his face with water, take those deep breaths, think happy thoughts.

Sure, silverware vibrating seems pretty harmless. But he knows what he is capable of — and sadly, how unexpectedly he can escalate from A to B.