Pulled Under [Ray Reaction]
Aug 13, 2014 11:00:21 GMT -5
Post by arx. on Aug 13, 2014 11:00:21 GMT -5
Ray Baitwell
Sweat drips down my face and into my eyes, the burning sensation bringing only pleasure. With each beat of my heart and with each new stride I find myself feeling better and better, feel everything I have ever worked for coming closer and closer to me. The sun begins to peek over the horizon, churning the ocean to life. Morning. It warms my skin, surely looking forward to kissing it into an even darker shade than it already is from long days on the boat. I even enjoy the fishy smell when I inhale deeply. This ... This is all success to me. This morning run of mine is telling me that I am not a failure. And even if I have not yet made a name for myself, I will. I will.
I sit up in bed with a gasp, grabbing my knife at my bedpost. My shirt is completely soaked through and sticking tight my body. The room is empty. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, letting the moonlight guide me as I strip the sweaty clothes from my body and fumble for a new shirt and shorts. I stumble to the door, bend to tie my shoes, soon finding the task impossible. I rip the shoes off and throw them against the opposite wall. One bounces of uselessly, echoing through the room as it rolls. The other crashes into a bottle, which shatters on the tile floor of my room. I need another bottle; I need more.
I shove the door open and make my way down the stairs. Mom and Dad are still awake, each of them seemingly staring into nothing. Or at least I think they are. Maybe they are glaring at me, their useless son. I open the refrigerator to find it empty. At least empty of what I need to be in it. I let my head fall against the freezer door above. Closing my eyes, I see it all over again. I grit my teeth and slam the refrigerator door shut before banging the freezer door. I hear ice crashing down. My parents don't say anything. I storm out of the house, letting the screen door swing shut behind me.
I just let myself in. No use in waking the trainer at this hour, even if he has a key and I don't. I pick up the biggest rock I can find and carry it to the back, hurling it at the glass door. Alarms beep and blare but I know the key code. I try to avoid stepping on the broken glass, but I'm still really off balance and end up slicing them both anyway. Funny. It doesn't even hurt. I punch in the key code, getting it right after the third try and switch on the lights.
"Ripred, Ray, you just broke that window!" I blink against the lights, rubbing my face, feeling the stubble that I need to shave away.
The guys are laughing, a few of them already heading over to pat me on the back. I just let them. I don't even care. That's exactly how I was raised to think - without feeling. No weakness. Everything I do, whether it be running until my sides ache and I black out, getting sliced to bits in training, or studying old film until my body cries for sleep, I just cannot allow myself to stop. I can't feel. That's how it is for Careers, for the true Careers. And I, Ray Baitwell, am one of those Careers.
"Alright, guys, a toast!" Someone yells and everyone else hoots back. A beer ends up in my hand and I crack it open and chug as much down as I can without taking a breath. The speakers that were apparently blaring music and the lights that had apparently been flashing (all things I hadn't noticed when I threw the rock through the window) are turned off and everyone stares silently up at one of the youths that I do not recognize and he says, with words slurred, "To Leon! For bringing glory back to 4!"
I watch a few people glance at me, the ones who actually know who I am and the ones that had been sober enough to notice my grand entrance, but everyone else just raises their drink and screams back, "To Leon!" with such fervor that my ears start to ring. I just blink. I stare into the bottle, down its neck and into the bubbly liquid below. It could look like an ocean if you looked at it at the right angle. I swing the bottle back and forth, pretending I am on a tiny little boat in there as the storm comes on. It doesn't how well I can swim or how strong I am, this force of nature will kill me. I'm going to get swallowed up by this thing and I'm going to choke on it and I am going to die.
I toss back the rest of my drink and drop the bottle, raising my fists in the air. I'm going to drown. I howl as the music gets louder and the lights flicker off, flashing lights blinking back to life. Bodies press around me, people dancing and spilling drinks all over the floor of the training center and onto themselves. Someone reaches around from behind me, jumping onto my shoulders, putting another drink in my hand, whispering something that I can't hear, even with her lips pressed to my ear. I just crack open the bottle and throw it back. I'm going to choke. I shrug the girl off as I finish the bottle turning around only to hand her the empty bottle.
I'm going to die.
I find a cooler, not listening to the warnings of the idiots that sit around it telling me to slow down. Some of them are laughing, but as soon as I get to the fifth drink somebody grabs my wrist as I reach into the cooler again. "Hey, man, seriously, I think maybe you've had enough." I rip his hand away from me and open another bottle, but as soon as I do another guy grabs at the bottle. "Get off me,"I say, ripping the bottle from his hand. I press the lip of the bottle to my own lips in something that feels like true loves kiss to me. Somebody shuts the cooler and sit on top of it when I reach for another. "You're done."
I grab him by the shirt, a short little twig that I feel like snapping in half and I even tell him so. I rip him off of the top of the cooler and throw him back into his crowd. People are yelling at me to calm down and quit being an idiot, but I don't listen. I drink some more. More. More. I just need more. Why? Huh. Because everything still hurts. Because I can feel it, because I am drowning in it, because I just am going to die if I don't drink t all away. This grief and pain, I just - I NEED IT TO GO AWAY BEFORE IT KILLS ME!!
I'm a Career, I'm a Career, I'm a Career ...
"Ray, come on, that's enough." One of my buddies says, clapping me on the shoulder. I whirl around. "No!" I scream, "Leon won! He won! Go Leon! This is a cele-fuckin-bration and I, Ray Baitwell, am cele-fuckin-bratin!" The people around me get silent. "Ray, you're bleeding..." I take a step back, and trip over the cooler. I spill all of the ice on the floor and a few bottles even manage to roll out. I grab one and poor it all over my face, raising my fists in the air and hooting - but no one else joins me. Fine. I will have fun on my own, right?
"Leon Krigel. Whatta a great guy, right? We should make a statue! Should, sh- make him president! Yay for him! Yay for him he won, right?!" I laugh and get to my feet, falling only twice before I am able to stand again. I just keep laughing. I'm happy. "Happy, happy, happy, Ray!" And I laugh again, only to find myself throwing the empty bottle onto the ground with every ounce of strength I can muster. "Ray.."
"What?" I murmur, my head lolling, my heart skipping around in my chest. "He won, he won, he won, District 4 won, he won ..." I whisper, remembering how it looked to see her dying and him living and how it felt to watch the last bit of life drain out of her and every little sparkle that used to live in her eyes just disappeared and I'm left here and she isn't coming home and I'm drowning. I remember how she used to laugh at me when I couldn't hit a target and every little thing I ever did to annoy her and how much I just wanted her back...
"He won and she, she didn't and ..." I choke on the words and my eyes fill with tears and I can't make myself stand any more so I just get on my knees and scream and scream and scream because it just hurts so much. And I'm watching that little boat float away from me, watching every little bit of what I am drift away from me, and I begin to choke on the sobs, drowning in the pain, getting swallowed completely whole by grief. I am going to die. I am sure this will kill me.
"She's dead!" I scream at the floor. "He killed her! She's dead!" I sob and angrily swipe at the tears but they come too fast so instead I just hit the floor, over and over again, gasping and crying and aching and just hitting until my knuckles are bloodied and I have no more juice left. I sit back on my heels, toss my head back, and wail.
She's gone.
She's just ... gone.
And she left me here, drowning in the sorrow that she created. She left me here to die without her.
ϯϯ ϟ ϯϯ ϟ ϯϯ ϟ ϯϯ ϟ ϯϯ ϟ ϯϯ
I sit up in bed with a gasp, grabbing my knife at my bedpost. My shirt is completely soaked through and sticking tight my body. The room is empty. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, letting the moonlight guide me as I strip the sweaty clothes from my body and fumble for a new shirt and shorts. I stumble to the door, bend to tie my shoes, soon finding the task impossible. I rip the shoes off and throw them against the opposite wall. One bounces of uselessly, echoing through the room as it rolls. The other crashes into a bottle, which shatters on the tile floor of my room. I need another bottle; I need more.
I shove the door open and make my way down the stairs. Mom and Dad are still awake, each of them seemingly staring into nothing. Or at least I think they are. Maybe they are glaring at me, their useless son. I open the refrigerator to find it empty. At least empty of what I need to be in it. I let my head fall against the freezer door above. Closing my eyes, I see it all over again. I grit my teeth and slam the refrigerator door shut before banging the freezer door. I hear ice crashing down. My parents don't say anything. I storm out of the house, letting the screen door swing shut behind me.
I just let myself in. No use in waking the trainer at this hour, even if he has a key and I don't. I pick up the biggest rock I can find and carry it to the back, hurling it at the glass door. Alarms beep and blare but I know the key code. I try to avoid stepping on the broken glass, but I'm still really off balance and end up slicing them both anyway. Funny. It doesn't even hurt. I punch in the key code, getting it right after the third try and switch on the lights.
"Ripred, Ray, you just broke that window!" I blink against the lights, rubbing my face, feeling the stubble that I need to shave away.
The guys are laughing, a few of them already heading over to pat me on the back. I just let them. I don't even care. That's exactly how I was raised to think - without feeling. No weakness. Everything I do, whether it be running until my sides ache and I black out, getting sliced to bits in training, or studying old film until my body cries for sleep, I just cannot allow myself to stop. I can't feel. That's how it is for Careers, for the true Careers. And I, Ray Baitwell, am one of those Careers.
"Alright, guys, a toast!" Someone yells and everyone else hoots back. A beer ends up in my hand and I crack it open and chug as much down as I can without taking a breath. The speakers that were apparently blaring music and the lights that had apparently been flashing (all things I hadn't noticed when I threw the rock through the window) are turned off and everyone stares silently up at one of the youths that I do not recognize and he says, with words slurred, "To Leon! For bringing glory back to 4!"
I watch a few people glance at me, the ones who actually know who I am and the ones that had been sober enough to notice my grand entrance, but everyone else just raises their drink and screams back, "To Leon!" with such fervor that my ears start to ring. I just blink. I stare into the bottle, down its neck and into the bubbly liquid below. It could look like an ocean if you looked at it at the right angle. I swing the bottle back and forth, pretending I am on a tiny little boat in there as the storm comes on. It doesn't how well I can swim or how strong I am, this force of nature will kill me. I'm going to get swallowed up by this thing and I'm going to choke on it and I am going to die.
I toss back the rest of my drink and drop the bottle, raising my fists in the air. I'm going to drown. I howl as the music gets louder and the lights flicker off, flashing lights blinking back to life. Bodies press around me, people dancing and spilling drinks all over the floor of the training center and onto themselves. Someone reaches around from behind me, jumping onto my shoulders, putting another drink in my hand, whispering something that I can't hear, even with her lips pressed to my ear. I just crack open the bottle and throw it back. I'm going to choke. I shrug the girl off as I finish the bottle turning around only to hand her the empty bottle.
I'm going to die.
I find a cooler, not listening to the warnings of the idiots that sit around it telling me to slow down. Some of them are laughing, but as soon as I get to the fifth drink somebody grabs my wrist as I reach into the cooler again. "Hey, man, seriously, I think maybe you've had enough." I rip his hand away from me and open another bottle, but as soon as I do another guy grabs at the bottle. "Get off me,"I say, ripping the bottle from his hand. I press the lip of the bottle to my own lips in something that feels like true loves kiss to me. Somebody shuts the cooler and sit on top of it when I reach for another. "You're done."
I grab him by the shirt, a short little twig that I feel like snapping in half and I even tell him so. I rip him off of the top of the cooler and throw him back into his crowd. People are yelling at me to calm down and quit being an idiot, but I don't listen. I drink some more. More. More. I just need more. Why? Huh. Because everything still hurts. Because I can feel it, because I am drowning in it, because I just am going to die if I don't drink t all away. This grief and pain, I just - I NEED IT TO GO AWAY BEFORE IT KILLS ME!!
I'm a Career, I'm a Career, I'm a Career ...
"Ray, come on, that's enough." One of my buddies says, clapping me on the shoulder. I whirl around. "No!" I scream, "Leon won! He won! Go Leon! This is a cele-fuckin-bration and I, Ray Baitwell, am cele-fuckin-bratin!" The people around me get silent. "Ray, you're bleeding..." I take a step back, and trip over the cooler. I spill all of the ice on the floor and a few bottles even manage to roll out. I grab one and poor it all over my face, raising my fists in the air and hooting - but no one else joins me. Fine. I will have fun on my own, right?
"Leon Krigel. Whatta a great guy, right? We should make a statue! Should, sh- make him president! Yay for him! Yay for him he won, right?!" I laugh and get to my feet, falling only twice before I am able to stand again. I just keep laughing. I'm happy. "Happy, happy, happy, Ray!" And I laugh again, only to find myself throwing the empty bottle onto the ground with every ounce of strength I can muster. "Ray.."
"What?" I murmur, my head lolling, my heart skipping around in my chest. "He won, he won, he won, District 4 won, he won ..." I whisper, remembering how it looked to see her dying and him living and how it felt to watch the last bit of life drain out of her and every little sparkle that used to live in her eyes just disappeared and I'm left here and she isn't coming home and I'm drowning. I remember how she used to laugh at me when I couldn't hit a target and every little thing I ever did to annoy her and how much I just wanted her back...
"He won and she, she didn't and ..." I choke on the words and my eyes fill with tears and I can't make myself stand any more so I just get on my knees and scream and scream and scream because it just hurts so much. And I'm watching that little boat float away from me, watching every little bit of what I am drift away from me, and I begin to choke on the sobs, drowning in the pain, getting swallowed completely whole by grief. I am going to die. I am sure this will kill me.
"She's dead!" I scream at the floor. "He killed her! She's dead!" I sob and angrily swipe at the tears but they come too fast so instead I just hit the floor, over and over again, gasping and crying and aching and just hitting until my knuckles are bloodied and I have no more juice left. I sit back on my heels, toss my head back, and wail.
She's gone.
She's just ... gone.
And she left me here, drowning in the sorrow that she created. She left me here to die without her.
“Never give a person a piece of your mind when all you really wanted to do
was give them a piece of your heart.”
