Private Finished To Build A Better Life

SirCatfish · Jan 20, 2019

The reassurances were, to be frank, only as helpful as the cigarette. Maybe less. He had heard a similar spiel so many times. But it wasn't the guilt that haunts him, no, not like most of the honourable veterans American media loves to broadcast. It was just fear. He was afraid, and he will continue to be, and he doesn't know how to make it stop.

Maybe really dying would do the trick. But he wasn't even allowed to do that now.

"I came very close to dying a lot of times," he said, instead, because it was easier to talk than to let the silence consume him. "One time it was enough to have killed me. Or, well, would've killed me. Hey, you know how it feels like to choke on your own blood? This isn't anything noble. God. I'm just so tired of being scared."

Judging by the scars on Cazimir's body, he might be the only person who understood what Bastian was talking about. But even then he wasn't sure. Cazimir didn't heal like people.

"I don't want to die again," was the final thing he said, mumbled so quietly that he thought only he could hear it.

EmiRose · Jan 20, 2019

Cazimir could guess that Bastian had heard these words before, but that didn't make them untrue. Cazimir didn't have much better words to say, they weren't his specialty. Maybe he should just stay silent? Or...speak the truth? Or his own truth.
Was Bastian in the right state to hear those words?

Bastian kept talking, and Cazimir kept listening. Bastian was right, Cazimir could understand very well what he was talking about. And his last words, about not wanting to die again, reached Cazimir's ears and...something else.
"I know how it feels to die a slow death, how it feels when a bullet pierces your heart."
Cazimir said with a straight face, looking at Bastian.
"I know fear. I know pain. I know blood. But I don't know what to say to make it better for you."
Cazimir admitted, that was just the truth. Cazimir was a supporter of psychology, he knew it worked. They had a therapist working for the mafia, who helped the members gain better mental health.
"Another thing I know is that you need someone who can help you. You are in the medical field, you should know that."

SirCatfish · Jan 21, 2019

Despite his suspicions, Bastian was still a little surprised when he heard that Cazimir knew what he had described. Dying a slow death. Bullet piercing a heart. Though Cazimir had unmissable scars, he chalked it down to an accident, perhaps, or from team sports. Not violence. Maybe Cazimir had also been a military man?

“It’s okay. You don’t have to make it better. That isn’t your job.” he took another drag of his cigarette, then pinched it out and discarded it.

The mention of someone that could help him- a therapist- caught him off guard once again. Huh. He didn’t need help. Or, well, he didn’t really want to need help. It was only occasional, the dreams. And it was normal, wasn’t it? He’d been able to deal with it for 2 years. He should be okay.

Instead of responding, he drew his blanket closer to himself and leaned his head on Cazimir’s shoulder, experimentally at first. His nerves seemed to have calmed down, and he stayed there, content with the contact.

EmiRose · Jan 21, 2019

Cazimir had said too much. He internally frowned, this was unlike him. Why was he trying so desperately trying to offer Bastian support and the right words? Just like Bastian said, it wasn't his job, that was to be left to a professional. Taking care of someone's physical needs didn't require that. But...for some reason Cazimir felt slightly uncomfortable seeing Bastian in this state. Sympathy? Perhaps. But somehow...it was different.

Bastian didn't answer Cazimir's comment on professional help. Perhaps the man wasn't ready, or outright refused to get help. If Bastian really had PTSD then it was possible he was in denial, that was normal. But Cazimir didn't push it more, and looked away, simply staying here with Bastian.
When the other man leaned his head against Cazimir's shoulder he couldn't help but send a brief, subtle surprised glance at him. Cazimir didn't mind this touch, rather he was strangely...relieved? that Bastian could handle touch again. Cazimir's arm twitched, he wanted to put it around Bastian, and he even lifted it slightly. But Cazimir set it back down, not now.
"Tell me when you're ready to return to bed."
Cazimir said quietly, looking down at Bastian. He was ready to even carry the man in his arms if Bastian was too weak to walk.

SirCatfish · Jan 22, 2019

The touch was comfortable, and Bastian almost enjoyed being like this, sitting here with his head on Cazimir’s shoulder, the taste of cigarette smoke still on his tongues. But it was cold, and it’ll only get colder. He had a shift and classes that he couldn’t miss. Sleep or not, he was going to have to head back to bed.

“Sure. Yeah,” he said, using the wall to pull himself uprifjt. Experimentally, first, to make sure his legs could take his weight without crumpling (sometimes this happened when things got bad), then to a full stand. That’s good. He’ll be fine.

Catching a glance of himself in the mirror reversed that effort immediately. After two years, you’d think he’d be used to the awful burn mark on his face. But when things got bad, sometimes the scarring invoked less pleasant reactions. Another wave of nausea came around, and he fought the urge to vomit, grabbing the sink to stabilise himself. Making sure not to look in the mirror.

Christ. Tonight hadn’t been very fun.

EmiRose · Jan 22, 2019

Bastian seemed to be able to carry his own weight, as the two stood up from the floor. But Cazimir was ready to catch the man if his legs gave out. And they almost did, when Bastian suddenly needed to lean on the sink, clearly nauseous again. Cazimir rubbed his back and seriously considered just picking Bastian up and carrying the man.
"Are you able to walk?"
Cazimir asked, hand still lightly on Bastian's back. Cazimir was sure that even if Bastian wasn't able to walk he'd say he was, Cazimir just wanted to see him try to walk.

SirCatfish · Jan 22, 2019

Bastian briefly considered actually explaining why he was nauseous again, how looking at his face in the mirror sometimes made him feel the heat of the explosion again, smell the charred skin, the blood. But he didn’t want to get into that. He had gotten Cazimir worried enough, and he didn’t want to continue the cycle.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he said, and true to his word (while avoiding the mirror), he managed to make his way to the bed without too much trouble. Something was aching in his back again and he didn’t have to check to know that it was the mass of scar tissue there.

If he ignored it, it usually went away. The bed was at least much warmer than the bathroom. “See? I’m okay.”

EmiRose · Jan 24, 2019

Yes, Bastian was fine, or so he said. But the man proceeded to prove it by walking to the bed. Cazimir had noticed, that Bastian had gotten nauseous again when near the mirror, and he glanced at the mirror briefly before following Bastian. Was there a connection? Cazimir doubted Bastian got nauseous every time he looked in the mirror, Cazimir would've noticed that, but maybe...
Cazimir stopped. He had enough time to consider this later.

Cazimir climbed back into bed, and checked the digital clock next to the bed. Still few hours before he had to wake up, he could afford to go back to sleep.
"I do see."
Cazimir said, with the smallest smile on his face. Why was Bastian assuring him he was okay making Cazimir want to smile? Who knew.

Cazimir pulled the covers up, so they covered the both of them. Cazimir just had one big blanket, but thankfully he wasn't one to hog the covers.
If Bastian allowed it Cazimir would again hug him, or at least wrap one arm around the other man. And Cazimir wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep before Bastian did.

SirCatfish · Jan 24, 2019

The bed was warm, and of course human contact was as welcome as always. After what had just happened, Bastian found himself wanting physical contact more than he ever had for a long time. He knew, of course, that Cazimir made him feel this way, but this was something else. He wanted to feel safe.

That was new. Normally, a gun in his desk drawer was what feeling safe meant, or knowing that someone would be on guard duty as he slept, This was different.

He moved to be closer to Cazimir, snuggling himself up against the larger man's body. Cazimir was warm. Only then did he realise how cold he really was, in a t-shirt, sitting on a cold tile floor.

"Goodnight," he mumbled into Cazimir's chest. Then, quieter this time, "Thank you."

Search

Private Finished To Build A Better Life

SirCatfish

Chaotic Tired

EmiRose

The Shipping Enthusiast

SirCatfish

Chaotic Tired

EmiRose

The Shipping Enthusiast

SirCatfish

Chaotic Tired

EmiRose

The Shipping Enthusiast

SirCatfish

Chaotic Tired

EmiRose

The Shipping Enthusiast

SirCatfish

Chaotic Tired