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<div style="text-align: center"><span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #FFB000"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i></span> <span style="color: #F5745F"><b>Pheralynne Renay</b></span> <span style="color: #FFB000"><i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i> <i class="fa heart" aria-hidden="true"></i></span> <span style="color: #FFB000"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i></span> <span style="color: #2F416F"><b>Jackson Ryder</b></span> <span style="color: #FFB000"><i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>​</div><br>
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<legend>The Overview</legend>
<span><span class="float-left"><div class="bbImageWrapper  js-lbImage" title="ferris.jpg" data-src="/proxy.php?image=http%3A%2F%2Fs28.postimg.org%2Fxxu5nzas9%2Fferris.jpg&amp;hash=eb00d350a51e6bfb335ed5ce16295856" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-single-image="1">
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	</div></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Graduation came and went, ending in tears of happiness; years of high school were past, and instead decades of growing into adulthood were now ahead of both </b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b><span style="color: #2F416F">Jack</span></b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b> and </b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b><span style="color: #F5745F">Phera</span></b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>. </b></span><br>
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</span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>Their vision of a happy future hand in hand was shattered the moment a devastating set of words fell from </b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b><span style="color: #2F416F">Jackson's</span></b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b> lips. He had enlisted in secret shortly after graduation, and would be directed to basic training before deployment shortly. The news had been a shock to everyone involved with the couple, including their parents. Regardless of other’s opinions, </b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b><span style="color: #2F416F">Jackson</span></b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b> went through with the plan, said his goodbyes to everyone whom he loved, and was deployed to the war-torn land of Iraq. Over the course of his two year tour, he began shifting in his personality, world views and everything he had once been into something different. No one knew the reasons as to why he had subtly changed over two years, but only </b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b><span style="color: #2F416F">Jackson</span></b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b> would ever bear the reasons within his own mind; war changed people. </b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b><span style="color: #F5745F">Phera</span></b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b> received less frequent calls from him, and eventually came to the point in a lack of communication over the last year of his deployment, of which he had then been shot. The injury had been critical enough to discharge him from service immediately, causing him to be sent home. Now that he’s back home, what will become of them both? It isn’t clear to either party as to what they had become in their relationship (if it still is even that), but regardless, </b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b><span style="color: #2F416F">Jackson</span></b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b> has no other choice but to move in with </b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b><span style="color: #F5745F">Phera</span></b></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><b>. Things were complicated with his family, and he had no one else to take him in.</b></span>[/justify]<br>
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<div style="text-align: center"><b><span style="font-size: 10px"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 10px"><span style="color: #2F416F">Will he ever be the same? More importantly, will she be able to pick up his broken pieces?</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 10px"><i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></b><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The plane ride had been long and lonely. Seated by the window, the whole journey was spent by staring at the seat in front of him. Jackson had never been fond of planes, mostly out of fear of heights, but the fear had been pounded out of him in the early weeks of boot camp when he had been forced to make a high dive jump into the pool. Any slight bounce of turbulence sent him rigid and still, constantly causing his heart to race faster than it already was. A detached expression was sported on half way through the flight. Certainly, being on a turbulent plane was better than being in the hell hole of Iraq with a bullet in his shoulder, right? Right. Swallowing the discomfort and anxiety, Jackson closed his eyes. Images unwillingly flashed through his mind as he drifted into sleep.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>Blood. Death. Pain.</i></b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Upon waking, Jackson's hand instinctively ran over his left shoulder. Callous ringers were placed over the white gauze bandages, wincing as he did so. Had his mother been alive, she would have been frantic about the news and most likely demanded to see him. Just the thought of her made his heart ache. Pushing the image of her wrinkled face to the back of his mind, Jack lowered his head and peered down at his dog tags clutched firmly in his palm. It had become a habit to sleep with them in hand; strangely, they made him feel safe for just a few minutes. They were his identification, validation for what he went through. For two years, they hung around his neck next to his heart.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Every noise sent a jolt of panic through him. The </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>pop</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> of a case opening, the wailing screams of a child, the bags falling against the ground with a</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i> slam</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Rivers of people weaved in and out, passing by without so much as a glance. Jackson inhaled a deep breath, fighting to remain composure as he waited for his duffle bag in the baggage claim area anxiously. Out of habit, he scanned civilians for threats. Arms were swaying, one of many good signs; if arms didn’t sway, it meant they were carrying something out of sight. A bomb, possibly, or possibly compact guns. Jackson lowered his eyes as he caught himself staring at a little toddler waddling to his mother.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It wasn’t long until he was sitting in the backseat of a taxi cab. Though the driver attempted to make small talk, Jackson never replied. Eventually the older man gave up and drove silently for the rest of the trip. Streetlights rolled on by, briefly illuminating the interior of the cab. With his cheek pressed against the cold window, he closed his eyes while counting the minutes down. What would he say when he arrived? Hell, what will he do? All the time he spent in Iraq, he had never fully thought of what he wanted to do once he got home. Any dreams he had before deployment now seemed silly and out of reach.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The trip ended shortly, and the driver smiled as he took Jack’s money. It was the last of it. Before he had been deployed, he sent most of his money to his sister in hopes of helping jump start her bakery she had always dreamed of owning. Despite the feud between Jack and their father, she gladly accepted the money and kept in close contact while he had been in Iraq. She currently is married, expecting twins, and owns a two story house in the city. Though she had desperately wanted to offer a place to stay for him, she simply didn’t have the room for him with the twins arriving in a few weeks. Jackson understood.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
He knew she knew she had plenty of room in the house. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she didn’t want him around her growing family. Over the last few phone calls they shared, she seemed to be hesitant with speaking to him, as if she knew something he didn’t. What, he couldn’t say. Maybe the fact he changed. Maybe the fact his father had been close to disowning him, claiming it wasn’t what his mother would have wanted. Jackson didn’t argue with her decision, and phoned the only other person he knew would allow for him to stay. Pherra. His high school sweetheart and first love.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Duffle bag in hand, baseball cap on, Jackson took a deep breath before knocking on the front door.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Right on time, bright and early as the sun was rising, Pheralynne was feeling her furry friend's cold nose. He unknowingly tickled the one foot sticking out from under the blankets, as he did every morning. She rolled over quickly, rubbing Ryder's head, and peeked around her bedroom. Her apartment wasn't anything incredible, with only three rooms and a bathroom, but it seemed that her bedroom was the main attraction. When she first toured the apartment, she wasn't certain she would like it, and only reluctantly agreed to move in, more because of her mother than anything. As it turned out, the early morning's ambient lighting shined brightest through the large plate glass windows in the bedroom. She had found from her first morning there without setting up curtains, that between the sun and Ryder, she was always going to have a good reason to get up in the morning on time. Conveniently for her, that also meant that her room would never need to have curtains. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Rising up from the comfort of a rich tan, silk sheet set, while pulling on an large shirt, She quickly and quietly made her way to her kitchen, through the hall and living area. The coffee was always ready in the morning, as she would set the pot the night before, and it would automatically brew for her on time. Caffeine was another simple way she had learned to keep herself on track. It was unfortunate how she had transformed from a spontaneous, maybe even somewhat reckless person, into someone who clung so much to schedule, someone who needed so many little routines. When her coffee was made, she made her way back to the living room and turned on the television, which was always set to the local news station. She would watch the news, check the weather, and have finished that one cup of coffee, before systematically turning off the tv, returning the cup to the countertop, and meandering back to her room. She quickly threw her pajama shirt off and got dressed in athletic wear, her next step of every day. Ryder needed to go out at the same time every morning, and that was only fair. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Sitting in a basket by the door was a plain black leash, that she attached to her dog's plain black collar. He was beautiful on his own, and she never saw the use in buying him trinkets to compliment him. She spent his money on treats and toys, and time well spent with him. Essentially he went everywhere with her, as she wasn't incredibly comfortable being by herself in the city. She was prompted to adopt, raise, and train a puppy into a protective dog by her parents, after a surprisingly close call in a subway station one night, where she was robbed. Everyone acknowledged that it could have been much worse, and from that point forward she hadn't argued with having a dog. When her mom showed up with a puppy, she just couldn't say no, although her sentiments at the time led her to name him Jackson's middle name. Speaking of Jackson... </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As Pherra was walking the dog, it had struck her that today was the day he was arriving home, coming home from his tour with a military-career ending injury. Apparently, according to the last few times they had talked, he had been shot, in the shoulder she believed. Obviously she couldn't be surprised, as she knew when he had left her that he was most likely going to come back injured, or not come back at all. His most recent call, only a few days earlier, sounded desperate and depressing. It seemed his sister wasn't going to let him stay with her, as she was expecting twins in the future, although she had a suspicion that wasn't the reason. It had been a few years, and honestly she felt as if they were strangers, as if he was a distant memory from the part of her life that used to exist, but she couldn't help but at least be thankful he was coming home at all, and try to do what she could to help him. Jackson wouldn't ask her to let him stay, if there was anywhere else he could go. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
A few hours had passed, and she had cleaned her apartment to immaculate, bathed herself and the dog, and opted to make a fruit salad. As she was putting it in the fridge, getting ready to call her parents for their daily checkup, she heard Ryder start barking, and a knock on the door. She knew he was well trained, and if he was barking, it was because there was someone he didn't know... She scurried to the hallway mirror, checking to make sure she looked at least decent, and ran to the apartment door. She swung it open, holding Ryder's collar in one hand, and smiled to the face of the man she hadn't seen in a few years. God, she hoped he hadn't noticed, but her face fell slightly on seeing him. He looked to be in terrible condition, worn down into half of what he used to look like. She wasn't sure what the appropriate greeting gesture was with them anymore, but she was happy to see him home, and so she hugged him as gently as she could manage. She welcomed him in, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Please, come in, sit down. Do you need anything? Do you want me to take that bag? I have coffee ready if you're interested. God, you look...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She trailed off quietly, hesitant to finish her sentence. Instead, she laughed a little, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Well, honestly, you look terrible. Have you slept at all since the last time I saw you?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">He shouldn’t have been too startled when a dog began barking on the other side of the wall. But he had been, and for a short-lived moment he reflexively scurried away from the door. During the tour, both he and his squad quickly learned to stay clear from any stray animals, of which included dogs. Worst case scenario, they harnessed an explosive device composed by local insurgents and posed potential threat. Though he had never come into contact with them, he had been cautious around dogs, big or small, and kept a fine distance between himself and animals. Lucky for him, he would be living in the city for a while and wouldn’t encounter as many creatures.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
After a long suspenseful moment, the door popped open abruptly. Jackson, more than a few feet away from the entrance, met the gaze of a red headed woman gripping the collar of a dog. Pherra, someone he had once held close and dearly to his heart. Someone that had been full of energy, adventure and fire that never seemed to be extinguished by anyone or anything. In front of him, a mature and calm woman seemed to replace the distant memory in a heartbeat. Jackson couldn’t have been surprised, to be honest. In high school, he hadn’t understood the fact people could change, and change drastically; now he did. He was living proof of it, too.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
She took a second to look at him, and almost instantly the muscles in her face drooped slightly. Though she attempted to mask the expression, Jackson knew her thinking before she even had to say anything. He looked godawful. A few nights of poor sleep and a bullet wound didn’t do well to the body, and resulted in dark circles under both eyes, as well as make him appear worn out. And he was. He was worn out from everything, emotionally and physically. Two years in a hell hole made him tired of trying to make a difference. Two years without anyone close made him tired of being alone. The sad part is, he </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>doesn’t </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">mind being alone anymore. Not anymore.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The hug threw him off. Tense and stiffly, Jack returned the greeting as quickly as he could before pulling away, fully aware of the dog just a foot away from his legs. The dog, and the fact his shoulder still hurt like hell, made him want to pull away from the hug as fast as possible and take a few steps back. Pherra had been gentle and cautious in her gesture, but any movement against his shoulder made it burn and ache even more than it already was. Jackson made effort not to show the fear of the dog or pain, but Pherra had always been able to see past his poker face. He could only hope she wouldn’t now. Readjusting his grip on the duffle bag, he chewed on the inside of his cheek out of nervous habit and dropped his gaze to the dog.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Immediately after walking inside, Jackson scanned the inside of the apartment. The habit, to this day, has been drilled into him to check all surroundings and clear the civilian building. Feeling somewhat ashamed and idiotic, he stopped himself short and instead tried to focus on Pherra and nothing else. Her lips were moving, but no words seemed to form and process in his mind. While he had been in the hospital shortly after being shot, the doctor had taken notice and explained to him many diagnosed with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) often felt detached emotionally and had trouble focusing on the present. Just before being discharged from the hospital, he had been prescribed medication to help both his depression and anxiety. The next day, he had thrown it out in the trash.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A number of questions and offers flooded from her mouth, and he was back in the present. He had found that when he was distracted by fulfilling an old habit instilled by the military basic training, it more than often pulled him out of the present and placed him back as if he were still in Iraq. It was disarming, and the dog wasn’t helping him calm down at all. Jackson met her gaze, and frowned slightly as she trailed off. The Pherra he knew wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him the truth, but it seems quite the opposite with her now. He didn’t blame her, knowing full well he wouldn’t be the same either. The whole thing felt overwhelming, and quite frankly he just wanted to lay down and try to forget everything.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“No, I’ve got the bag just fine, thank you,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson responded, and pulled the straps of the duffle bag over his good shoulder. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Coffee would be good, I suppose.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">It must be odd for her, hearing him like this. Keeping answers short and simple; nothing at all like how he used to be. Once upon a time, he had barely been able to keep his mouth shut. Now it took everything in him to reply with an adequate response. Jackson looked at Pherra as she finished her sentence, being truthful in saying he looked terrible. If he were being honest, he hasn’t been sleeping well since… since, well, he didn’t know how long it’s been. The most sleep he’s gotten in this year was when he’d been drugged at the hospital after being shot.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“No, I haven’t been sleeping much,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he finally answered. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I’ll be fine though, thank you. It’s good to see you, Pherra.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">It was true. Jackson was glad to see her. To be honest, he wouldn’t have known where he would have stayed had she declined his plead. He probably would have strolled downtown and rented the cheapest motel he could find, and stay there until he could get a job after fully recovering from the shoulder wound. More than anything in his life, he hated sleep. It brought back flashbacks and memories of the hellhole he tried desperately escaping, as if it was some sick joke played by the universe to remind him he</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>can’t </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">escape his past. He </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>can’t </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">escape the nightmares anymore. Jackson cleared his throat, taking a few steps away from the dog whose name he still hadn’t learned, and glanced at her silently. After a long while, he opened his mouth.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I could settle on the couch, if that’s what you want.”</b></span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> In less than five minutes of Jackson being in her presence, Pheralynne had more than a few concerns about his condition, although she obviously was trying not to impress her knowledge of that to him in any way. As a studied nurse, she knew the textbook symptoms of many of the most common problems for returning soldiers to experience, and she also knew better than to bring it up directly. She had figured that Jack would just assume that she had access to his medical information, as he did know that she went to nursing school. Frankly, as far as she could tell, he had developed almost all of the "most common" problems. Of course, she had to hold out for another 24-48 hours, as there was a possibility that there was more, and worse, problems to come. It turned out she was fairly perceptive of other people, much more watchful and aware now than she ever used to be, as essentially that was taught to her in school. If there was something she missed, it could make a big difference in the treatment of a patient, which was unacceptable to her, especially since she worked solely with her parents, these days.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As for her analysis of Jack, it was upsetting to say the least. There was a time when she had believed he would come back to her mostly intact, and quickly, like the character in a convincing silver screen war. Throughout school, she learned the hard truth of the matter, which was that a real war would destroy a real man. Unfortunately, he had been a real man when he left, and her expectations of his return dwindled to contain nothing other than the bare hope that he would at least live. Regardless, she was reading his issues silently, trying to determine the best course of action for them both.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
He was paranoid, probably from horrible anxiety, and spent time scoping out her entire apartment and her dog, especially. He seemed so exhausted, that she knew when he said "he hadn't been sleeping much," that he hadn't been sleeping normally since he left. Even now, returning, she knew that his sleeping schedule was compromised, most likely never to be completely normal again. Based on the level of his anxiety, she assumed he was most likely diagnosed with PTSD as well, which would help explain the sleeplessness, and his inability to focus on her talking. Yes, it seemed that he only caught the key words, and replied to her in short bursts. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Upon hearing him agree that coffee would be fine, she let go of Ryder's collar and swiftly moved to the back of the room into the kitchen. The dog followed her immediately and directly, but stopped in the doorway and sat down, looking directly at Jack, instead. It seemed the dog wasn't sure about him yet, as he hadn't really approached him, but he also wasn't barking at him, which was reassuring. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>How do you like your coffee?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Phera quipped from the kitchen, but then reconsidered. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Nevermind, that's a silly question,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" and she came gently back carrying a mostly full cup of plain, black coffee. She placed it on a coaster, on the coffee table in front of the couch. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Oh, lord, it's good to see you. I'm glad you're home...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She trailed off, but recovered as quickly as possible for her. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Also yes, please, make yourself comfortable, the couch is yours,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" and she turned back around.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As she was turning, she tripped over Ryder, who had relocated to directly behind her, again, while she wasn't paying attention. She huffed her breath, "Ryder, baby, please, go lay down. Now. Go." She pointed over to the corner by a small tan recliner, where there was a matching brown doggie bed, and the dog reluctantly agreed, sighing and eyeing the stranger still. She glanced over at Jack, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Sorry about the dog. That's my furry love, puppy protector. Unfortunately he's gotten into the habit of following directly behind me everywhere I go, and I keep forgetting to check... He's tripped me a lot recently. Anyways, he's a shepherd mix, and his name is Ryder, and before you even ask, because I know you will, yes, the dog is named after you, and it's a long story</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She was gone into the kitchen again in a moment, and came back with her own cup of coffee, making a straight line to the recliner by the dog, and comfortably squishing in. There was a large bookcase and a small table full of books to the side. Many of the books were full of bookmarks, and an elaborate collection of highlighters and pens were scattered amongst the shelves. There were a few journals, and a standing floor lamp. She flicked it on, and threw her legs over the side of the chair, as if that was where she usually lived in this room. The entire area looked well worn, where the rest of the room looked mostly unused, as if she really didn't use it, or indulge in company either for that matter. It was another long silence, as if she wasn't certain what to say. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jack spent more than a few moments looking intently at the dog, and eventually tore his gaze away from it to look at Phera out of sheer courtesy. While he had trouble every now and then focusing, he most certainly has not lost his touch in mannerism completely, something his mother had strongly believed in instituting in all young men. Another belief she held was that all young women already inherited mannerism, which explained why she didn’t ever pressure his younger sister, Ellie, to behave appropriately in any and all situations. Looking back on the memory, he silently blessed his mother’s sweet heart, and wished she could have lived just a while longer. She deserved that much, both of them did. Tommy and Mom, non-existent for eight years.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The instant Phera released the dog’s collar, he felt his heart plummet. Without much thought or consideration, Jackson took a few cautious strides away and reflexively tensed. Though the dog maintained an appearance of innocence and purity, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of the potential threat it possessed and the probability of it causing harm to both him and Phera. While it may be silly and quite possibly absolutely ridiculous to most people that the thought of a dog being a danger, it seemed perfectly acceptable in the mind of Jackson. Plausible, if at all that. He could already see the scenario play out in his mind, which was certain to manifest in a dream sooner or later if he were to spend constant hours around the dog.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
In the time spent in Iraq with constant late night missions, Jackson has grown dependent on coffee to fend off sleep. Addicted, more precisely, though he never would dare admit that aloud. Not only did he use coffee to fend off sleep. Sleep was the least of his concerns as of now. It was the dreams that he wanted to fend off. Dreams brought back the memories he fought so hard to keep under. Dreams brought back the screams and faces he fought so hard to push out. The worst part of it all, they felt</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>so real</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, and Jackson had trouble discerning whether they were real and he was still in Iraq, or if they were mere dreams after all. So, he was convinced staying up all night would be the better alternative.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Watching her prepare the coffee, Jackson felt a growing sense of confusion. How had she known he liked plain black coffee? More importantly, how did she even remember that he had liked black coffee? As much as he tried pulling up a memory of them sharing coffee together, he couldn’t pull even a fragment of a memory. If she seemed to certain and confident in his preference of coffee, surely she must have a memory of them having coffee. All he pulled up from his mind was the little pieces of them hanging out on the weekends, his younger sister pranking them, and popcorn. Was he forgetting the past and replacing them with new memories? The thought sent chills down his spine. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
After a few moments, Phera walked out of the kitchen and entered the living room. As always, the dog followed after her without second thought or hesitation. Once she set the cup of coffee down, Phera backed up and was ready to walk back into the kitchen until she tripped. Jackson instinctively grabbed her arm to help stable her, but released her before either of them could say anything. Phera huffed with what sounded like slight irritation, and spoke to the dog in a gentle tone. Obediently, the dog walked on over to the bed, and laid down on its belly. Though Jackson didn’t realize sooner, the dog’s name registered in his mind. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Ryder. As in my middle name? No, it has to be coincidence. </i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It seemed as though she read his thoughts, and answered smoothly before he had the chance to respond. While most of what she said slipped past his mind, he managed to obtain the important information. He had been incorrect in thinking Ryder’s name had been a mere coincidence. She intentionally named it Ryder. For a long moment, he felt, again, confused. Why in the world would she name it Ryder? Jackson was sure she hated his guts up until now; maybe she didn’t hate him, but she did seem to be withdrawn around him. Sipping on the piping hot black coffee, Jack glanced at his duffle bag.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Unzipping one of the side pockets, Jackson dug through the piles of items he had brought up to Iraq, and began to panic when he couldn’t find the photo. The only photo he had of both his mother and Tommy. Panic built inside when he couldn’t locate it, and he frantically moved things out of the way to get a better view. Then he spotted it, hiding under a flap. Somewhat relieved, Jackson folded the photo in half, and stuffed it in his pocket and zipped up the side pocket, took a sip of the coffee, and glanced at Ryder once more. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Posted up casually in the small recliner, her legs flopped easily over the arm of the chair, Pheralynne rubbed Ryder's head with one foot, and sipped gently at her coffee. Her coffee was, of course, doctored up with milk and sugar to her precise liking, the same way that she similarly prefered her tea. A light sigh had escaped her as she sunk into the leather, as if she finally could relax now that Jackson had placed himself on the couch, and things were quiet. She was glancing periodically between the large window to the outside, which was unfortunately appearing as if the weather would sour at any moment, and the couch, where a man she used to know and love was sitting vacantly, a complete stranger to her now. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Jack was neurotic, but she knew neurosis was at least better than complete psychosis. Honestly, her expectations of his condition hadn't been positive since some time in the year before. When he had first been deployed, things seemed to be pulling together, barely. The longer that he was gone, however, and the less time they had to check on each other, the farther away from each other they drifted. As their relationship slowly disintegrated , unbeknownst to them both, phone conversations deteriorated into nothing more than status checks; </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Were they both alive? Check. Everything "good?" Check. Alright, love you, bye. Check. </i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">After a while, it seemed, they didn't even mention their love for each other anymore. They would go longer and longer between phone calls, and inevitably, as does every heartbroken woman, she eventually scorned the idea of them having been anything together in the first place. How could she ever justify loving a man who ran off to another world with a dream of being a hero, offering himself up to be killed, instead of staying and loving her back? Was she not good enough for him? They had slightly longer than two straight years together, the foundation of a solid life together, if they had so wanted... Although it seemed that he had chosen another path, for reasons completely unknown to her. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera watched quietly from her peripheral view as Jack rummaged through his bag in a mild panic. If something as little as the picture he pulled from his bag, relieved, could run him into that kind of mania...? She internalized her concern, when she remembered that she had kept all of their things, from the years past. In senior year, as part of her graduation present, he had bought her a large photo frame. It was black, and had individual places for ten different pictures. They had always intended to fill it with pictures of them together, but he had left for camp, and been deployed, before they ever started it. She recollected that she had actually filled it, and hidden it in the closet in the back of the room they were already in, behind the box of their things. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She swiveled herself back out of the chair, placing her coffee cup on the side table, and stood up, looking over at Jack, to whom she had said nothing about the incident with the photograph. Instead, she had a better idea. She walked quietly over to the closet, across from the couch directly, and swung the door open. The tiny space was well organized, a large shelving unit in the back, and some hanging racks in the sides. Aside from being a place where she kept jackets, this was the closet where she kept her old life. She knelt down to the bottom shelf of the unit and pulled out a large, open cardboard box, which contained a lot of books, stuffed animals, and even some old clothes. Many of the things in the box had been gifts from Jack that she couldn't bear to have laying around. Behind the box, she reached for the frame, and upon grasping it and pulling it out of the shelf, replaced the box. She wiped the dust off the edges, and closed the closet door, placing it photos up on the coffee table in front of him as she passed back to the recliner. There were ten places for photos, and miraculously, all ten had been filled. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
There was a picture of them together at their senior prom, dressed to match elegantly in green and black, having the time of their lives. Another picture showed them together at graduation, and another was of them together on the nearby beach. It had been one of their favorite places to go together, to get ice cream, and play in the water. Next was a photo of them with his younger sister, on one of their infamous movie nights at his dad's house. They all looked so young, and excited. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The two photos in the middle were both of family members, not of them being together, not even of either of them directly. The picture on the left was of Jack's entire family, together, right after his sister had been born, before his mother and brother had passed. The photo on the right was of Phera's parents, with her as a toddler, matching the age of Jack around the time his sister was born. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The final four photos, towards the bottom of the frame, were all from the night before and morning of Jackson leaving. It was the last time he had spent the night with her, one photo self taken, of them cuddled up in the back of his old truck, with blankets and pillows. Another was of that morning, taken by her mom, of them passed out together. The last two pictures were of her hugging him goodbye in the airport, and his plane actually taking off. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She knew it would take him a few moments to examine the photos thoroughly, and realize what it was. She didn't have time to consider that, as the phone rang from the kitchen. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Oh, well, shit</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." She hopped up from the recliner once more, knowing he would still be lost in the framework, and made her way into the other room, snatching her cellphone from the counter and answering it immediately. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Hey momma! I'm so sorry,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she immediately forced, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I completely got side tracked. How is daddy doing today?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She stayed quiet for a few moments, and sighed, talking quietly and hurriedly from then on. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Look, I'm going to get ready, and I'll be there in thirty or less, ok? It's a long story what's going on over here, and I'll talk to you about it when I get there, but just, try and calm down.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She listened a few moments more before ending the conversation, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Well you know I love you. I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll see you soon. Bye.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She came back out the doorway looking right at Jackson, completely forgetting and ignoring that she had just given him a gift of sentiment. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I have to run out for a bit, my parents need me. Luckily for you, I take Ryder with me everywhere, so you don't need to worry about him. I'll be back as soon as I can, just, make yourself comfortable, try and relax... Uh, yeah, if you need anything, there's another phone in the kitchen, since I figured you haven't had time to get yourself one. Really, please, make yourself at home. There's plenty to eat in the kitchen, play with the tv or something if you want...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She paused, looking around. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I don't live a very interesting life, hopefully you can keep yourself entertained.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" With that said, and not waiting for a response, she popped through the doorway behind the couch, into her room. Within moments she had come back with a change to heavier jeans, and a sweater, as it had started raining outside. She grabbed a coat from the closet, and the leash for Ryder, who immediately stood up and came directly to her. She clipped the leash to his collar, and with her hand on the door, looked back at Jackson. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I really am glad you're home safe. Try and get some rest while I'm gone.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She was gone in another moment, door closing behind her. It was astounding that she was leaving him alone in her apartment, but she figured she had few other options, as she hurriedly made her way with the dog towards her parents, who lived three blocks down the street. </span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">His mother had always taught him to treat photos with respect, claiming they were little fragments in time that could never be bought back. Forever frozen in the moment, forever captured no matter what happened next, she had believed photographs were essential to hold on to the past and keep pushing forward into the unknown and unwritten future. Jackson as chosen to hold onto this belief, even after his mother and brother passed away in the accident. His father and sister, on the other hand, took on the more logical approach and believed to “live in the moment” rather than reflect on the past too much. They both claimed that holding onto the past too much will only create a barrier from accomplishing the future, of which he could only assume helped them get over the mourning process quicker than he had.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Shortly after the deaths of his mom and brother, his father hid away all the photographs they had of them both and told Jackson it was “for his own good”. Just a week before deployment, he had snuck into the family basement and taken one photograph he managed to salvage that had both his mother and Tommy in it. While the small act at the time had felt defiant and rebellious, Jackson was thankful he had taken the photo despite his father’s wishes to move on like the rest of the family had. During long restless nights and unnerving missions, he had taken the photo out from his pocket on multiple occasions, and felt the strength and energy needed to move forward, just like his mother had taught him. Since then, he’s believed photos to be his good luck charm.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson, thankful Phera didn’t mention the photo, swallowed the last mouthful of coffee. The black liquid burned down his throat, though he didn’t seem to mind the pain too much. After experiencing a bullet tearing through his shoulder, Jack learned to push past small, inferior pain with somewhat ease. It was simple, since all he needed to think about was the excruciating pain he had felt when the bullet clipped his shoulder and compare it to the momentary pain he felt now. Jackson gently set the cup back on the coaster, and leaned further into the couch as he watched Pherra get up wordlessly. Had he done something wrong? Was this the point where she told him she didn’t want him around, like his sister had done cryptically?</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
No, she wasn’t kicking him out like he had feared. She simply was… searching for something. Whatever it was looking for, she didn’t care to explain. Not that he minded of course, but curiosity grasped him. He couldn’t help but notice Ryder hasn’t moved since she told him to lay down, and it filled him with relief. If anything got too out of hand, the thought that Ryder was a well-trained dog put him at ease. At the beginning of his deployment in Iraq, Phera had continuously talked about the little puppy she had gotten, which she hadn’t bothered naming until a few weeks after owning the little guy. Whatever she had done to raise the puppy, she had done so rightly; Ryder hardly seemed like a dog that would disobey even the smallest of actions.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Ten pictures took center on the coffee table, capturing the attention of both Jackson and Ryder. It was then he remembered, before either of them had graduated, he had once told her everything his mother had taught him about photos. At first, she had been skeptical with being sentimental and holding onto the past, but she eventually had understood, and the two began taking as many photographs when the opportunity presented itself and became something of a habit between the two. Reflecting back on the memories captured in the photos, Jackson studied the photographs intensely, soaking in every detail he could of their younger selves. They both had looked so… young. Innocent. Happy, even.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Then Phera was gone. No trace of Ryder was to be seen, either. Apparently she needed to assist her parents, or something. Jackson recalled her father had been sickly for quite a while, and often needed her assistance since she had gone to nursing school. He had never spent much time with her family, seeing as they had never liked him very much for mostly unknown reasons. The only times he had gotten the chance to interact with her family was during the holidays, or special occasions. She had left the house with a few words, explaining he should rest and make himself at home, all the while telling him she was glad he was finally home. Then she was gone out of his life. Had it been as sudden for Pherra, when he had boarded the plane the day of deployment? Probably. Did she feel just as empty when he had left? Probably.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson stood up, and debated whether or not to change, considering he had been on a 13 hour flight and probably smelled of the musky airport. After a quick change of clothing, he reentered the living room, sat down on the couch, and grabbed the frame that held the ten photos. Shortly after he carefully studied each individual picture, Jack set the frame down to the position it had been in previously, and glanced at the closet from which she had pulled it out of. Eventually, curiosity won out and he found himself opening the door that lead into the storeroom. Through the long coats and jackets, a cluster of objects were piled in the back, almost completely hidden from view. In the back of the small closet space, a somewhat sizable furniture piece of which held what appeared to be multiple levels of storage slots.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Inside the bottom drawer, Jackson pulled out a cardboard box that has seen more than a few days. Interested, he hauled the box out of the drawer and into the light. Piled in carefully and neatly, various items rested inside. Books, stuffed animals, clothing. All the things one would expect to discover in the basement or attic were in his hands. Then he saw it. Years back, during the summer county fair, Jackson had won her prizes and given them as small gifts. A teddy bear, a pink bunny. It had been their first date, too. All the birthday cards he had given her, every last gift he had ever given to her, she had stored in this little box. He wasn’t sure what to think or feel, but eventually he tucked everything back in gently just the way he had found it, and walked away. Moving his duffle bag onto the floor, Jackson laid down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling for God knows how long. Sleep claimed him somewhere in between the time he waited for her to come back.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Pheralynne had Ryder pulled close to her, as she distractedly made her way across the sidewalks and streets towards her parents home, a few blocks away. There were so many different things on her mind that she was having a terrible time trying to focus on one thing only. Here she was, on the way to her ailing father, with a complete stranger whom she used to love laying in her empty apartment! She actively tried to shake the thoughts of all the things that could go wrong, in either place, and focused solely on her walking. Of course, as mindful as she was, it was only a matter of seconds before her brain had concocted a new and different problem for her to worry about. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>For starters</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">," she thought, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>how am I supposed to let my parents know that I am letting Jackson stay with me? They will have an endless amount of questions and concerns, and it's not like I have any of the answers... In fact, this is bad. I have virtually no answers.</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She rubbed her eyes gently, turning down the side street that the house was located on. In less than 20 minutes she had made it to her parents, and as she was walking up the driveway, she stopped to tie Ryder up on the porch, as she usually did. He was a good boy, and would typically lay down on the porch swing, and just wait for her quietly.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Upon opening the front door, her mother, seeming exceptionally more frazzled than usual, ran up to her, arms wide open. "Oh honey I'm so glad you're here. Your dad is in the other room, resting. How are you? Are you ok? It's not like you to be so late!" Lynae was bombarding her with questions, which wasn't unusual for her.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera took her mothers' hand and walked with her to the couch, where they sat down together. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Momma</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">," she started gently, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I just wanted to let you know... Jack came home today, from his tour.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She paused, knowing her mom would already have questions, and she was right. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"He came home today? How do you know that? Well my God, is he alright? How long has it been anyways?" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera sighed, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Yes, he is home now. I know that because he's waiting for me at the apartment. He seems... ok, I guess. He got shot, and he's an anxious mess, so it's not great... Anyways, it's been more than two years straight.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"Pheralynne Renay, what the hell do you mean he's waiting for you at the apartment? You left him alone, in your apartment?! The same man you just described as a gunshot victim and an anxious mess, alone? It's been two years? Baby, he's a stranger!" Phera knew she was in trouble when her mother used her middle name in context. It always meant serious business, and she knew it still did. She understood why her parents were worried about her, after all, when Jack left her, it essentially ruined a beautiful part of her personality. She was sullen and depressed for weeks, unsure about much of anything. It basically took the wakeup call of her father being tremendously sicker than usual for her to motivate herself to do anything. He was her world, at one time, and when something that important leaves, there is a big gap to fill. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera stood up, averting her gaze from her mother. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Well, you know how I feel about that, and I'm not going to leave him out in the rain after coming all this way with no where else to go. Besides, he's not a real stranger.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She mused, and changed the subject. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Let's go check on daddy.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As she forced herself to move her legs, and made her way into the lounge, where her father was resting on the couch, Phera held her breath. She knew that he was in rapid deterioration; the man had end stage pancreatic cancer, which had spread to his liver. Essentially she was keeping track of his pain medicine, and shots, but there was nothing else anyone could do but keep him comfortable. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Hi daddy... How are you feeling?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She watched as he sat up, labored in his breathing.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Carrick looked up at her stern faced, avoiding her question entirely. "Baby, what is this I hear about that boy being back? Tell daddy that you're kidding, please." </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Sighing, Phera turned away from her father, sitting down on a chair close by. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Daddy... You know how I feel about Jack. I'm not going to lie to you, I'm not kidding. He's staying at my apartment with me, temporarily, and I'd rather not talk about it anymore.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She leaned forward and hugged his neck, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Do you really need anything or did you just ask mom to make a big deal so that I would come see you?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Carrick looked genuinely pleased, and shrugged, winking at her as she stood up to leave. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Ok, well I have to go daddy, I love you.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" As she was leaving the room, she looked back at him and smiled. It was unfortunate to her that her parents had never liked Jack, but she knew why. Her parents were judgemental, in fact, they were downright unloving sometimes, even to each other. Money had become the determining factor in the quality of their lives, instead of their interest in each other. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera hugged her mom gently as she was leaving, but stopped. "Pheralynne Renay, you be careful with that boy, you hear me? War changes men into unrecognizable monsters. I don't want you thinking you can fix him, I know you like to do that. This is not your responsibility, alright? He left you, remember that." </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She sighed. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I know momma, don't worry about me. I'm a big girl now, remember? Bye now! Love you!</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She hid the disappointment from her face as she collected Ryder, and began the walk home. She had only been gone for about an hour, so she only hoped that Jackson was doing ok in her apartment alone. What was the worst thing that could have happened, anyways? Actually, she quickly decided to try and not think about the worst case scenarios. After another twenty minute walk, she was back at her apartment. She unclipped Ryder's leash as she swung the door open, and he excitedly ran in, making circles around the coffee table as she put all her things down on the side table, by the closet. She glanced over, and noticed Jackson resting on the couch. She couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not, but she figured he must be tired, and she quietly threw herself into the recliner. She laid there for a few minutes, her hand holding her face in a manner that seemed to relate most to stress, and worry. The dog had settled on laying down in the floor, between the couch and the coffee table, next to Jack's duffel bag, facing her. It was likely to be a long, long day. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Blood was everywhere. On his hands, soaked on his uniform, splattered on his combat boots. An odd thought struck him, and sent shivers down his spine. The blood wasn’t warm; it was ice cold. Whose was it? His own? Someone else’s? He couldn’t tell. His body felt numb, and strangely detached, as if he were simply there for the ride and nothing more. Jackson breathed in ashes, and walked down the street as blood dripped from him to the pavement, creating a trail of crimson liquid behind him. The only sounds being his breathing and heartbeat, he wandered aimlessly for what seemed forever. Then bombs fell, almost out of thin air, and wailed as they plummeted down to the earth, forming small craters in the ground.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>He ran. The bombs came quicker with each step, and deep explosions filled both ears until he could only hear a distant ringing calling him. Then, abruptly, the bombs and explosions ceased. Everything was silent and still once more. Jackson scoped out the field, and only found scattered bodies to be his company. One body in particular caught his eye, one of which was dressed in clean clothes. A red velvet dress, clad in a cheap pearl necklace. Without much hesitation, he approached the woman’s body, and pushed away her long wavy hair. Her face was smiling, as though amused, but her skin was pale and lifeless. Only, she wasn’t lifeless.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>“It’s okay, baby. Just let me go.”</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>She opened her eyes, and looked up at him with a warm, happy glow of life. Her arm reached up to him as screams screeched seemingly from every direction, and wrapped him in a warm embrace. Jackson’s cheeks were wet with tears. She was whispering something to him, over and over. It became a mantra, until it was louder than the screams. She smiled, and dimples cratered her cheeks. She reached up and whispered in his ear, and when she pulled away, blood spilled out from her nose and mouth, bruises lining up on the left side of her face, Jackson was shaking her, crying softly as he held her close to his chest. She wasn’t breathing anymore. </i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>She was gone.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Face soaked with tears, his eyes flew open. His heart hammered inside his chest, and a cold sweat broke out over him. His vision blurred with more tears, of which he didn’t bother wiping away. Just behind his eyelids, he could see her bloody smile, matched with her warm eyes that held the very essence of life. If anything, Jackson wanted the chance to hold her again, even for one more moment. He wanted to hug her, tell her he missed her. He loved her. But she was gone. She has been for two years. And it’s all his fault. Sitting upright on the couch, Jackson sucked in a deep breath as he scanned the room. Relief flooded him when it dawned on him he wasn’t in Iraq; he was safe. Or was he? Was Ryder around? Where was Phera?</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A glass of cool water always seemed to calm his nerves down, to an extent. Jack leaned his weight against the kitchen counter, and stared at the photograph of his mom. Her arm was wrapped around Tommy, both of them grinning like maniacs with their backs against the blue ocean. Jackson remembered the vacation had been one of many firsts in the family. For one thing, they had never seen the ocean until that day. While it had been short-lived and a somewhat cheap vacation, it remains Jackson’s favorite even until this day. The weather had been perfect, the ocean refreshing, and the memories especially vibrant. Both his mom and Tommy had gone on a jet-ski, clad in neon yellow life-jackets, and took a photo. </span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px">Pheralynne was still laid out in the recliner, her face heavy in her hands as she reflected internally on all the stresses she was currently experiencing in life. The corner of the room in which she found herself was the darkest, as she hadn't turned the lamp back on, and she realized that she was innately hidden by the shadows. Jackson had just sat up faster than she'd ever seen, almost as if he was in shock. He inhaled a large, deep breath, and seemed to relax gently, as he peered around her apartment. Based on the wetness of his face, which she could see from across the room, she would be willing to guess that he had a terrible nightmare, and that the relieved sigh was for his safety. She knew that it was a side effect of the PTSD, and she wondered if she should address the situation... He had quietly made his way to the kitchen, probably to fetch himself water, and try to calm down. Thankfully, Ryder had not moved an inch from the side of the couch, allowing him to remain unseen by Jack as well. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
This was a perfect opportunity to get Ryder, retreat to her bedroom, and avoid the situation entirely... She felt guilty even thinking that, because she knew that two years ago, if anything had been wrong with him, she was right by his side, tending to him always. She couldn't help but be wary and distant, though, because it wasn't two years ago anymore. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Wake up,</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she thought to herself, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>he's a grown man. If he needs something from you, he can tell you.</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She resigned to avoid the situation, no matter how bad she felt, because she knew that it was better for her, emotionally. She was essentially drained from the excitement of the day. It seemed there hadn't been more conflicting emotions all happening at once then since she was young. On the long list of emotions; she was she thrilled that the love of her life was home, relatively safely, from something that could have killed him, and she was glad as well that she got the opportunity to see him. It seemed counterintuitive, because she couldn't be any more angry at anyone else, and in fact she almost didn't want him around... But, what? The years of memories had worn on her conscious, and without meaning to, even logically thinking that he didn't really deserve it, she felt tenderness towards him. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Ryder looked up at her and then at the kitchen, wagging his tail, as she was also peering into the kitchen in thought. "No, no, no," she thought quietly, shaking her head, almost pleading with him telepathically. It seemed that the dog had his own plans though, and he jumped up, stretched, and pranced towards the kitchen, where Jack had gone to. She knew if the dog surprised him that it could go badly for both parties, so she stood from the recliner, and against her previous judgement in the situation, followed the dog. She came very quietly and carefully around the kitchen doorway, and spotted him leaning against the counter, holding the picture of his mother in his hands. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Jackson...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" It was a quiet call, but one that she knew would gently shake him. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Jack, are you ok?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Judging by the void darkness just outside of the kitchen window, Jackson estimated it was anywhere from midnight until three A.M. in the morning. Two years ago, the thought of waking up so early in the morning would have been somewhat troubling and concerning for the both of them, with what both school and work offered to their already full plates. Two years ago, their biggest worries had been what they’d wear to prom and final exams. Silly, really. Then again, Jackson hadn’t ever worried too much about his future until he graduated, since he had the tendency to put things off to the last possible chance. While the desire to enlist had been present for quite a bit while he spent time in high school, he didn’t immediately seek out a recruitment officer to see if he even qualified for service as a U.S. Marine.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The cold water soothed his throat and, more importantly, calmed his erratic thoughts. Even before enlistment, Jackson had been one to be constantly involved in deep thought and even deeper ponder. Whether it may lead contemplations of the past, present or future, his thoughts seemed to take hold of him even more profoundly than it ever has before. The appeal of dipping further and further into his mind grew stronger after each dream, if only to escape both reality and his past. Because of the mere desire to escape the present and past, Jackson found himself losing himself in his train of thoughts more and more often. In a way, he’d rather be absorbed in the labyrinth of his own mind than deal with the nightmares awaiting him in both reality and dreams.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson set the glass of water down, and proceeded to pace around the kitchen in attempt to rid his distraught nerves. The photograph was still in his quivering hands, refolding neatly and gently with careful hands over and over in a gesture of anxiety. Habits helped calm him down, strangely. Repetitiveness put his mind at ease, and more often than not helped him temporarily forget anything that might have appeared in the form of a dream. After a few long minutes, Jackson felt his heartrate return to normal, though his shaking hands seemed to take longer to recover fully. The water settled in his stomach, cooled his mind down just a little bit, and over all soothed him.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A faint whisper seized him away from his thoughts, and brought him back to reality. Her shadow was outlined by the moonlight as she approached him unhurriedly, before she promptly continued on. Asking if he was alright, her face was illuminated slightly, enough for him to see that she was, once more, fretful and uneasy. A million different responses generated in his mind, but none of which he found the resolve to speak aloud. Of </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>course</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he wasn’t alright, she must know that. Why would she even ask such a question? Did she think he is crazy? Unstable? Who was </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>she </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">ask if he was okay? She didn’t know anything more than the doctors that wanted to prescribe medication to him. Shaking his head, he fumbled and stuffed the photo in his pocket angrily.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“You must know full well of how I’m </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>feeling,</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> Phera, don’t you?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he snapped. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“You want to hear about how all I see in my dreams is blood and death? You want to hear about how I couldn’t change a </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>damn</i></b></span></span> <span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>thing</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> while I was in Iraq? Well, Phera, I’m pretty sure that you don’t want to hear all that, so do yourself a favor and get the hell away from me. You don’t know anything.”</b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
After a few long stretches of silence, Jackson stared at her, feeling empty and void. Finally, he sighed, and spoke quietly, softly, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Just get the hell away from me, Phera. Please. </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>Please </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>just do it</b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>.</i></b></span></span> <br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>You can’t fix me.”</b></span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> The darkness in the kitchen was, that late at night, only offset by two sources. One of those sources in question was the small white light of the display, on the coffee pot, and the other and more important source being the window, from which cloudy moonlight was pouring into the room. Pheralynne stood quietly and calmly, appearing perhaps smaller than usual, in the doorway, in front of the window. The ambience of the lighting in general was much more unnerving even than the anxious mood of the room, as the two stood awkwardly adjacent to each other. It was as if time slowed down momentarily, a harrowing moment to moment play by play, while Phera experienced what she would later recognize as the first of many spats, in which Jackson's undirectable anger would be forced towards her, inadvertently. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As stressed as she was, she was still thinking clearly, and the parts of nursing school that she didn't want to acknowledge or accept came flooding back to her quickly, regardless. She recalled in an instant that how she reacted to his behavior was paramount in this situation, and really every situation, as the building block for who she was going to be for him, and more importantly, who he could believe her to be for him. What was it that she wanted to be for him now, though? All she could attempt to be for him, at least for the time being, was a confidante, a helpful hand for his transition back to society. She knew that it would take time, and she carefully considered if she had the time and dedication to give to what was now a very troubled stranger...</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She scorned her thoughts, for her negativity. Here was what remained of the only man that she had once loved more than anything before, and although she felt no romantic sentiments anymore, she did feel a painful tenderness deep in the remote parts of her heart, for the part of him that she never could let go of. He may have left her more than two years past, but somehow she never quite left him entirely in return. It was devastating to her to have to watch him suffer now, and she knew for a long time into the future, over some silly dream that she had never quite understood in the first place. She was, more than anything, incredibly resentful, that this was the path he had chosen for himself, well over her taking care of him. Of course, all these thoughts and many more had been pushed aside and away carefully, tucked out of view, so not to hurt herself or him with their harsh truths and depressing sentiments. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera waited with baited breath as Jackson snapped at her, barking about blood, death, and Iraq. As he had begun with a raised voice, Ryder stepped up from behind Phera to stand directly in front of her, much of the hair on him now standing straight up. He was growling at a low volume and frequency, making himself sound, temporarily, as vicious as he had already looked. As Phera noticed the dog, who didn't move one step from directly in front of her legs, she watched Jack very carefully. She already knew that he didn't like her dog, and she worried that the dog would be a terrible trigger, and a problem to be around. At this point, she would have chosen the dog over him, most likely. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Regardless, Phera figured hopefully that as long as Ryder didn't approach Jack, everything should be fine. Thankfully for everyone involved, Phera's father had spent a great deal of time teaching the dog not to approach strangers unless on command, and not to leave Phera, in general. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Thinking on her father, she did temporarily think it ironic that her parents had just been warning her earlier of her interactions with him, as they both knew he would be vastly different than she expected. He had never quite had a temper before, at least not in the way he seemed to now. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Do yourself a favor and get the hell away from me. You don't know anything." </i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">She let his words skim past her ears, knowing that he wouldn't be entirely responsible for his emotional responses, or what words they may cause to fall from his lips thereafter. She should never knowingly register his words as realistic or place meaning to them, it would only damage her ability to be useful to him in any way. Keeping her face in the same open expression it had been, she waited, knowing that he may well not be done. A few long stretches of silence went by, during which Ryder had stopped growling, and laid down in front of Phera's feet, still carefully watching the 'stranger.' He was innately a very good dog, in tune with his master's every needs, at almost all times.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Just get the hell away from me, Phera. Please. Please just do it. You can't fix me." </i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">Tilting her head quizzically, knowing that he was finished now by the softness and certainty of his tone, she stepped not backwards away from him, but forward one step, moving over the dog. Responding to him confidently would be one of the only ways he would effectively stop trying to chase her off, though it would be a long process, and that, merely one of the many problems to face. As quietly and calmly as before, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>You know I would listen to anything you wanted to say, whether I wanted to hear it or not</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." Having that reinforcement out in the air changed the mood immediately, at least to her. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Gracefully she took small steps around him, being careful not to touch him, and made it to the coffee pot, on the other side of him. She was setting it to brew another pot, and turned it on. All the while, the dog had once again moved between the two of them, his back to her, and his eyes on Jackson. He was awfully close, in fact, close enough to lean his head forward and lick the man's hand, although thankfully he wouldn't. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Assertively, but tenderly, she asked "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Would you like some coffee? I'll stay up with you for a while if you want company.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" It seemed she had avoided his comment about fixing him purposefully, as it would serve her no purpose to validate such a ridiculous comment. She reached up and ran her hands through her thick curls, leaning backwards into the countertop, a giveaway to her minor stress. Though, it couldn't be entirely him, as she had comfortably moved towards him, across the kitchen. In fact, they were strangely close to one another for someone who was supposed to come across to her as intimidating. She knew that if she allowed him to scare her that she would never be able to help him. He was right that she couldn't fix him, because she couldn't, entirely. She could however help him, and something inside of her wanted to, no matter if she thought he deserved it or not. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The atmosphere was still thick with tension and strain, even as his previous words faded away into the dark void. After saying what he needed to say, he felt emotionally drained more than anything. Usually after releasing pent up frustration, it left Jack more often than not feeling vacant. The doctors at the hospital had explained in detail the side effects of PTSD, and if he recalled correctly, emotional detachment was a common factor of the disorder. It wasn’t something pills or medication could cure, but they had highly recommended for him to “see someone” as soon as possible to increase the chances of him being </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>cured</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> of the disorder. Jackson hadn’t fully understood the meaning of “emotionally detached” until now.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It was an odd experience, really, but the familiarity of the sensation alarmed him. While he had been detached in the past, he had never recognized it as him being unemotional and isolated. Jackson stood with his arms on the counter, pushing to support his weight, and watched Ryder’s dark figure with a impassive stare. For just a moment, he disregarded the probability of Ryder attacking. As of now, Ryder didn’t seem quite as threatening as Jackson made him out to be in his apparition. The dog stared back at him, and seemed momentarily satisfied with the situation as he stuck his tongue out, breathing evenly and softly.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera and Ryder seemed equally calm and confident, and step by step approached Jackson while he was distantly glancing out of the kitchen window, for the most part unaware of her movement. Even in the past, Phera seemed to know how to be both assertive and soothing simultaneously in a composed manner. If anything, it eased the sharp edges of the tension, and instead carved out an appeasing atmosphere. No discernible emotion was displayed by her other than mild caution and an abundance of amity for him as she stepped closer and closer, but never close enough to physically touch him, and then she finally spoke.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>“You know I would listen to anything you wanted to say, whether I wanted to hear it or not,” </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Phera told him gently, and she convinced him.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
She convinced him that what she was saying was true, that she </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>would </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">listen to anything he wanted to say. The problem was, he didn’t </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>want </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to say anything. Jackson didn’t want to burden her with everything; the monstrosity he witnessed, the bitterness he caged in, the defeat he felt. None of it was fit to be heard by such a sweet and innocent woman such as herself, and all of it was to remain locked up inside him, for </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>everyone’s’</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> benefit. Jackson saw what no one should have seen, and he planned to keep that to himself and only himself. No one else needed to become bitter like he had. No one else needed to lose their innocence.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Smoothly, she walked on past him and disappeared out of his peripheral vision and presumably went further into the kitchen. Ryder followed her closely, but didn’t seem to stray too far away as if he knew certain boundaries were not to be crossed. Jackson could practically reach down and pet the dog if he had wanted to, and while it was slightly unnerving to have Ryder so close, he didn’t particularly mind him too much. Or more rather, Jack was too distracted to get worked up in a mild panic. As of now, a dog was the least of his concerns when there was so much more on his mind; his mom, Tommy, Iraq, his squad, the tour, Phera.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It had slipped his mind that she had completely ignored his last comment, and didn’t bother even acknowledging it. In a way, he had been thankful for the diversion, as it helped take the attention off of the rather depressing thoughts of the dream. Jackson couldn’t stop thinking of what his mother had said in the dream, and it was almost all he could hear. Then Phera broke the silence again by asking if he wanted coffee, and offered her company if even for a little while. The thought of her staying up with him was slightly comforting, and he found himself reluctantly agreeing to her proposal.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Fine,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he answered with a sigh, glancing at both her and Ryder. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Just for a while.” </b></span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> The quiet had, sometime since, turned from anxious to calm once again, after the successful delivery of what would later be known as Pheralynne's first real </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>'soft words' </i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">on Jackson. To any nurse in her graduating class, the term 'soft words' was familiar, a word they had coined to describe the manner in which to speak to any neurotic patient. As she recalled internally the information, she repeated it to herself, to be certain she had done everything as correctly as possible. The sound of the voice should harbor a mild temperament, comforting and confident, and the content of the words should be very basic, such as their name, as neuroticism typically caused an inability to focus on long speeches. The facial expression should be calm, no telling signs of anxiety, and especially no hostility in return. It was easy for a situation to get out of hand, quickly, if not handled correctly.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As the two of them stood surprisingly close by each other in the dark kitchen, considering what had just taken place, she thankfully realized that she had, in fact, done her job perfectly well. After a few more moments of silence, which were now empty of any negative connotations, Jack sighed outwardly and agreed hesitantly to her offer for accompaniment. In effect, in her mind, this helped validate to her that she was handling him relatively well, at least currently. Had she have handled it poorly, and the potential for screaming, panic, and injury were terribly high, based on the dog being in the room as well. Again, miraculously, she thanked her nursing school internally, as nothing was seriously wrong. It was already gone, seemingly as fast as it came. It was only the first outburst, of what she knew would be many, and she prayed silently that she could have the same resolve every time in the future that she had shown in that previous moment. She would need to keep herself consistent, for him to be able to confide in her in any way. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Fine, just for a while,</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" he had said. Innately, she knew why he seemed hesitant, but she didn't like the truth of the matter, as the final answer. He was guarded, reserved, and intensely paranoid, of course of her as well, like everything. She could be no exception to the rule, regardless of their history together. That was nothing personal to her, she knew, but it still left her feeling disappointed. Like many PTSD sufferers, it was likely that he was internalizing his tour and the damage thereof, in an attempt to shield people from his jaded perception of himself and the world. He was making himself into a victim, moreover than he already had to be, throwing himself a hole wherein he believed he was the only person, and that no one would have a rope. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She watched him openly now, as the thoughts crossed her. As she waited patiently for the coffee to brew, since she was certain that he would be too lost in his own thoughts to notice if she was really staring intently at him or not, she paid close attention. A slightly sad and tender look was written all over her face, as she carefully inspected him now in the moonlight, for the first time since he had arrived. She was scanning for detail, picking up on many of the sad features of him that she had missed earlier. It was astounding that she didn't notice how bad his condition really was upon him arriving, but she was otherwise occupied, and wary of him anyways. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
He was much thinner than she remembered him being before, although he did appear to have gained some muscle mass, and his face looked incredibly gaunt, especially with the . His once beautiful, gleaming blue eyes seemed empty now, of most everything but sadness, as if there was terrible suffering to blame for his haggard appearance. It seemed to her, from his sore and stressed body positioning, that he was favoring his left side carefully, implying that must be the area of his most recent and career ending injury. If she had to guess, though she couldn't yet be certain, she would say it was his chest, back, or shoulder, as there seemed to be some padding under the top left of his shirt, likely gauze or a pressure wrap. Hearing that the sound of the brewing had stopped, she looked away from him, turning her body towards the coffee pot, and trying like hell not to cry. She could, honestly, she knew it was possible. If she threw herself into her bedroom, exhausted on the bed, she could probably sob for a few hours. How could they have ended up like this? </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
To keep herself from crying, she had switched her focus to pouring the coffee into two cups, his which she again left plain intentionally, and hers which she took the time to add things to carefully, precisely the same as always. One of her hands held his coffee out towards him, while her other hand snagged her cup from the counter as well. As soon as she felt him take the cup from her hands, their fingers brushing together casually, she was on the move, and into the living room once again. She flicked on the light in the corner, and put herself back in the recliner again. Ryder posted up carefully in the bed next to her, as they both waited for him to join them. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The soft hiss of the coffee machine filled the cool air, along with the soft breaths taken in by Ryder. Seemingly content and happy, Ryder sprawled out on the floor, just a few yards away from where Phera stood. His eyes were dark, but glowing with something else Jack couldn’t quite name, as they stared up at him unblinking. It sent a small chill through Jackson’s body for unknown reasons, other than the possibility of being creeped out. Had he met the dog years before, he probably would have thought the little guy was cute and sweet. Ironic, if anything, and simply amusing thinking about it. Maybe in an alternative universe, such a thing could have taken place. Not here.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson wandered around the kitchen with no apparent reasoning to do so, and let his eyes scan everything he could see within plain sight. All the usual items and articles to be found in the typical kitchen were displayed on the countertop, some projecting vibrant colors while others seemed to drown in dullness. A cookie-jar was collecting dust, while a small vase held in fresh flowers. One of the flowers appeared to be in the process of wilting, which resulted in slight color loss and even a shortage of petals. In a way, Jackson was like that wilting flower. Just waiting to be withered away.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The strong scent of coffee filled the house once again, and unwillingly lead him to think of his time spent with the squad in Iraq. Just when Jack had been started out as a Marine, a few of the older members welcomed him with open arms and showed him the ropes. Rick Sullivan and Jake Blackburn became something like family to him, even in the midst of that hellhole they were in. Over cups of black coffee and games of poker, they bonded. Under enemy fire and explosive mortars, they became brothers. Brothers that would, no matter what, defend each other, even in the midst of hell on earth. Even in the midst of life and death situations, they were brothers he never had.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Rick hadn’t gotten out alive. Jake had been shot.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Running a hand through his hair, he took in a deep breath, and watched in silence as Phera prepared the coffee. It struck him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but he made no move to begin a quest for food. While on tour, Jackson had irregular eating patterns which normally depended on what mission he was on and how long it lasted. On a good day, he’d gotten to eat two meals of canned food while in the safety of the squad’s compound. Sleeping patterns had been irregular, of course, but Jackson suspected it was not only because of the erotic missions.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The hissing of the coffee brewer ended after another minute or so, and he found himself staring at the small machine attentively. It startled Jackson, somewhat, hearing the coffee machine. He couldn’t help but to think it sounded awfully close to the missiles that had been projected in the field, as well as in his previous dreams. The smell of black coffee overwhelmed him, and made him aware of the fatigue finally catching up to him, though he brushed it off as jet-lag and focused on Ryder. From what Jackson could see, Ryder hasn’t moved an inch, thankfully.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jack carefully grabbed the coffee mug, gently blew on the hot liquid and took a small sip. It was consistent with the previous cup, and seemed to pour vigor back into him slowly. Phera took her own mug, and moved leisurely made her way into the living room. Ryder, as always, followed close behind her and rested in his own little bed. Somewhat hesitant, Jackson followed suit and made his way into the living room with the mug in hand, sat down, and drank the coffee in silence.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> As Jackson slowly and hesitantly made his way back into the living room, sitting down upon reaching the couch, and still sipping at the coffee intently, like it was a mission of some kind, he stayed surprisingly quiet. Pheralynne was already seated in the recliner as she was watching this unfold, noticing again how both anxious and pained Jack seemed to be. She wanted to say something, anything, but she knew it would be better to hold her tongue. As many things as she could think of that she could do to make him feel better, none of them did she think he would really agree to. He likely wouldn't want any pain medication, and even more likely, didn't want to talk about it. She couldn't be surprised by that, of course, but she did wish it could be different. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As she sat quietly, simply trying to be awake, drinking her coffee slowly, it occurred to her that there was quite a lot she didn't know about him anymore. She didn't want to announce that they were essentially strangers, but she wasn't sure if it would occur to him on his own. Looking towards him, the same sad but tender look glued to her face, she sighed quietly, leaning forwards from the chair with one hand now propping up her head. It looked as if she was about to speak multiple times, but almost every time, she silently reconsidered. There were so many things she needed him to tell her, but she knew that if she bombarded him with questions immediately that he would shut down entirely, not wanting to answer anything. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Jackson...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she started hesitantly, his name falling off of her lips tenderly, her voice strained moderately with the sounds of depression and stress, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She had already stopped talking, her hesitation turning into a long silence, words not wanting to escape her chest. Her lip quivered gently, as if she was trying her hardest not to burst into tears. Starting again, very carefully concealing her emotions as best as possible, though she wasn't doing a great job, she looked directly at him. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Look, I don't know where to start. I guess... I'm sorry, for a lot of things, but mostly just that we're not who we used to be</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">..." She paused, sighing, a small hand running through her curls, stopping and tugging on the ends, a nervous habit she had acquired. She knew she had to be careful how much she said at once, so that he wouldn't miss a ton of her words. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She hated to say this, tears welling up in her eyes, as she looked away from him, but she went for it anyways. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>We barely know each other anymore.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Her words hung heavy in the air, calling to attention the white elephant in the room that she knew neither of them wanted to address. They couldn't ignore the fact that they had barely spoken, and that if it were up to him, they wouldn't. How could they possibly coexist in her apartment, when they couldn't even speak to each other, really? She waited with bated breath, trying desperately to hold her tongue. She didn't want to overwhelm him entirely, although she had a lot of curiosity pent up, dying to be released. Where would he go? What would he be doing? Would he ever consider therapy, or rehabilitation? Would they ever... She stopped herself from even thinking questions about them both, together in context, because she knew it was far fetched and dangerous for her to be feeling anything for him anymore. He wasn't the man she was in love with, he just looked like it, and that was more than heartbreaking... </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Running coffee down his throat, he winced as he, quite regrettably, swallowed the mouthful of black liquid. The buzz of caffeine kept him on alert, his mind sharp, and thoughts crisp. Jackson often noticed that when his body was running low on performance, he simply just needed another shot of caffeine and then he’d be executing his daily activities with ease. One of many reasons Jackson had gotten hooked on coffee was frankly because he never had much time to sleep while in Iraq, due to the frequent and unexpected missions that appeared much more than anyone would care to enjoy. There had been days when he had been unable to sleep, and coffee energized him through it all, and ultimately saved his life.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Back in basic training, he had been drilled to operate on minimal sleeping intervals for most of boot camp. Constantly under stress, pressure and anxiety, Jackson learned to switch off his emotions with ease and function by pure instinct and impulse. It helped him through the brutal few months of training, and landed him in Iraq with a highly decorated squad. Looking back on the memory, he realized boot camp had been the first incident where he had become voluntarily detached. Though it alarmed Jackson, he didn’t seem too distressed of the thought. After all, sooner or later he would have become detached, so was it so bad he had done so, the first time, voluntarily? Maybe.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera began with voicing his name. It certainly grabbed his attention, and caused him to glance at her with expectant eyes. Jackson pondered about all the possibilities as to why she wanted to speak to him, and only distilled the choices down of two options. For option one, she wanted him to move out. Maybe upon discovering he had drastically changed, she no longer wanted to be of company to him. Or perhaps when she had gone to visit her parents, they advised her to stay away from him, though that hadn’t been entirely new to Phera, but she had changed, too. She wasn’t the wild and rebellious girl he had known years before.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Option two, Phera wanted him to get better. Therapy, pills, medication. Whatever. Maybe she just wanted him to get a job to help pay off the bills. Maybe she just wanted him to go to some crazy rehab for veterans. Who knows. Jackson couldn’t stand either options, and frankly wanted to exit the room before she even began speaking. But the tone in which she spoke stopped him. Ripe with sorrowful and despair, she continued talking to him with sad eyes that had once held happiness and delight. If anything, the tone and her eyes woke him up. Neither of them were the same.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>“We barely know each other anymore.”</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera ripped her gaze away from him, though he managed to catch a glimpse of her lip quivering, one of many indications she was close to crying. Somewhere inside, Jackson felt her sorrow. Guilt, maybe. Hell, he didn’t even know who </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>he </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">was anymore, so how was she supposed to figure that out? She may have gone to nursing school, but was she really prepared to deal with him and all his demons? Probably not. Jackson sucked in a deep breath, and looked at Phera as his mind rushed to come up with a valid response. What could he even say to that remark? It held truth, yes, but how could he even begin to reply with so much tension in the air and so much expectation? After a long moment, he decided it was best to acknowledge that </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>yes, </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he did know that, in fact, they were complete strangers.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I know,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jack responded quietly, eyes downcast. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I don’t even know myself anymore. Sometimes I just feel so… detached from everything, and other times I just want to yell and scream at the everyone. I hate the world for everything it’s done, you know? Phera, you have </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>no idea</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> what people are… </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>capable </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>of. I guess it just messes with your head.”</b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Then he fell silent, feeling slightly overwhelmed with the entirety of the situation. He had spoken too much, he knew that. He had broken a vow to never speak of the wickedness he had seen, of which still haunts him in his sleep and even throughout the day. Jackson shouldn’t have spoken, but the words just tumbled out of his mouth with a strange sense of ease, as if he had been waiting for the release.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Pheralynne felt her thoughts racing as Jackson sat across from her, the two of them in a tense silence, brought on by her inability to keep her mouth shut. She was kicking herself internally, and barely hanging onto composure externally, trying not to break down sobbing. It was impossible odds, stacked against her, as she reeled within herself, uncertain of what to do in this situation, in general. She was staring down the face of a man whom she, at one time, was so in love with that she would have followed him on tour if she could have. Yet now, he was a ghost, a mere shadow of his former self, utterly and completely a stranger to her. She knew it was important to hold back her honest crying until she could be alone, and completely lose her mind in private. Why was she losing her mind though?</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Thinking about it carefully, it was astounding to her that she was feeling so emotionally invested in the situation already, but in a moment of hindsight, upon reevaluation of the situation, it wasn't surprising at all that she was a wreck. This wasn't her becoming reinvested already, this was her past emotions finally throwing themselves into her face, demanding to be felt. There was more than two years of pent up, unrequited love, for a person who was essentially, for all intents and purposes, suddenly dead to her. He had disappeared from her active life, leaving her in the dark, and yet, she had never completely moved on. She had never truly accepted the knowledge that he would never come back to her, at least not the way he left. Although he was very much physically alive, it was devastating her to accept that their relationship was nonexistent, the spirit that she so loved, gone entirely. Inadvertently, she had lived a lot of the past two years in denial, some desperate part of her broken heart clinging to the silly belief that things could be fine again in the future.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Here they were, in the future, and they were both emotionally damaged to the point that they couldn't really even speak to each other. She couldn't be certain that he would say anything at all in reply to her assessment, which was innately more depressing to her than her having said anything in the first place. The moments of silence ticked by, and the chaos in her mind was easily comparable to an earthquake, the likes of which the world hadn't seen. Internally, she was certainly panicking. trying to close herself off so that she could focus on something other than the deep, resounding pain in her chest. She glanced up as she heard Jack breath in deeply, as if he was about to speak. She could only hope, her breath catching in her throat, waiting with an impossible sadness on her face. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>I know, I don't even know myself anymore... You have no idea what people are capable of. I guess it just messes with your head.</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera sat quietly, her eyes, unbeknownst to her, betraying her stoic facial expression, by exposing the terrible amount of pain she was harboring. She knew she shouldn't be angry with him, but resentment had built up in her for a few long years, waiting patiently to escape at the first given opportunity, and here it was. Catching her thoughts, and holding them down, she desperately tried to reason with herself, before saying something she would later regret. She was chewing her lip almost to bleeding now, another anxious habit that she had acquired from her time alone. The wheels in her head were obviously turning, but she sat, silently, scared to open her mouth. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Unfortunately,</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> she thought, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>I know exactly what people are capable of, and you're right, it does mess with ones head. </i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">In another remote part of her heart, anger was boiling. How could he imply that she not know the pain of people's actions? He was in fact the cause of exactly that, for her! It had taken her a few moments more to finally calm herself enough to make a reply. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I'm sorry about that... Unfortunately, I know all too well what people are capable of, and how it can mess up ones head... We might be in two different boats, but we still sail in the same sea..."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> She paused, hoping that would be a clear enough indicator to him that she wasn't entirely ignorant to terrible and desperate feelings that seemed out of control. Another heavy sentence sat on her tongue, and without thinking, it fell out of her mouth accidentally. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I loved you, you know..."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> It was seemingly a simple thing to say, but all the sudden the reality of what she knew she had implied was upon her, and she was broken down. In one, tiny, insignificant, five word sentence, she had stabbed herself and likely him too, directly in the heart. Of course he must know that, they used to say that to each other daily. Used to, being the key words, though... The resentment in those few words, in things of the past, was terribly obvious. She knew she had given him too much information already about her being emotionally compromised, and why, just in that. Inadvertently, she had insinuated that he was responsible for this. She felt a sick weight in her chest, like she couldn't make herself breath in air, and promptly threw her face into both of her hands, covering herself up as she started absolutely sobbing. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Her response didn’t entirely register in the back of his mind, though the only few key words he had managed to grasp had been “two different boats” and “same sea”. It took a bit for him to piece together what he had heard, but once he deciphered her answer, Jackson uneasily squirmed in his seat. Feeling somewhat tense and paranoid, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting to where she was going with the conversation. Was she going to admit to something she’s been holding back from him? Was there some other guy she was dating─not that he would care much, of course─and was currently living here? More ridiculous and illogical thoughts followed after the possible scenarios, and he eventually stopped thinking all together about what she’s been doing these past two years.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson lifted his head in response to her prompting to continue her small speech, and looked directly at Phera with hesitant eyes. Ryder seemed to be doing the same, only he looked more concerned, and softly whimpered at her next words. Five words. Five words he would never forget, he knew. Five words that tore deeply into his heart, and made it difficult to breathe. She was right. She had loved him, and he had loved her, and he ruined it. He blew it, and left her in the dust to deal with the aftermath. Although for two years he didn’t bother acknowledging the heartache in which both he and she felt, he could </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feel </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">it now. Tearing them apart. It had been clear with the tone in which she said those words; she hated what he had done to her.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Anger seethed inside. If she had </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>loved </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">him so much, why hadn’t she bothered to try and stop him? Why had she idly stood by while he ran to the enlistment office without knowing the consequences? Yes, Jackson acknowledged it had been his own choice, but </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>who</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">was </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>she </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to imply that it had been </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>all </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">his fault when she hadn’t even stepped in to stop it? She may as well have been just as guilty as he was. It was both of their faults, and now she wanted to play the blame game and point her finger at him? Jackson’s hands trembled, a frequent sign of which displayed his frustration and anger, something that came all too often after the tour. Without hesitation, he stood up.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
His hands fumbled in a frantic search for his wallet, and soon clasped around the small leather slip as he fought to control his rage. To be frank, he couldn’t believe it. Just five minutes ago, he had actually </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>trusted </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">her, and had believed she had been there to help him chase the demons out. All of it was shattered in five, loath-filled words. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>All of it</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Jackson stuffed the wallet in his back pocket, and felt the overcoming urge to get the hell out of the living room. Anywhere sounded just fine to him. Though, some part of him wanted to stop and say something. So, he did. He stopped, stared at her as she </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>broke </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">in front of him, and ran a hand through his hair.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“You’re just as responsible for what happened as I am, </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>Pherra</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>. Don’t you </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>dare </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>blame this on me. You could have just as well stopped me from going through with it, but you </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>did nothing</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>. Do you call </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>that</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> love, too, Phera?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jack spat, shaking his head with scorn. Then he was gone.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The night air was cold against his skin, and already he regretted not being fully prepared to walk away. Though, he knew there was no turning back now. Not until he’s cooled down, anyway. It hadn’t struck him that he didn’t know the layout of the city in the least bit, and he could very well get lost. If he did wind up getting lost in the city, he had no way of contacting Phera. Jackson had, ironically, planned on getting a phone sometime tomorrow. Despite the risks involved, he decided to take a right and continue down the road until he found some place to be in. Then, when he was ready, he would head back by using the same road. Simple.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A few blocks down from her apartment, and Jackson could see neon lights greeting him with three letters he noticed straightaway: BAR. It most certainly was tempting, but on first glance Jackson refused. After thirty or so minutes of walking, he wound up back at the neon sign. For a short-lived moment, he internally argued with himself. Could a few drinks really hurt? Maybe. Did he even have enough money? Barely. Where else would he even go, anyway, since everything else was closed? Nowhere. Unconsciously, it was decided for him. He entered the bar without second thought or hesitation.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Pheralynne was still hiding, sobbing into her hands. She knew he had gotten up, and said nothing, as she really couldn't force words out. She didn't even try to look in his direction, more ashamed to be bawling than anything, as she heard him stomping around. His words stung her, surprisingly, in a way that she wasn't expecting, as Jackson started yelling. Ryder was immediately barking furiously, almost covering up Jack's volume, but she just couldn't avoid hearing the select words that would ultimately hurt her delicate feelings the most. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>You're just as responsible... Don't you dare blame this on me... You could have stopped me... You did nothing...</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She had stopped breathing entirely, looking up with incredible disbelief, almost an underlying amount of horror, like he had slapped her verbally. It was many moments like that, as if she was in shock, until he slammed the door shut to her apartment. It almost didn't register to her, but Ryder stopped barking when Jack left. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Surprise was still plastered on her silently crying face, as she remembered all the times she begged him not to leave her. She recalled the night before Jackson was deployed, one of the many pictures of that night sitting in the frame, still on the table... Back then he had an old truck, and they had been reckless, believers in good old fashioned adventures, together. They knew that they couldn't go far, as he had to be awake early to get on a plane, so instead, he had agreed to park in her parents driveway, and let her pile all of the blankets and pillows she could find into the bed of it. They had built a bed of sorts, a big nest, and laid in it together all night, watching the stars. The whole night was a blur, as they were tipsy together, spending the whole night indecent and in love. It was the very last happy time they had together, brought to a sad end by eventual sleep, and the morning wake up call of her parents. She tried not to lose herself completely in the airport that morning, and he knew that she desperately wanted him to change his mind last minute... He didn't.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She fell out of the recliner onto the floor, actively experiencing the most terrifying, painful type of crying that existed, in life; the kind that stole her breath away with every outcry, barely giving her time to even attempt breathing in, before feeling the burning fire of sadness in the pit of her chest. Her face was soaked, and puffy, red from a lack of air and her rubbing the saltwater trail away repeatedly. This was no silver screen expedition, no pretty cry, to be envied. This was raw, unadulterated pain, the likes of which she never wanted to feel, let alone be seen feeling, even if the only onlooker was Ryder. Speaking of the poor dog, he had taken to walking in very anxious semicircles around her on the floor, whining and crying, as if to mourn with her it seemed. She had been curled up in the fetal position for at least another half hour, sobbing unabashedly until her voice was gone and she was too exhausted, as if no more tears could come out of her. At some point during that, the dog had curled up directly next to her, as if to comfort her, though she was never fully aware of it. It unfortunately, though she loved the dog dearly, wasn't the kind of comfort she desperately needed. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Exhaustion setting into her, and a headache forming quickly on the back of her eyes, Phera pushed herself up off the floor gently, using the furniture to help herself. Still rubbing her eyes and face, she made her way slowly to the kitchen, where she sat down on the floor by a cabinet door. She pulled it open, and rummaged around for a few minutes, before coming up with a half full bottle of choice liquor. Taking the entire bottle with her, she retreated to the living room, and this time threw herself on the couch. She took a large swig from the bottle before setting it on the table, and picking up the frame full of pictures, and frowning. While she was still thinking consciously, she flipped it over and removed the back, pulling out the two pictures at the bottom, from the night they had slept in the truck, and the morning she had said goodbye to him in the airport, and then replacing the back. She put the frame down, and held those two pictures in her hands, examining them closely. They were different people then, and as she flipped them over, she noticed that there were captions on both of them, written by her mom, dated the day they were developed. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
On the photo of them sleeping, she had written, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Darling, I want you to know that one day, when you look at this in the future, sad about what you know, whatever that may be, that this night reminded me of myself and your father when we were young..." </i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">On the back of the picture of them hugging in the airport, she had written something else, corresponding to the first. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>But your father stayed with me.</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Her mother had been known to be incredibly cruel, on occasion, and Phera was crying again. She left them on the table, grabbing the bottle and taking another big swallow, standing up and relocating back the recliner. She was distracted mid walk, by the dog, who laid down on the floor half on, half off, his bed. Instead of climbing up in the chair, she leaned up against the wall, sitting half in and half out of his doggy bed with him. It had been multiple hours of her drinking, a lot, rubbing the dogs head, and occasionally thinking Jack was back, before she eventually fell asleep on the floor. Her hair was splayed out on the wood, big red curls haphazardly intermingling with the long brindled fur on the dog. They were adorable, sleeping together, her arm thrown over him, and everything. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The bar had been practically vacant, with the exception of a few people and staff members. A few eyes lingered on Jackson for longer than he was comfortable with, but no one seemed to want to engage him, thankfully. It was quite obvious he was involved with the military, given he was clad in his uniform and even sported a matching haircut, and it seemed to attract the attention of most while in public. Jackson felt uneasy having so many eyes on him, but did nothing to advert the small spotlight that seemed to hover over his every move. Unfortunately, he had wanted to go out tomorrow, and with the money he had been given, buy a few clothing items to help him blend in more evenly. After all, if he wanted to forget Iraq, he’d have to get rid of anything related to the memories. The first thing that would go was his uniform.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Just minutes prior to ordering his first drink, a young man that looked to be around Jack’s age approached with a smile and beer in hand. The man took a seat in the barstool to the right of Jackson, but made no effort to start a conversation. That is, until the man, whom had looked oddly familiar, caught a glimpse of Jack. Recognition, or something similar to it, washed over the guy’s face, and made his smile widen slightly. The bartender handed Jackson his drink, collected the money, and disappeared to presumably to serve another customer.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The man sitting to the right of him finally spoke up, looking at Jackson intently as he set down his beer. With a smile, his mouth opened.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“You’re Jackson Wilde, aren’t you?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he inquired with a laugh, shaking his head. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Well, you might not remember me, but I sure as hell remember you. We went to the same school, were teammates on the football team?” </b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson glanced skeptically at the man, but said nothing in return as he downed the shot. The man didn’t seem to be disheartened by the silence, and continued on with just as much enthusiasm he began with.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Well, I didn’t suspect you’d remember me, but that’s not a problem,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">the man chuckled heartily. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Anyway, name is Connor Waylon,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he introduced himself, and extended his right hand to Jack.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson shook the hand, offered a weak smile, and listened as Connor explained to him what he’s been doing since they graduated. Truth be told, Jack tuned him out somewhere along the conversation, and instead drank in complete silence as his old friend continued explaining his crazy stories of him going to Europe, getting fired from his job, and arguments with his girlfriend of three years. The mention of Connor’s girlfriend sent a jab of pain into Jack’s heart, and had difficulty swallowing the rest of his drink after peering at Connor with a somewhat annoyed look. He seemed to get the hint not to speak about it anymore, and instead moved on to ask Jack what he’s been doing all these years after graduation.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“So, how many of those bastards did you kill?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Connor asked with a grin about thirty minutes later, long after Jackson has had his fair share of drinks. Though the question took a bit to register in his mind, he felt rage boil in his veins.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson stood up, and shoved Connor roughly. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Don’t you fucking… </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>dare</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> ask me that,”</b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he hissed under his breath, words slurred. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Is that all war is to people like you, some… </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>sick game</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>? Huh? Well, </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>pal</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>, it’s not. Damn </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>kids</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> die out there every day, and you wanna know who stops it? Fucking… no one, okay? So shut the </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>hell</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> up and get out of my fa-…” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Cutting mid-sentence, Jackson felt the corners of his vision fade into black. Arms wrapped around him before he could fall, followed by distressed calls by Connor. Then Jackson’s eyes closed, shutting everything out.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Pheralynne peeled her eyes open slowly, hesitantly, as if she didn't want to wake up today. Sunlight was spilling into the room from the doorways of other rooms, illuminating the space more gently than if there were direct windows. Her head was pounding, and her body was sore, as she pushed herself up off the floor, already regretting falling asleep on the wood with the dog. Speaking of Ryder, she glanced around frantically, as she realized he hadn't been laying with her anymore, and spotted him laying quietly in front of the door. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Why on Earth would he be over there?</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> Quizzically, she shot a glance over at the clock, almost not registering when she realized it said it was 11 am. 11 am already, and it was no wonder why the dog was by the door; It was past his normal time to go outside. She sighed, her thoughts a cloudy mess. She was still exhausted, in fact more now than before, because now on top of the emotional stress, she had gotten a terrible night of painful, drunk sleep on the floor. Great. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera shook her head, grabbing the mostly empty bottle of liquor off the floor, and taking a tiny gulp. The only way to combat hangovers, to her knowledge, was with more alcohol. Her father had taught her that, back before he got sick and quit drinking entirely. Their family had a strange dynamic, but they were Irish, and god how they all loved to drink. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Forcing herself to the kitchen, dropping the bottle on the counter by the coffee, she smiled, ready to start her day the same as always. She then realized it was already brewed, and it took her a moment of confusion before she recalled the night before. Her mouth dropped open as she flew back around the corner, realizing that was what was different about her apartment! Jack was not back on the couch! </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She checked her room, but she knew that was far fetched, and as she realized that he was nowhere in the house, a sense of overwhelming panic struck her. Here in the city where he hadn't been for years, most likely having a terrible bout from his PTSD, he could be wandering around lost, or really much worse. He could be in the hospital, he could have gotten arrested, he really could even be dead... She shuddered at the thought of more misfortune on them both, and in a flash, she threw herself over the couch, from her room doorway, hauling herself into the kitchen. She yanked her phone from the charger, hoping desperately that there would be a missed call or a message from Jack, but there was none. She realized he didn't have a phone, as she looked over and saw that the one she had offered him was laying on the counter, where she had left it the day previous. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Shaking her head in total disbelief, she slammed her hand down on the counter, bending over and laying her top half weight into it, crying already, this early after just having woken up. What the hell was she supposed to do with him? They had spent one night together, and already she had pissed him off to the point that he ran off from the apartment and just didn't come back at all, no concern in the world that he should even tell her where he went, or if he was ok! She felt bipolar, so many feelings coming up out of her all at once. Not only was she worried sick, absolutely depressed and heartbroken, but now pissed off too! Looking around the kitchen, she grabbed the bottle of liquor and threw her head back, downing the remainder of the contents, before getting the old coffee from the pot into her cup, and drinking it black, swigging it in gulps until she had consumed what added up to almost three cups. She dropped her cup in the sink, and retreated to her room, where she threw a comb through her curls and redressed. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She tossed her phone in her back pocket before picking up Ryder's leash, clipping him, and heading out of the apartment, slamming the door. She was out on the street, looking as stressed as ever, as she followed Ryder around to go to the bathroom. What a way to start her day. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Awakening to a throbbing headache, Jackson stifled a long groan as he turned over onto his side upon realization he had been asleep on his bad shoulder the whole night. As if the morning couldn’t have gone any dreadful, Connor had two dogs. Not cute little puppies, either. Somewhat massive, Connor explained to him that they were both Great Danes, but have been well trained and claimed to be nothing but giants with gentle hearts. Jackson already felt the panic percolating in, despite Connor’s numerous reassurances the dogs wouldn’t attack, and struggled to remain calm as he tentatively sat up and for the first time examined the room he had been sleeping in. It certainly was smaller than Phera’s apartment, but thankfully Connor had allowed for him to sleep on the couch for the night, declaring with a laugh that he had been “so wasted”.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Without bothering asking if he had a hangover, Connor handed two Advil pills and a glass of water to him with a somewhat amused smile. Wordlessly, Jackson took the pills gratefully. Shortly after popping them in his mouth, he caught a glimpse of a clock and swore violently under his breath, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Shit, shit, </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>shit</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>. She’s going to </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>kill</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> me.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Connor looked at him with a perplexed expression, and silently asked for a explanation. Jackson huffed as he stood up, frantically searching for his wallet. Spotting it lying on the stone countertop, he reached and grabbed it with trembling hands. Jack let out a relieved sigh, eased knowing he hadn’t blown all his money just yet.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Dude, what’s up? You miss a date or something?”</b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> Connor asked with a nervous laugh, squinting at him as the two dogs circled in their cage.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson shook his head, frantically running a hand through his hair, and decided to tell him the situation with Pherra.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Oh </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>shit</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>, dude,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Connor remarked, wincing. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“She’s definitely going to be pissed. You want me to drive you there? I don’t start work until a few hours from now.” </b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Just drop me off at the bar. I’m pretty sure it’ll just set her off to see me show up at her place in some guy’s car, no offense,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson said as he rubbed the back of his neck, an indication of severe anxiety.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Alright, whatever you want, Jack. If you ever need help or anything, I’ll be at the bar on most weekend nights. Okay, come on, let’s get you to the bar.”</b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A quick ten minute ride later, and Jackson was standing on the curb that lead into the bar, the neon lights dimmed under the overpowering sunlight. The brightness made his headache seem intensified, and he found himself somewhat disoriented as he watched the busy traffic whizz on by through the street. Which way had he gone last night, heading to the bar? Left or right? Though he attempted to pull the memory, every little detail seemed impossibly fuzzy and too difficult to remember. Feeling fear crawl in, he glanced down both ways of the street in desperate attempt to get a grasp of where he was, but nothing looked familiar for miles.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Questions rapidly popped in his head, some of worry and others of panic. How long had he walked until he had found the bar? What was the name of her apartment complex, ayways? Would she even care if he didn’t show up? Jackson frantically walked back and forth, all the while trying to devise a plan to get back. Doubts and panic weighed him down, and nearly took control of him. A few people glanced at him with bemused expressions, but none stopped to engage him. Shortly after Jack got a handle on his anxiety and panic, he came up with a plan. A plan that would, hopefully, lead him in the right direction and eventually back to Phera’s apartment, if all went accordingly to plan.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson walked up to ongoing pedestrians, and asked if they knew of any nearby apartments on the street they currently were on. Most people stated they simply didn’t know, as they were visiting for the week. A few didn’t even bother answering him, though he wasn’t sure it was out of rudeness or simply because they didn’t have time. Either way, it only seemed to spike angst in him the longer he was out in the street, having no idea where he was or if he’ll even find the darn apartment. Eventually an older woman directed him to the nearest apartment complex, and with a smile wished him the best of luck before walking away.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
He headed east, just as the woman had told him, and a few blocks down he spotted it. The apartment complex. With a relieved laugh, he walked to the apartments feeling pleased with himself. Though he had been foolish the previous night, he felt accomplished that he had been able to find his way back, on his own, and get back safely. Phera, he knew, must be practically having a heart attack. It was a wonder she hadn’t called the police or anything crazy like that by the time he knocked on her door with a heavy sigh, hands still quivering as he waited.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px">It was almost an hour that Pheralynne paced around outside her apartment, walking Ryder back and forth slowly, barely avoiding the hustle of people in the city on the sidewalks as she desperately tried to multitask. Not only was she walking the dog around, but she was compulsively checking her phone, and trying to identify every person who came into view. Anxiously she searched for Jackson's face in everyone she saw, growing more discouraged and worried with every person who wasn't him, and with every minute that she didn't receive any news. She was absorbed in her own thoughts, lost in all the horrible things that could have caused him to not return.</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>He could have been robbed, had a medical emergency, gotten into a fight, gotten arrested, be admitted in a hospital somewhere, sitting in a jail cell, or worst case scenario finally in the morgue</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">. She was in the way, on the sidewalk, and she knew that, but she didn't feel she had time to care. Considering the circumstances and her thoughts, she was trying her best not to panic. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Ryder stopped walking, sitting down on the sidewalk, whining pitifully. Hesitantly, Phera considered the dogs needs, and their circumstances; how long she had been walking him, how hot it had gotten for his feet, and that she hadn't yet fed the poor boy either. Depressed that she had made no headway, realizing she had only wasted an hour of her time, she slowly made her way back into the apartment. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Back inside her home, Phera could have been described as neurotic herself, by this point. It had been another hour, since she came inside, and in that hour a lot had taken place. She started by feeding the dog, of course, but quickly resorted to pacing back and forth around the coffee table in the living room, angst eating her alive. Knowing full well that she couldn't meander around uselessly, she then spent another few minutes calling every place she could think of to ask if he was there, although many, she was hoping he wasn't. First she called one of her friends who worked at the local hospital, then she called the police station, following that up with the morgue, all with no leads or information for her. She was glad it wasn't bad news, yet, but it still could be, as no news was not necessarily good news either. The frantic phone calls had eaten another few minutes of her time, but she was back to tracing a pattern in the floor again, as if she had too much time and energy with which to worry obsessively. It was difficult for her, trying to understand herself, or why she was reacting so terribly. After all, he was a grown man, and he wasn't her responsibility anymore... Or was he? </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Inadvertently she realized that she was innately his only lifeline, that she was his only chance of living a normal life again. His family certainly had no intentions of helping him, or he would have already been with them, as she knew that he had called them first. She imagined things weren't good with his father anymore, and his sister had kids on the way, who she wouldn't want to expose to his temperament. If she abandoned him, he would likely become another statistic, a victim of his own mind, and the hand of his own downfall. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>It's not my problem that you fucked yourself up,</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she thought angrily, before reconsidering again, disappointed with herself. With all the training she had received, she figured she would be prepared to handle this kind of problem, and yet she couldn't separate herself from him emotionally, not enough to take care of him correctly. If she had been able to, this would have never happened, and he wouldn't be missing the very next day after being home. She was kicking her own ass, crying gently as his words from the night before came rolling back to her. He blamed her, considered her partially responsible for him leaving somehow, and now she had validated his unbelievable thoughts by doing something wrong, now. Something had happened that really was her fault, and the pressure hurt her chest in the same place it always did. She was surprised she hadn't fallen over into a heart attack by this time, with how many times she had to clutch her chest in pain. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Ryder was at the door in a flash, barking, as Phera heard a knock on the door. Her heart felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest, as she slowly forced herself to go to the door. She was hoping desperately that it wasn't a police officer, or god knows what else. Her thoughts were mildly irrational at this point, and she wasn't sure what to expect. After sending the dog to lay down in the corner, she took a deep breath, and wiping her tears away, she swung the door open. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Immediately, she realized it was Jackson, and the worry that was forming terrible lines of stress on her face broke quickly. She surely looked horrible, having just been crying. Within an instant, her incredible duress was replaced with wrath. She grabbed his forearm tightly and pulled him into the apartment, letting go once he was inside, and slamming the door behind him. She was furious, by the look on her face, but she said absolutely nothing. In fact, she hadn't yet looked in his direction, as she had disappeared into the kitchen. Her apartment still a wreck from the night before; an empty bottle of liquor laying out, the picture frame and pictures still strewn about with their cruel message, and her phone on the table, flashing that it would die shortly. There were some clothes on the floor, an open phone book on the side table by the recliner, and various other instruments from the morning haphazardly located. She had returned from the kitchen, still not having said anything, a glass of whisky in her hand. She threw herself into the recliner, and flipped the light on, staring holes directly at Jackson from across the room as she sipped carefully, obviously considering her words. After a few moments of select silence, she came out with, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I cannot fucking believe you did that.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She paused, shook her head, and took a large swallow before continuing, this time sounding less angry, and more heartbroken. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I hope you have something good to say for yourself, for fuck's sake, Jackson."</b></span> </span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">It had occurred to him that Phera might have gone looking for him, assuming she was just as stubborn and persistent as she had been years ago. She could very well be miles away, searching for him in the midst of the city he had once known so well, frantically looking for his face in the crowd as the minutes rolled by. Jackson paced around the front door, waiting patiently as he possibly could. After experiencing the anxiety he had felt moment prior to Phera opening the door, it got him thinking. How much more worried was she about the whole situation? Certainly, she must be going out of her mind trying to think of where he might have gone.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Just as a startling siren began to wail, presumably one that belonged to an ambulance or firetruck, the door unsealed suddenly. Jackson looked to find that, indeed, Phera had been home and opened the door. A cross between rage and fury was sported on her rueful face, which quickly manifested into her yanking him, by the arm, inside the apartment and slammed the door behind them. Though she was very openly fuming, he couldn’t find the energy nor the strength to return the offset emotions, and instead felt a vague sense of reservation from the whole situation at hand. Despite what had happened, Jackson couldn’t help but to feel slightly confused.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
What had she expected him to do? Curl up and cry on the floor like she had done? Truth be told, he felt no remorse or regret for his course of actions. Not even day living in the normal world, and Jackson already felt disoriented and completely lost. He had long since forgotten the rush of the city, the constant movement that didn’t halt for anyone. Within the time frame he had been out in the city, Jackson only felt more overwhelmed with the possible dangers lying within. All the cars, dogs and people felt threateningly close to him. The buildings felt restraining, as if it created a confined space in which he had nowhere to run. Never before had he hated the city as much as he did within that never ending hour.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera didn’t speak to him right away. Whether it had been intentional or not, it created tension in the air, of which he didn’t really pay attention to, given with the rapid thoughts crossing in and out of his mind. After she had disappeared, Jackson took a seat beside where had he left his duffle bag the night before. The contents inside were messy and in a cluttered fashion; bad habits such as untidily organizing had been pounded out of him during basic training. His hands practically twitched at the sight, and he felt a blurred sense of irk tremble inside, recalling all the memories in which his drill sergeant had shrieked directly at him for not properly folding his uniform.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
While she had been in the kitchen doing whatever she was doing, Jackson quickly reorganized the inside of his duffle bag by refolding all the clothing he had rummaged through the previous night. In a way, it released some of the frustrated feelings he had left, and then he was left feeling rather empty. Jackson didn’t mind it, for one thing. It gave him the excuse to be detached from the present, and instead focus on something less frightening and anxiety-inducing. He could think about whatever he wanted, really, but he kept thinking back to what Connor had asked him in the bar, just before he had passed out. The question echoed in his head, and sent shivers down his body as he sat still on the couch.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera’s words cut in and out, it seemed. Jackson glanced in her direction, with a somewhat confused and somewhat withdrawn expression sported. Only a few main words clung, but in the end didn’t contribute or matter. Jack could barely focus on her, between juggling the throbbing hang over, his anxiety with Ryder, and his spiraling thoughts. It wasn’t like he meant to, either. As much as he tried, it was simply impossible to focus on anything she said. Her lips were moving, but nothing seemed to travel out of them other than the occasional, seemingly random, word or two. It was almost frustrating, not knowing what she was saying.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Her facial expression was all he needed, however, to know what she was saying. She was pissed. No, scratch that. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Beyond </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">pissed. Furious and fuming to the point of her face being slightly red. Ryder seemed to be distressed by her state, but didn’t move from his current position on his bed, thankfully. Though he had tuned her out for most of her small speech, he caught on to the last few words, being ‘something good to say’. Jackson blankly stared at her, sighing jadedly. After a long moment or so, he dared to open his mouth and tell her the only thing he could think of.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Well, I don’t have anything good to say for myself, Phera,”</b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> he replied quietly.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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			<h5 class="userTitle message-userTitle" dir="auto" itemprop="jobTitle">❃ Flower Child ❃</h5>
			

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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Watching Jackson for any response, Pheralynne used her free hand to rub her eyes, pushing up into the crown of her hair and down through it, stopping at the ends of her curls to pull and twist them slightly, an anxious habit that manifested itself during nursing school. Anytime she was upset, it was likely she would be tugging on her hair, almost as if reminding herself to stay in the present, instead of disappearing inside her head, avoiding the world as it was. It was clear to her as she was speaking that he wasn't even paying complete attention to her, and she felt anger rising back up in her, again. It was astounding already how often he had made her angry, when she knew that it wasn't entirely his fault... With every moment that she began to feel angry, she would take another small sip from her glass, the tinkling of ice cubes sounding on the side, in an attempt to refocus her thoughts back to something neutral. She wasn't angry at the alcohol, after all. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As Jack stared at her, a blank expression on his face, she tried not to feed the pressure she felt to start talking. She knew that if she didn't keep her mouth shut, he would never say anything in the first place. Finally, a damaged sigh escaped him, and he admitted that he had nothing good to say for himself, which essentially was just another piece of bad news that she wanted not to hear. Sighing, as if in defeat, and holding the bridge of her nose, as if a headache was forming, she gazed into the glass in her hand, trying desperately to think of something to say, or to formulate what the hell to do. The stress of, what she now was certain was, a total stranger, living in her house with essentially no concern for himself or for her, was trying on her patience and emotional stability. She wanted to help him, more than anything, the depressing memories of their past together always at the back of her mind. On the other hand, she felt as if she was babysitting someone else's misbehaving child, and wanted immediately to kick him out and not look back. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Unfortunately, Phera realized that she had no plan, whatsoever. PTSD as she could recall, was something that would take intense amounts of time and patience to fix. In the condition they were both currently in, him with no attention span, and her, no patience, it was going to be trying times. She knew somewhere that he was having trouble focusing on her, and remembered suddenly that an easy way to communicate with someone who couldn't focus was to write to them! If they could reread the writing multiple times at their leisure, it would help ensure that the message was correctly conveyed. That was, so far, the best idea that she had. Really, sadly, it was the only idea she had, but she hoped and prayed it would do her some good. Something had to work, or they were both going to lose their minds. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Throwing her head back and finishing her drink, she set the empty cup of ice on the floor, and grabbed a notebook swiftly from the bookshelf to the side of her recliner. Within another few seconds, she had a black pen, and was scribbling furiously onto it. It was the beginning of what would be a letter to Jack, which she hoped would reach him better than her words, which were doing neither of them any good. The more she talked without her message being received, the worse she felt about talking, and she knew it meant worse for what he would think of her talking. It caused her immense grief, thinking back to the times that they would do nothing but talk to each other, eager to learn more and more, no matter how much they already knew. As she wrote, many memories flooded her, and again, for what seemed like the millionth time, small tears were rolling off of her face. It was disgusting to her how much time she had spent crying, as in the years past she had not been able to cry about much of anything. The only other thing that caused her to cry was her father's most recent diagnosis, which of course was not good. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
In moments, she was done writing, capping the pen and folding up the paper carefully in half, as she stood up out of the recliner. She grabbed the notepad, and dropped all three items on the table in front of Jack, next to all the unframed pictures. Her letter was almost the whole page, which seemed long, but she knew that he could read better than he could listen. Aside from being long, her letter would seek to be heartbreaking, and explanatory, and beg for a response that would help them both.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
~~~</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Dearest Jackson, </i></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><i><br>
Firstly, let me apologize. I know I have been harsh, and I am sorry. I know that how you are right now is not entirely your fault. I'm sure you are aware that I studied hard in nursing school, and did well for myself, which led me to believe that I could handle anything I had been taught. I'm finding out the hard way that things personally affecting me are not quite so simple as the textbook made it seem. More than anything, I want to help you, because my heart hurts for the times we shared together, before your deployment. I don't hold out any hope that things will go back to normal, I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but know that my sentiments towards you, because of that past history, remain the same. I will always have a tender place in my heart for you, regardless of the outcome of our situation. </i></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><i><br>
I don't want to bombard you, but there are so many things that I need to know from you, that I know I can't ask openly. I see that you're having a hard time focusing on speech, and so regrettably, this was the only good way I felt I had to reach out to you, in a way that would prevent more yelling, and mistakes like last night. (Please, for the love of God, don't leave the house without a phone. I was worried fucking sick, you could have died for all I knew.) That's irrelevant. I don't write this to upset you, although I know we are both already upset. Mostly, I just need solid answers. Do you have any plans, for yourself? Do you want to go back to school, or work? Will you be moving out as soon as you are able? Where will you go? Have you thought about any therapy, or a service dog? What can I do to help make this easier, for both of us? </i></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><i><br>
Again, I don't mean this to be upsetting to you. I'm not being nosy for the sake, more for concern. Please, write me back. I know you won't talk with me openly, so for anything, please write. Give me something to go from, because I'm having a very hard time reaching out to a man I thought of with love, </i></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><i><br>
when he isn't really there anymore."</i></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
~~~</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She knew it would take him a few minutes to figure out what she had dropped in front of him, and without further ado, she left the room again, to the kitchen. This time, upon returning, she had the entire bottle of whisky in her hand, and passed through the living room without even looking at him, closing the door to her room and locking it. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Ryder had looked up in confusion as he watched her disappear behind a closed door, and within seconds of her not coming back, he was standing up and inching closer to the door, whining pitifully. It was obvious that Phera had no intention of opening the door back up, as she had locked it, and quiet sobbing was escaping from behind it. The dog waited for what seemed like ten minutes or more, before he gave up, looking absolutely heartbroken himself, and began to retreat to his bed. The furry boy didn't make it all the way there, though, as he stopped by the arm of the couch, sniffing around the coffee table. In another instant, his face was on the table, and he had picked up the note she had dropped, in his mouth, carrying it over to his bed quickly and laying down with it, as if to beg Jackson to get it from him. </span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">More than a few moments went by in silence, of which Jackson found to be incredibly tense and upsetting for both parties. Even Ryder seemed distressed by the situation, and took it upon himself to whimper softly while lying in his dog-sized bed. The whole situation had gotten out of hand, and spiraled into something so much deeper and painful, especially for Phera. It wasn’t as if Jackson didn’t feel anything, of course, but he just couldn’t find the strength needed to express it, or let alone talk about it. Expressing anything emotional was, in his own view, a sign of a flawed weakness and fragility. The thought of telling her what he had been </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feeling </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">seemed simply out of reach, and would leave him feeling raw and vulnerable to b attacked, like everything else in his life prior to his tour.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
In high school, life had been simply luxurious. Of course, back then, they hadn’t viewed it that way. No one did until it was gone. With college, jobs and bills, people often reflected back on high school life with a laugh. Jackson looked back at high school was a longing sense of desire. In that moment, he would have given </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>anything </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to go back. Even if it was just for one day, one hour, or one minute, Jack would have enjoyed it just the same. Way back then, he didn’t need to constantly live in paranoia and anxiety. He didn’t need to scope the room twice before going to bed. He didn’t need to worry about whether or not he’d cross paths with people or dogs while strolling down the sidewalk into the city. Now he does.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera, seeming to have found some sort of revelation while thinking alone, stood up and swiftly searched for a few items, of which he later found it consisted of a pen, and some notebook from the bookshelf. For a long while, he watched distantly in slight confusion as to what she was doing. She was scribbling something long and quite extensive, but Jackson couldn’t figure out how it related to anything that has happened within the past day. Was she sending him away to someone she knew to stay with? Or was she writing something to his father or sister? What was she doing? Why here and why now? Feeling slightly overwhelmed with the questions bubbling and surfacing, he eventually stopped struggling to understand Phera until she finished.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Without explaining or even speaking to him, she walked out of the room, entered her own bedroom, and locked the door behind her before either Jackson or Ryder could do anything. Feeling somewhat speechless and still confused, he leaned over towards the coffee table to inspect whatever it was that had taken a while for her to compose, but was stopped short when Ryder popped up from underneath the coffee table, swiped the note or whatever it was, and climbed back into his bed. Jackson stared in silence, feeling his heart hammer unevenly inside his chest as anxiety coursed through him. Clenching his jaw, he stood up on his feet, and sighed.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
There was only one way he was getting the piece of paper from Ryder. Nervously approaching the dog, Jackson winced in slight fear as he came closer, and eventually he stood directly in front of the dog’s bed. Ryder didn’t move for a long while, and seemed to be rather enjoying holding onto the piece of paper. Drool and saliva made the paper damp, and Ryder stared up at Jackson as he panted softly, whimpering as he did so. Fear churned his stomach, but he pushed past it to the best of his ability, and reached his hand out in a cautious manner, and nearly grasped the tip of the paper when Ryder decided to leap off of the couch. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Dammit, Ryder,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson whispered, watching as the dog ran in excited circles around the coffee table.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Ryder eventually dropped the letter after giving Jackson a gentle nibble on his finger, of which terrified him, and ran back to his doggy bed. Feeling somewhat relieved and somewhat distressed, he finally sat down on the couch, rested his arm on top of his duffle bag, and began reading the letter. For one thing, her apology took him off guard. Just twenty minutes ago, she had been seething with anger and irritation, but now she wants to apologize? While it briefly confused him, he decided to put aside his own emotions and read the letter in silence. It took a bit for him to read the whole letter, as he had to go back and reread every sentence he read, but he ultimately read through the entire letter, and was feeling more empty than he had before.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Grabbing the black pen, he began writing a letter himself.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
-----</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Phera,</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>You wanted solid answers. Well, I guess I’ll just be honest then. I don’t know how else to admit this, but I have no idea what I’m going to do. Going back to school doesn’t seem like a good option, seeing as I’m already broke enough. It seems like working is my only suitable choice. While I had been at the bar on 31st Avenue, I saw a poster announcing they were hiring bartenders, so I guess that solves that issue.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I think you and I both know there’s no way in hell I’m going to a therapist; dogs are out of the question. </i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I’m sorry, Phera, but I don’t think that can help me. </i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Hell, I don’t even know if anything or anyone can. </i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>As for me moving out, I do not know. Maybe I will, eventually. Maybe I won’t.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I guess that’s up to you, whether you want me to stay or not.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>─Jackson</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
-----</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Once satisfied with the final product, Jackson folded the piece of paper into a neat half, and rose up onto his feet. Almost hesitantly, he approached her bedroom entrance and crouched down to the crack underneath the door. With trembling hands, he hoisted the letter through the crack, and then walked back to the couch. Ryder stared at him, and looked as though he wanted to approach Jackson, but in the end seemed to change his mind and stayed put as Jack laid down on the couch, but a baseball cap over his face, and let his body go limp.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<br>
<br>
<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> It could have been a long time, for all Pheralynne knew, as she heard the sound of gentle footsteps near her door. She had been drinking after all, and it frequently caused her to lose track of time. As she pushed herself to sit up in bed, where she had been lamenting for some time, she glanced around, and spotted a small half paper on the floor by her door, as if it had been pushed under the crack between the frame and the floor. Surprise raced through her mind as she realized that Jackson must have actually written her back! "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Finally,</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she thought, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>I got somewhere."</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> She placed the half empty whisky bottle on the nightstand, and tried to stand quickly. Apparently, according to her body, she had stood too quickly, as she immediately became lightheaded, and fell directly over into the floor with a loud thud. Thankfully, she had landed within arms reach of the paper, which she snatched up by her fingertips, and brought to her face. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She unfolded the paper as gingerly as possible, skimming the handwriting carefully. That was something that was the same, that she noticed, was his handwriting. It appealed to her, because she recollected all the notes they had passed to each other in school, the vast majority of which she still had, hiding in the box in the closet. He had made it clear that his only remote plan was to bar tend, locally. She had reservations about that, as she wasn't certain that was a great idea, with his condition. Dealing with inebriated strangers was likely to give him more problems than it solved, and she already, regardless of how tipsy she was, wanted to write him back, knowing that he would at least respond to that. She forced herself up off the floor, crawling around to the various things she needed, such as her clothes, which she had removed earlier to be more comfortable as she lay in her sorrow. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As she was dressed, she checked herself carefully in the mirror, holding the dresser in front of her gingerly for balance. She looked terrible, to herself, but she was used to seeing herself in better condition, obviously. It was horribly obvious that she was trying to drown her sadness in alcohol, although she wasn't drunk anymore really, merely tipsy and sad. Mostly her physical body was responding badly, probably complicating the alcohol from the lack of sleep. She rubbed her face, pulling herself together with strength. It was taking her more and more resolve every time she saw him to try and be fine, and she felt as though with every moment she spent watching him, she was unfortunately detaching herself from the situation more. So far, she had spent all her time being everything but fine, and she knew she had to calm down if she wanted to help him, based on the content of his letter. He didn't want therapy, he didn't want a dog, and he didn't want to talk. It was immensely frustrating to her, the unfortunate circumstances they were in, because the patience she needed for him was waning away with all her disappointment. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera sucked herself away from the mirror, forcing herself to deal with the reality at hand. It was this middle of the day, she was tipsy as hell, and exhausted beyond belief. She had spent most of the day freaking out, just as she had yesterday, and the damage was beginning to show on her fair features. She made her legs move, step by step, until she reached the door. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked and opened the door, immediately greeted by an ecstatic Ryder, who had been missing her for quite some time. A loving face finally reached her, as she cuddled the dog sweetly, essentially having bent down to hug him. Done with the puppy, as she had other things on her mind, she shuffled out quietly the kitchen, the whisky bottle with her. She rummaged around in the kitchen, placing bottles back where they belonged, and setting the coffee pot to brew, before coming back out, and slumping down next to the coffee table. She re-positioned the notepad away from Jackson, and the couch, to face her, and began writing again, this time relatively calmly. In this instance, she was done writing relatively quickly, a short note present on the paper. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>I don't know if bar tending is a great idea... Don't pressure yourself to find work too quickly, I don't expect your help with the bills, as I don't really need it. You know my parents... Whether I want you to stay or not? Of course I do. I know you don't really have anywhere else to go, and I don't want to make myself feel worse than I already do by making things harder on you than they already are. Just try and remember that you aren't the only person with a lot on their plate." </i></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Instead of making a dramatic ordeal out of their communication issue, as she had prior, she simply sighed and turned the notepad back to face him, and leaned backwards, sprawling out on the floor. It was obvious that she was waiting for him to simply write underneath of where she had just written, although there seemed to be much less pressure pent up, as she laid there calmly, tracing patterns into the floor. Her hair was splayed around her, a curly mess that she as always, had her hands in again. Ryder had found her quickly, now laying down by her again, letting her throw her arms over and around him, comfortable silence having overtaken the room. </span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">For once, no twisted dreams awaited Jackson when sleep claimed him. It had been nearly blissful, and surprisingly reenergizing, to not jump awake with a cold sweat breaking out over him. Quite sadly and somewhat pathetically, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been able to sleep in peace, and without any dreams at all. The first thought he had when he opened his eyes, was concerned with the whereabouts of Ryder. It certainly didn’t appeal to Jackson, knowing Ryder could be unpredictable when Phera wasn’t around, that the dog could very well by within close proximity. The thought of Ryder approaching him again made Jackson uneasy, and eventually caused him to sit upright with a slight grimace worn by him.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Shortly after catching a glimpse of Ryder, Jackson could release a long breath he hadn’t noticed he had been holding, and slowly laid back down on the couch. Once sure the dog wouldn’t move out of his place, Jackson reached over and set his baseball cap on the top flap of his duffle bag, all the while trying to shake the drowsiness that quickly settled in. Without moving or bothering looking for Phera, he looked up at the ceiling and began allowing for his thoughts to run loose and freely like he normally did when he had nothing better to do. Eventually, his mind trailed to the dreaded topic of what he would do with his life. If he were being honest, he had not a clue of what he wanted to do. After everything he’s been through, he hasn’t once even thought about the matter.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Before he had enlisted, Jackson had felt the desire and the need to please his father’s wishes, and attend college for the first time in the family’s known history. But shortly upon researching the costs and tuition of college, he opted out the choice of going to college and instead looked at alternatives. He had one of few options, or rather, he had thought so at the time. He could spend the rest of his life working a humble farmer like his father, or he could make something of himself more useful to the world, and come back home to make his father proud. Had he known enlisting would only push his father away from him, as well as everyone else in his life, Jackson would have never followed through and would have settled down by following the footsteps of his father. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
But Jackson did. He enlisted, was shipped off to Iraq, and now there’s no going back. He will have to live with it until he breathes his last breath, as much as he doesn’t want to nor care to admit.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It had been years since, but he remembered vividly the day he had enlisted after talking to a recruiter. The whole ordeal had felt as though he’d been rushed, and he deeply questioned his course of actions on more than one occasion. Looking back on the memory, Jackson decided he would never do what he had done that day. Seemingly, when he rushed, things got wrecked. When he rushed, everything screwed up in the end and he would eventually be left with a stomach full of regret and remorse, lying awake at night wishing he could take back his actions. So, after rereading her small note at least three times, he determined it would be best if he took precautions as to not follow his same mistakes. This time, he wouldn’t rush, and instead he would take his sweet time to figure things out before anything gets out of hand and ends up being another irreversible wreck.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson let out a heavy sigh, and reached for the pen that rested on top of the coffee table. He grabbed the notebook, and began writing.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
--------</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Phera,</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Maybe you’re right. I should slow down, and really think about what I’m going to do. I guess you already know what happened when I rushed and dashed my way into something I had no idea I was getting in for. As of now, I will be taking a bit to slow down and try to figure out what I’m going to do with my life, now that I’m back home. While I may not know where I’m going or how soon, I know whatever I choose to do, it will be taken under careful consideration.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>─Jackson</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
-------</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Once finished, Jackson carefully reread his note over and over before he was certain the note was appropriate and straight to the point. Phera, having been sitting in the recliner across him, seemed to wear a calm expression, as she had the previous day when he had snapped. Her persona of tranquility made him uneasy, though he did not find reason as to why. Certainly, she had just had a really bad day, and he hadn’t been of much help when he didn’t return home. Or did she? Maybe she just doesn’t know how to deal with him, like she had thought? That’s what it had said in her letter, anyway. Jackson felt a bit conflicted, not sure if he could completely have confidence in her when things got bad, like they had just last night before he had run off. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Somewhat edgy and uneasy, he set the notebook down on the coffee table and proceeded to stand up to walk off the anxiety. Ryder, quite thankfully, didn’t really seem to notice his movement as he strolled into the kitchen to fetch himself another glass of water. The kitchen was illuminated by the afternoon sun, of which caused him to squint and grimace. Jackson regretted the previous night; not because it made Phera upset, but rather because he was having one hell of a hangover and now he was bearing the consequences. While leisurely drinking the cool water, Jack stared out of the kitchen window, watching in silence as a small blue bird flew away.</span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> It had been a few minutes of peace and quiet, as Pheralynne watched Jackson write, trying her best not to stare in amazement. He seemed intently focused for once, as he had always been throughout school with her, as she could recall. Although she was terribly disappointed in the state of things, every memory of them together leaving her feeling empty, she was now also overjoyed, privately in her head of course, that she had finally gotten through to him somehow. From his previous short, one sentence answers and bursts of anger at their inability to communicate, he had made it all the way to small paragraphs at a time now, even if it was of writing, in a peaceful, quiet environment. Even if it was only the absolute smallest step they could have taken, she was acknowledging it as such anyways, an important step, as it gave her a resolute amount of peace and allowed her to have hope that not all was completely lost, even if it had seemed that way in the beginning. She had been feeling intensely overwhelmed by the situation, feelings as lost as he, in a sea of insecurity, not sure what to expect, let alone what to do. Here she was merely hours later with a small breakthrough. It seemed now, as life had a way of making people believe, that something had already sprouted there in the ashes of what used to be. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera came back to reality, and knew that Jack was anxious, probably of her mood shifts, and pained; it was clearly written all over his face as he got up and walked around, presumably trying to make himself feel better, although thankfully he at least looked more rested. She heard the sink, and presumed he was getting some water, immediately wondering if he would need any pain medication. She was feeling plenty better from the alcohol she had earlier, even if it was wearing off by then. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She then thought carefully on if it would be appropriate to reengage conversation, carefully, which she inevitably decided against, surprisingly. Why would she go back to what was not working, even if it was what she was used to? It was important to her now to make sure she kept a good thing going, as it was the only good thing she had gotten thus far. Something was always better than nothing, to her. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She stood, made her way to the coffee table, and read the note she had watched him write. It was blank of any emotion, as she had expected, but it did allow her the comfort of knowing he wasn't going to start running around immediately. Hopefully she could believe that he would stay home, and stay out of trouble. She figured he would need time to try and acclimate himself to life again, and she knew that if she was persistent with him, there for the whole process, things did have a chance of being alright again, even if they wouldn't be the way she wished they would be. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Everyone longed for the things of the past, sometimes, but her ability to overcome that longing would determine their future. Thinking on it carefully, as Jack was standing quietly in the kitchen, she contemplated ways to expand on what progress she had made. What else could she do? It was a matter of seconds, as she scrawled another note on the paper, underneath of his last words. The page was beginning to hold a conversation, essentially their first "normal" conversation, regardless of how not normal it was to be writing. This too though, brought her reminders of the past, as she thought back to all the notes they had passed back and forth to each other in school, though she hadn't time to worry about that, really. It was time to contain herself for the sake of them both. He hadn't the self control to be strong for them both, but she did.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
--- </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>I'm glad you're not in any hurry, you don't need to be. If you need something, let me know please? Anything you want to do now that you're home by the way?</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
--- </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
With the notepad in her hand, the pen clipped to the top, she moved into the kitchen. Seeing him standing there in her apartment, the sun gleaming in from the windows, she noticed how much he did still look the same, as handsome as he ever was, regardless of the damage, which ultimately made her feel what she thought must be burning desire, in the pit of her stomach. It was uncomfortable for her, but he would never know that as she walked over and handed him the notepad sheepishly, hiding the blush of her face caused by all the thoughts of them from the past. When he had it in his hands, she had moved on quickly to rummaging through a cabinet, where she procured a bottle of advil, which she held up with a curious expression, as if to ask if he was in need of it. She figured if his night was anything like hers, which it had appeared to be as he had mentioned a bar, that he would need something to take, just as she did, and she placed it on the counter gently. As she peered around, she noticed the coffee was done as well, and without thinking, poured one plain and then did hers, scooting the coffee that was intended for Jack over towards the advil bottle, and posting up against the counter, intending to merely stand in the room with him. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Back in the long gone days of high school, the two had notoriously been known to constantly and frequently pass notes back and forth in class, of which most teachers highly disapproved and dished out punishments as a consequence. Nonetheless of the long sentences of detention, the two continued to hold conversations via small pieces of paper, and eventually both of their parents caught on and threatened to ground them from seeing each other for a week. For a while, the notes ceased and they painfully went on in class with nothing to do other than focus on the subject at hand. It made Jack began to wonder, did she still have the notes from long ago, stuffed in that closet along with the rest of the sentiments? Knowing her, she probably did.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
In many ways, Jackson found it much easier to write rather than talk. For one, it made it easier to not get as frustrated or emotionally dysfunctional, as he had done just a night ago. On top of that, if his mind was having trouble focusing, he could simply go back and reread the note as many times as he needed, as well as at his own pace, and take the time needed to respond accordingly. Though, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was intentional, her coming up with the idea to communicate, at least for the time being, via writing when years ago, they had done so, and quite similarly, the only difference being the reason and motive for the notes and letters. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It was almost ironic, if he thought about it. Almost.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Though Phera had been in the living room almost the whole time, it hadn’t occurred to him that she had been writing a note. He had, simply, assumed she was finished ‘talking’ to him, and was doing her own thing with Ryder, or something, until she approached somewhat sheepishly towards him with the notepad in hand. Her cheeks appeared to be a light shade of pink, but he simply failed to notice and instead divided his attention towards the notepad instead. Once more, Jackson took quite some time to read the note, and ended up rereading the small note a total of two times, something of a record for him despite the relatively shortness of the sentences.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson leaned against the counter top, hesitantly grabbed a pen, and began scribbling down on the piece of paper, continuing the small line of conversation they had begun only a while ago. A intense expression of focus and absorption was worn by him as he slouched slightly, frowning every once and a while as he quickly erased a small segment of a sentence.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
----</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I’m fine, as of now. Well, thinking of it now, maybe would you want to head out of the apartment for a while? I don’t like being cooped up all day here. Anyways, where we go can be up to you, since you know this city better than I do.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
----</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Once he set the pen down, he neatly folded the paper in half, of which only made the crease more pronounced, and glanced at Phera with a uneasy expression as he walked forward, and slid the notepad over the counter to her. Wordlessly, she seemed to be offering a bottle of what appeared to be Advil. Though he took it into careful consideration, he eventually gave in and cautiously reached for the bottle, and popped two small pills into his mouth, of which he swallowed down with the coffee she scooted closer to him. Jackson looked around the kitchen, scoping out all the tiny details she probably skimmed on by, having seen them for quite some time within the two year span. Sipping on his coffee, he avoided her eye contact, and instead focused on the smooth counter. </span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> As she leaned against the counter in the sunlight, sipping coffee, Pheralynne came to the realization that a bit of her stress had already melted down, leaving her feeling much more collected and capable than she had felt the day prior. It was a disturbingly emotional reunion for the two of them, in the wrong manner of anger and confusion, but things were off on the right foot again already, it seemed. She watched Jackson closely as he wrote back to her, these notes becoming a consistent means of communication, his focus on their conversation now apparent, and undoubtedly pleasing to her. Again, the fluttering in her heart helped her to be hopeful, knowing full well that things had a good chance of being alright, as he folded up the paper to cover his words. Unfortunately, he still seemed pretty anxious to her, as he slid the notepad back to her across the counter top. As she unfolded the paper to read, she caught in her peripheral vision that he had at least taken two Advil from the bottle, and taken them, along with the coffee she had propositioned him with. It seemed although he was uneasy around her, he was willing to take her implied suggestions, regardless of his hesitancy. Having reread his note a few times, each time with more apparent shock, it finally sank in to her head what he had actually said to her. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Jack had just given Phera permission to take him somewhere, anywhere, out of the apartment, having confided in her that he felt cooped up. This was certainly a big step for him, having given her an emotional value, and trusting her to engage him in the outside world carefully. A genuine, wide smile had come over her features, and as she tapped the pen on the paper gently, the wheels could be seen turning behind her eyes. There were a lot of circumstances to consider before she whisked him out of the apartment on any given whim, to any old place. She didn't feel as though she was free to be as spontaneous as she remembered them being before, due to the anxiety she knew he would feel for the chaotic environments. He needed to go somewhere more relaxing, with less people to bother them. She also had realized sometime interim that this would be an incredible way to get him thinking about their history, and maybe help him to reconnect with her. He had to attach himself to someone, after all, and exposure to a place that he used to like would help accomplish that. There was a mostly abandoned park less than two miles down the street from her apartment, that she knew he would remember once they arrived. Quickly, she scrawled once more on the paper; "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>I know just the place. You'll love it." </i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">She scooted the paper back to him and before he could even start reading, she quickly scurried out of the room, disappearing directly over the couch and into her room.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It had been no more than two minutes when she returned with her curls tied up in a big black bow, and was changed into a matching, plain black, athletic outfit. Something about it seemed familiar, but she wasn't going to give him time to look, as she made a straight line back over the couch and into the closet, where she poked around in the cardboard box of their memories, until she had come up with a photo album. Thankfully, knowing Jackson still wasn't looking, she flipped to a page somewhere in the middle, and took out one picture, containing them both, and put it in the pocket of her pants. Not mentioning it, she climbed back out of the closet, and assuming he was ready to go as he was, gently took his upper arm near the elbow and led him with her, out of the apartment. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
For some reason, she had opted not to bring Ryder. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
They walked in quiet down the street, along the worn sidewalks, her fingers still gently wrapped into his skin. To her it was mildly comforting to have a physical grasp on him, things felt more solid. She watched everything rather carefully as she casually led him around obstacles and away from the dangers that were at hand, such as other people, or god forbid their pets. She hadn't said anything to him as they went, but she figured, as he walked by her seemingly alright, that she didn't necessarily need to. The sun was cascading down in waves, but there was no sense of it being too hot, a cool breeze coming into the city from the nearby beaches. They had only been walking for five to ten minutes, much less time than she knew he spent wandering around the night previous, before they arrived where she had intended for them to go. She turned the corner at an intersection about four blocks from where they had started, and a large archway came into view, with a dilapidated hanging sign reading "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>park</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." Of course, this place didn't appear to be much of anything, as plants were overgrown everywhere, but yet she waltzed them right in as if she had been there many times before. Off to one side of them was a large pond, which contained a family of ducks, and on the other side was a playground and picnic area that looked as if it had not been visited in a long time. She stopped them both in the walkway, gently letting go of his arm, and fished around in her pocket. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera pulled out the photograph that she had nabbed from the house before they left, and handed it to Jack, leaving him standing in the walkway and taking a seat on the bank of the pond, near the waters edge. The picture was taken by her dad, on one of the very few occasions that her parents had agreed to be anywhere with both her and Jack. They had all picnicked at that very park, and the two young lovebirds had been sitting waterside in each others arms for quite a while. Her father had seen them sitting, called out to them, and snapped the photo as they both looked back at him all smiles, a piece of a time that he wouldn't regret remembering. Considering all the lovely things he had said about his mother's philosophy on photography, she knew that this was a great way to remind him that not everything in the past was dead. Not his mother, and definitely not them either, if she could help it. She hoped in a symbolic way, like with their notes, that he would understand the meaning of her actions, and know that she didn't have the right words to tell him what she was thinking. She wanted him to understand, but she knew that she couldn't just come out and say it, as he probably wouldn't even be able to focus; She didn't want to leave him, in fact, she never had. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">For one thing, the pounding headache had faded somewhat by the time Phera rushed off to, presumably, get ready for the small outing into the city. While it made him uneasy knowing she held the decision of where they would go, he felt </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>slightly</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> secure knowing she would never bring him to a place she thought he wasn’t able to handle. Of course, many things could go terribly wrong on their small trip into the city, but Jackson decided to overlook them and instead look forward to the fact he got to get out of the apartment for a while, and explore and get to know the layout of the city a little more. In a way, he was going to relearn something that he had once known like the back of his hand.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Though the city seemed harmless enough to most, the constant bustling movement, blaring noise and overall compacted population didn’t exactly put him at ease. If anything, it made him all the more hesitant with the adventure and even made him reconsider before venturing into the unknown, Phera being his only guide and support. The only thing he could do, he knew, was trust in her good judgement, and hope nothing terribly wrong would happen. Maybe it would do him good to get fresh air─well, as fresh as it can get in the city─and </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>maybe</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> even would sooth his fear of the majority of people and dogs and the city. Just maybe, even if it was definitely a long shot.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Just before she had gone in to dress, Phera had handed him the piece of paper back with her neat and orderly response, seeming to be glowing with excitement like she had years ago. Jackson held the notepad carefully in his hands, and examined the small note in silence, occasionally glancing up to inspect Ryder. After thoroughly rereading it, he gently set the notepad down on the coffee table, and walked over to where his duffle bag laid on the couch. His worn baseball cap sat on top, of which was grabbed, and placed casually on his head, like he had done so years and years back in high school. It had been Tommy’s favorite cap, and while it may seem a bit silly, Jackson felt as though Tommy would have wanted him to wear it, for his sake.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Thankfully, Ryder hadn’t been taken along while Phera grabbed Jack’s arm, and proceeded to lead him out of the apartment, and into the vast unknown. Sunshine greeted them both, as well as a cool, refreshing breeze that blew gently against their skin, all the while Phera was smiling at him, guiding him in between the city structures on the tabby sidewalks. Not a cloud in sight, the warmth spread through his body, and made him relax a bit as people walked on by with no incident. Venders trotted carts of flowers, couples walked arm in arm while laughing, and screaming children ran ahead of apologetic parents. It had been a lot to take in and digest, but sooner or later the city noises became nothing more than background noise. All he could hear was Phera, and his heartbeat.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
After a few blocks of sightseeing and over all examining the layout of the part of the city they were in, Jackson followed Phera as she turned into an intersection, of which lead them further into the place she had wanted to take him. A large stone archway came into view, a sign hanging that read ‘park’ in neat lettering greeting them. Overgrown weeds and grass sprouted up from the ground, complete with the earthy musk that seemed to engulf the small park. An odd sense of familiarity overwhelmed him, and a memory came bustling in. The first week of him moving to Seattle, his mother had taken him and the two others to this very park. Flowers and grasshoppers had awaited them years then, followed by countless games of hide and seek, followed by bursts of laughter and crinkled smiles of their mom. Jackson looked around the park in detail, and released a long sigh.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The picnic had taken place here, too. Along with Phera, her parents accompanied though somewhat unwillingly, and they all ate on the trimmed grass, shared bad jokes and went through photographs the two lovebirds had taken at the state fair. The pond had been somewhat sentimental to them, given the time they had spent in it during the afternoons, working on homework or even studying together in the warmth of the sun. Even now, the pond glimmered with life, something his mother would have definitely wanted to capture with her camera. Jackson stared at the pond for a while, mostly in silence, and shifted his weight as she moved, placing something gently into his hands before she sat down on the old bench by the pond, watching as he examined the photograph carefully.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Abruptly and nearby, a wailing noise blared with high frequency. The alarm screeched and shrieked, slicing through the thin atmosphere of peace and quiet the park had offered as a shield from the city to both of them. Without interruption or cease, the alarm struck panic inside Jack as realization dawned him. Undoubtedly, the alarm emanated from a car, something of which he does not take fondly. Back in Iraq, cars had been used frequently, by local insurgents, as weapons to harm soldiers nearby. One instance had been a close call, and left him with a new sense of fear when car alarms went off; it was just one of many warnings of a possible bomb threat that had been taught throughout most of basic training.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Though it had been unintentional and lost in the moment, Jackson let go of the photograph that had been in his hands, and took a few cautious steps backwards, away from the direction of the car alarm. His eyes widened slightly, and his hands quivered, even as Phera seemed to take notice. A gnawing sense of fear made his stomach churn, made him want to run like hell and never look back.</span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> The worn, old bench on the bank of the pond's waters, was warm from the heavy sunlight, as Pheralynne sat peacefully, in total awe of her surroundings. The rundown condition of the park had not stopped nature from flourishing, as flora and fauna were abounding everywhere she had looked. Flowers were reaching for sunlight, small birds were fluttering to and fro, and even the family of ducks in the pond seemed to have grown in size. Knowingly, it had been a long time since she had been to this park for any reason, and she certainly hadn't only come here for Jackson's sake, as she had needed a relaxing outing from the closed feeling of the apartment as well. This park had a lot of sentiment to them both separately, as well as together, and so far as she could remember, only happy memories existed of it, making it a safe haven to them both. There had been countless times well spent here, playing, studying, and generally just escaping from the hum of the city, to indulge in peace, and the love of each other. Speaking of that, she turned to look at Jack, who was still analyzing the photo she had handed him. It had been a few long moments, as if he was trapped in thought, which inevitably, she decided not to interrupt, assuming that hopefully it was something good to remember. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It was incredibly sudden, as the loud, screeching cry of a car alarm began, cutting the sense of comfort in the park to nil. She had no immediate reaction to the sound, as of course she had been hearing car alarms for a long time, living in the city, and these things no longer phased her. Although the sound was irritating to her, she had given no other thought to it, until she happened to peer back again towards Jack. She caught a striking face of sheer terror on his features, even from the distance she was at, witnessing his wide-eyed look towards the direction of the sound. He was taking cautious steps backwards, and his shaking hands had gently dropped the picture, his body seemingly not registering the loss. She was quizzical for a moment, but in less than another second, it had clicked to her what the problem was, and a type of mild panic was now setting into her as well. A car alarm was a likely sound to send him into a panic attack, or worse, a flashback, and if she didn't do something immediately, it was likely he would blow up as he had the night prior. She had learned in nursing school that the only way to stop the inset panic and a loss of touch with reality was to immediately bring the attention of the patient back to the real, present time. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Within seconds, everything happening seemingly at top speed, yet somehow in slow motion, Phera had leaped over the back of the bench, like she did to the couch frequently, and in a few long strides, had made it over to Jack's side. She had thought ahead, knowing that the only way to "ground" a patient was through their personal sensory perceptions. What he could see, hear, touch, taste, and smell in the present, right around them, would keep him from losing his grip on reality and being susceptible to a flashback. With that in mind, she called his name in a musical and calming tone, still loudly enough to be considered confident and commanding, and be heard over the alarm sound easily and distinctly. She then grabbed one of his hands in both of hers, and spun him around, back towards her, to face away from the source of the jarring noise. Dropping her hands from his in an instant, one of her hands reached up and pinched his cheek gently, the other snagging his hat from the top of his head quickly. She knew that he was obsessed with that cap, as it had belonged to his brother, and that he would follow her immediately to get it back. With the hat in her hands and his attention seeming to be back on her, at least enough for him to realize what was happening and follow her, she sprinted away from him and the source of the sound, farther into the park. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Having made it quite a ways down the main path, the gravel turning into scattered dirt, and the sound of the alarm now incredibly distant, she finally slowed herself to a stop from her sprint, breathing heavily. As she looked back, a wide grin appeared on her face. It seemed that Jack had caught up with her, just as she innately knew he would somehow, and she waved his hat towards him, a white flag of sorts, for the official end of their run. She placed the hat back in his hands, and stood quietly with him in their now once again, peaceful surroundings. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I'm glad you stayed with me.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She mused, those being the first words she had actually spoken out loud to him since the morning, other than his name. It was refreshing that she was genuinely happy, and that a major crisis had been narrowly avoided by quick thinking. She could faintly hear as the car alarm sound stopped abruptly, still too distant now to be a concern, thankfully. Now that she thought about it though, they had been gone for long enough, as her stomach growled quietly. She tilted her head quizzically, asking "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Are you hungry? We should head back.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She felt it best to not bring up the facts of the matter, which were that she just led him on an intense run, a quick game of hat tag, through the park, to avoid something, well, unpleasant. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Instead of idly chatting about what had just taken place, Phera took Jack's arm in her hand again gently, and the two walked together. Her hand on him was meant to feel like an anchoring touch, something that would make him feel less isolated, since they were meandering in the open city, and since he had not directly objected to it thus far, she continued. Through the park, and down the sidewalks and streets, they strolled for some time, until her apartment was in the distance once more. It wad been slightly more exciting of a trip than she had anticipated, but regardless, she actually was feeling much better. The fresh air, the sudden exercise, and the calming walk back to the house with Jack had made a big difference in her attitude, though she had already been slowly gaining momentum back in her happiness regardless at the hopeful prospects of their note writing, earlier that day. As she pushed open the apartment door, she greeted Ryder, who was surprisingly calm, and made her way towards the kitchen. She walked casually past her phone, which was face down on the kitchen counter, to the fridge, where she perused the selections a moment before closing the doors, and looking around thoughtfully. She peeked her head out from around the corner of the kitchen, asking "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Chicken casserole, or breakfast dinner?"</b></span> </span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">For a moment, everything faded away. The city noise, the photograph, even Phera. All of it seemed to vanish subtly, even if Jackson was still standing in the park with his eyes open. Panic sent him to a whole different place mentally and emotionally, and often resulted in horrific flashbacks that induced stress, and even more panic and anxiety than he had started with. The whole thing was a spiral that would suck him in, and leave him feeling afraid and vulnerable, only to start over and </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>over</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, slowly degrading his perception of reality until he felt completely detached. If anything, it proved flashbacks were like leeches; they sucked the life out of him, and left him feeling… </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>sick</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Sick, alone, emotionally unstable. Everything he had been the night before were simply the doings of the flashbacks that seemed to only get worse as the days progressed.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Then Phera’s voice reached him. Almost playfully, she called out his name, much like that of a child teasing another in a game of hide and seek, tauntingly. It was enough, and kept the flashback out of reach, for the moment. Jackson slowly regained his senses, and blinked as Phera approached him swiftly, and without warning, grabbed both of his hands in her own soft ones, and spun him around to face her. Slightly startled and bewildered as to what she was trying to accomplish, Jackson quizzically stared at her as she reached up, and gently pinched his right cheek. While he had been distracted, she lunged for his cap that had been resting safely on his head, and dashed away, further and further into the park wordlessly.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The blares of the alarm now in the back of his mind, Jack pursued Phera without much thought, running as fast as his body would allow for. Damp dirt flied behind them, and birds scattered away from the path as they raced through the scenery, the wailing noise now but a distant beckoning, wanting to be heard above Phera’s laughter and heavy breathing and the sounds of their footsteps. The only thought on his mind being Tommy’s hat, he pushed himself to catch up to Phera, but before he had been able to reach her, she stopped abruptly, and with a grin worn on her face, waved the hat around as if in surrender. Though he did not return the pleased grin of hers, Jackson grabbed Tommy’s hat with a relieved expression. Other than a few photographs, the cap was the only thing he could physically hold and touch that reminded him of Tommy.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Just as abruptly as the alarm started, it ended. While it was relief to Jack, it also made him want to avoid any contact with cars on the way back, if at all possible. Phera was smiling, however, and seemed as if the small incident had never even occurred just minutes ago. The leaves of nearby trees rustled gently, swaying with the movement of the wind, and brought the cool ocean smell he had once known well and loved. While he had always been slightly hesitant of open waters, many fond childhood memories with Tommy took place in the ocean that surrounded Seattle. A few scattered butterflies flew about, stopping now and then to land on the vibrant flowers that seemed to have taken over the park’s foliage. The park, once again, held an atmosphere of peaceful quietness, and soothed his pounding heart as he leaned down to pick up the photo he’d dropped.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A few tourists glanced at the two as they crossed paths, some gazes lingering longer than others. Again, Jackson was reminded he needed to, eventually and hopefully soon, go shopping for some new clothing; the uniform (though he had plenty of plain white t-shirts) was too eye catching to wear in the public, and frankly he hated the attention. Phera continued to hold on to his forearm, but he didn’t seem to really pay attention while he spent most of the walk looking and inspecting the large buildings that enclosed on them. It was strange, seeing buildings going as far as over ten stories high, after coming from a place in which it was rare to see structures that only reach two stories. On top of that, the buildings here had a lot more windows, and therefore more places for people to have a vantage point. The buildings made him feel impossibly small, and impossibly vulnerable.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Though the walk was a short ten minutes, it could have been longer for all he knew. The busy afternoon traffic distracted him for a long stretch of time, and left him feeling slightly unfocused for the remainder of the journey. Phera’s soft hand kept him aware of his surroundings, however, and he found himself more and more grateful she had been with him the entire time. Had she chosen not to let him out, he would have been back in the apartment, alone with his thoughts and distraught in the presence of Ryder. If anything, the trip to the park seemed to have pleased both parties; she was smiling like she had won the lottery, and maybe she had, in her own way. After all, she had managed to get him out into the city, and willingly. Even if he didn’t acknowledge it, it was a huge step.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
After rounding the last intersection, they caught view of the apartment complex, towering over them by a good forty feet or so. Much to his relief, Phera lived on the very first floor, and was relatively close to the exits of the building, in case an emergency took place. First rule of clearing buildings, taught by the basic training sergeants; always keep escape routes in mind </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>and</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> in view. If routes of escape were forgotten, it held the potential to risk lives of the squad. It became a habit, more than anything, and more often than not held his attention when entering a new area. By now, though, he knew the layout of the apartment complex well enough to devise a route if it should be needed. Phera reached towards the front door with a gentle push, and after allowing him in first, shut the door with as much care as she had when opening.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Ryder held a calm aura, much to Jackson’s relief, and seemed to be lacking of energy as he greeted Phera. The dog seemed to peek at him occasionally, and looked as though he was considering whether or not to approach the man. In the end, he decided against so, and instead lurked around the apartment as Phera entered the kitchen wordlessly. She seemed happy enough, so Jackson wasn’t too concerned by her disappearance, and instead made his way to his duffle bag, in which he set down the baseball cap and unlaced his boots with a small sigh. With brief consideration, he answered with breakfast for dinner, something he had always enjoyed throughout his childhood. Though it had been of his mother’s idea, as she had started the trend in the family by preparing pancakes for dinner.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Shortly upon passing through the kitchen to fetch his glass of water, Jackson caught sight of a phone lying on the countertop, buzzing silently, rumbling against the smooth surface. Curiosity piqued, he hesitantly reached for the device, and flipped it over to inspect it. After quickly scanning an overview of who had called and texted her, he quietly set the phone back down, and walked away wordlessly, feeling irritated. Why the hell was his</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>sister </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">texting her? Was this all some sort of plan, between the two girls? Had his sister set Phera up to do this, to keep an eye on him, or something? Jackson wrung his hands into his lap, sat silently on the couch, now in the living room, as he kept glancing at Phera skeptically as she cheerfully cooked.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> With her head poking out curiously, from around the corner of the open doorway to the kitchen, Pheralynne registered and nodded. Jackson had just answered her query about eating, softly and almost immediately, responding that his preference of food, between the two options she had provided, was breakfast. As she pushed herself away from the wood frame and back into the kitchen, the light from outside dimming as the peak of the day was passing, she recalled the many stories and memories associated with having morning foods well into the evening hours. Not only had Phera heard countless tales of Jack's sweet mother making breakfast dinner when he was a child, before she had passed, but she could personally remember many dates consisting thereof, that he and she had indulged in during high school, at the local places that were up late. It seemed that some things in the world never changed, which in this instance, she was thankful for. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
A wistful smile held her features as she rummaged around the kitchen cabinets and pantry, gathering the few materials she would need to make them their decisive meal, which she had settled on now as a full menu of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She had only picked the flapjacks as the priority of the meal because she knew the sentimental value; breakfast dinner was a time honored tradition, started with none other than, yes, pancakes! Though the two had sometimes opted for waffles, it seemed that flat waffles always ended up coming back with the win, still remaining the favorite. Quickly, Phera had whisked up a bowl of batter, and readied multiple pans on the stove, waiting now as they got hot enough to really cook with. She had moved herself across the kitchen, standing in front of the coffee pot, preparing it to brew yet another pot of the caffeinated beverage. She hadn't taken notice of Jack, lost entirely in her breakfast endeavor, as he had crossed the floor space behind her to retrieve a glass of water for himself. Assuming that he was well and fine, she returned to the stove without mind, not witnessing as he peeked at her phone.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
In fact, Phera had given no thought to her phone, as she was fluttering about the kitchen distractedly. Glancing through the doorway as she passed, she noticed that Jack was sitting anxiously in the living room. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Jackson, come here please, there's dinner.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She had called him a few moments early, as comfortably as usual, mostly just acknowledging that she didn't want him out there on the couch by himself, while she bounced around peacefully in another room. Within another few seconds, the kitchen table had been transformed into a hub of all things of the A.M. hours; there were places set for the two of them, with corresponding cups of coffee placed nearby, his black and hers fixed up as usual. There was a carton of orange juice and a small jug water at the ready, a plate with eggs, a platter of bacon, and now, as she walked back to the table with it, another plate full of fluffy, golden pancakes, which she set down next to butter and syrup. She took her seat, waiting also for him to sit before she started serving herself food. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Help yourself, and let me know if you need anything else.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She felt it best to offer her help in small sentences.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It was many moments like that, as the two of them wolfed down breakfast, side by side, in the waning light of the late day. Neither of them had said much, which wasn't surprising considering the obvious circumstances, and also the quality of the food, which would be great. One of the many ways that Phera had avoided making friends in college was by restricting herself from eating out. She had instead opted for frequent grocery shopping, learning the ins and outs of many different, natural ingredients, and teaching herself to cook, with impressive success. It turned out that she was great at a lot of things, once she set her mind to them, though she was frequently hesitant to try new things. Here she was though, flying through another new thing with relative success, as she looked over at Jack. She surmised that they were both done eating, and she then began clearing dishes from the table, saving the leftovers in containers, which she placed in the fridge. Once the table was cleared and cleaned, she leaned up against the counter, relaxing as her food settled. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As Phera was standing there against the counter, the calm atmosphere of full stomachs and the smell of warm syrup floating throughout the area, she glanced over her shoulder and spotted her phone, which again, honestly hadn't crossed her mind in many hours. As soon as it was in her hands and her eyes connected with the screen, her face showed her incredibly shocked expression openly, and yanking it from the charger, it was already up to her ear to return a call. Apparently, as she had now seen, Jack's sister Ellie had called at least ten times, and had left her a bunch of messages, which she took the time to check none of before calling back. Whatever it was, she knew it must have certainly been important for that kind of behavior, and her muscles tensed as she realized it could be trouble with her pregnancy, or even Jack's father. She desperately hoped she wouldn't have to hear or deliver bad news, already, as she paced quietly around the room, waiting for a voice on the other end. As seconds ticked by, she began to worry that it was a real emergency, when suddenly, a frantic voice came on the line, and as quickly as the call had started, it was already over, as she hurriedly responded, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>God, I'm on the way right now. I'll be there.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She threw herself out of the kitchen, but suddenly skidded to a halt, grabbing the doorway to stop herself and turning back around. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Jackson, Ellie is in labor, and Eric is out of town. She's freaking out, and needs me at the hospital pronto. I don't want to leave you here with Ryder all night, because I don't know how long this is going to be, so I'm gonna get you some clothes, and we're going, like, five minutes ago,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she finished as she was running out of the room, implying that time was of the essence. She had barged into the closet in the living room, throwing things around until she came out from the back with some of Jack's old clothes, which she only hoped he wouldn't ask about. She had picked items on the larger side, just to be sure they would fit him, and tossed what turned out to be a pair of old jeans and a plain shirt over onto the couch, as she vaulted over the back cushions, all the way through the doorway into her room. Not even bothering to close the door, as she was running back and forth in her room, she changed her clothes while standing to a pair of jeans, and a hoodie, all while simultaneously packing a duffel bag. She had thrown a bigger hoodie in the bag for jack, as well as a blanket, some baby clothes she had gotten for Ellie, a few bottles of water, and other various utensils, all at top speed. It had to have only been two minutes from the end of her words to him when she was back in the living room, the bag in her hands and her keys in her mouth. Her phone was up to her ear, being held carefully by her shoulder. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Mom! Hey, please come walk Ryder, it's an emergency. Yeah, stay at the apartment until I get back. It's a long story, but I love you, and I'll explain everything when we get back. Thanks.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
With that, Phera had grabbed Jack, and hurriedly thrown herself out of the apartment, him in tow closely. It was a blur as she directed them to the truck, which she had inherited from him when he left for service. She said nothing of it as they hopped in, and offensive Irish driving set them on the path to the hospital. She knew it would probably not be a silent twenty minutes drive, and occasionally glancing over at him, she finally spoke, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Ok, go ahead. I'm sure you've got eight million questions.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">With a deep intake of air, Jackson may as well have been right at home back in the country, with both parents in the kitchen, playfully bickering as they flipped pancakes as kids squalled and ran about the house. Before Seattle, weekends had been hectic with family time that more often than not lead to arguments, of which quickly turned into apologetic laughter in the end. Both Tommy and Jack, though not so much as Ellie, loved their mother’s pancakes, and practically begged for them at the end of the week. Their mother, of course, played along and would refused, and surprised them the next morning with a plate full of smiling pancakes and vibrant orange juice. Sundays had always been a family day, no matter what happened within the time frame of a busy week. Now, they were nothing more than warm, unclear memories that he wished to be his current reality.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Ryder appeared to be content with everything going on around him, despite the loud clattering originating from the kitchen area. In fact, he seemed joyful enough to play with a squeaky toy off to the corner in the living room, far enough from Jackson to leave him feeling comfortable enough watching the dog from a satisfying distant. If anything he’s observed from the time being in the apartment with Ryder, Jackson found his personality to be… interesting, to say the least. Had his fear of dogs been out of his life, he may have even wanted to bond with the poor puppy instead of tensing whenever he came near. Perhaps in another alternative universe, Jackson would have connected with Ryder and even become best pals. But in this universe, as of now, such a thing wouldn’t take place for a long, long time. Even if it did happen, Jack would still be just as skeptical.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
For a long while, Jackson sat in the living room with a careful eye on Ryder most of the time, while he spent the other half of his time fiddling with his calloused fingers. His mother claimed it to be yet another streak in genetics, as she often did the same while she was either thoughtful or worried, and to some extent, it was true. Tommy’s habit, however, was variant to both Jack’s and their mother’s. With him, he would pace around the house until he thought of a solution, something his father would do from time to time. Despite the variation, his mother firmly held the belief that habits and quirks traveled down from offspring to offspring, something to tie them back to their family. Thinking of it now, Jackson hoped she was right, if only for the sake of being reminded of his mother just once more. In a way, doing the little things his mother had loved kept him close to his memory of her and kept it even more alive. Sadly, he feared everyday he would begin to slowly forget the little things of her, and eventually, she would be nothing more than a blurry haze that was unattainable.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera, in a mellow tone, called out to him from where she was placed in the kitchen. Among piles of food, she stood by the countertop with a blissful expression displayed on her freckled face. Strangely, she didn’t seem in the least bit nervous around him, as he suspected she would be if she had been keeping tabs on him for Ellie, or whatever the hell was happening between her and his sister. Despite knowing Ellie was keeping in contact with Phera, Jackson’s hunger won out in the end, and he found himself plating a hill of pancakes, a side of eggs and bacon, and a glassful of orange juice, all of which with a rumbling stomach upon realization he hadn’t had much to eat throughout the day. Light brown syrup was poured on his pancakes, and once he was seated, he began eating his breakfast-dinner in silence. Phera didn’t mention the quietness, so he could only assume she either didn’t mind it too much, or she simply didn’t think he would hold much conversation, which was true of course. Jackson hadn’t been too surprised by the quality of the food. Even back in the day, Phera had been one to put her mind to anything, and become great at that particular skill set or even a side hobby.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Both appetites were satisfied a while later, the sweet scent of butter and syrup still drifting in the apartment as Phera stood from her seat, and began silently putting leftovers away. Jackson wordlessly did the same, working side by side in complete reserve, more out of habit than anything else. Another belief his mother held dearly had been drilled into him from an early age, being that men were to be of aid to women whenever at all possible. Men, no matter whom he was with, were to be gentlemen, and to be of service at every opportunity. So, in memory of his mother, he did so. After gently tucking in the leftovers in plastic containers, he moved on to collecting the dirty dishes, and placed them in the small dishwasher. Once satisfied with the job, Jackson closed the dishwasher with ease, and stood against the counter, much like Phera was currently doing. They both stood in the kitchen with a peace of mind, with no rush to strike up conversation or make movement. They simply existed together, there in the kitchen, with a comfortable atmosphere hanging in between them.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
As if remembering, Phera picked up her phone casually. Just after one glance at the screen of her phone, her eyes widened and something of fear crossed her expression. Almost immediately, she dialed a number and pressed the phone to her ear, leaving Jackson somewhat puzzled. What in the world could possibly send Phera into a panic like that? He couldn’t remember the last time he’s seen her like that, and to say the least, it was a bit troublesome and worrying. Had he been wrong about his paranoia of Phera and Ellie? Maybe. Did something go wrong with Ellie, was she hurt, or worse? Maybe. These days, Jackson knew just about anything was possible. Feeling more and more anxious, he listed all the possible events that could have taken place; Eric turned out to be abusive, she got into a car accident, her house was on fire, or even worse. Jackson stopped himself from listing the worst case scenario, and instead focused on making his way into the living room.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The call ended shortly, and Phera scrambled out of the kitchen, wearing something of a mix of excitement and fear wrapped into one. She paused, as if recollecting herself, before explaining the situation to Jackson. Ellie was going into labor, Eric was out of town on a business trip, and they were both going to go to the hospital to be there with her. The news was heavy on him, and didn’t fully register until he was handed a change of clothes. Ellie was going to have her twins sometime tonight or tomorrow, and they were both going to be there with her. Jackson composed himself, and made a sharp turn into the bathroom to change frantically, feeling uncertain more than anything. If Ellie hadn’t wanted him to even be around the house, what made Phera so sure she wanted him there when her twins were being born? Though he was confused on the matter, he obeyed and changed as quickly as he could with his shoulder wound, and emerged from the bathroom, his hair a mess, wincing as he cradled his shoulder with his other arm. In a hurry, he grabbed his cap and tugged it on, and before he knew it, they were out the door.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera still had his old truck from before he was deployed. Jackson had been slightly surprised, having figured she sold it for the money. Then again, her parents were well off, so it made sense she didn’t need to sell the truck. Nonetheless, Jackson was slightly confused of it all; the photographs, his clothing, his truck. She kept it all, but why? Knowing her, she would have tried moving on, and not only because her parents insisted doing so. Jackson could only conclude that a part of her wanted to hang on to the past, like his mother had always claimed every human being did.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Two questions,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jack began, feeling slightly uneasy. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Why are you in contact with my sister? And, why do you… why do you have all my old stuff? First it was the photos, but now my clothes and my truck?”</b></span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Pheralynne was quiet and tense as the truck pushed ever forward, her gaze shifting constantly between the busy streets outside and Jackson, in her passenger seat. Ironically, it turned out that he was technically in his own passenger seat, but knowing the circumstances, she hadn't opted to sign him up to drive, regardless of whose vehicle it was. This truck had passed through a lot of hands it seemed anyways, and most recently, it had transferred from Jack to Phera, before he left for deployment. The truck had been a gift to him from his father, and henceforth he had placed it's responsibility into her hands, as if for safekeeping. The faded sky blue paint of the body was tarnished in various areas with rust and patina, the leather interior was worn in color from the sun, and generally, it was no better or worse for ware than when she had received it. Though she had carefully considered fixing it up for him as a gift, it quickly had been crossed off her list of priorities, as other things in life came and went. Besides, she wasn't certain if her sentiment would be received well, as it's original condition was mostly of sentimental value, now.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Glancing over, Phera let out a defeated sigh. She had heard Jack's two questions, surprised that it was only two, and promptly replaced her surprise with disdain, as she was unfortunately expecting one of those questions. He had managed to ask her one of the very few questions she was hoping he wouldn't bring up: his things. He was right to point it out, as she did have everything from their past, laying around waiting as if hoping to one day be reused. She didn't want to admit that was her hope all along, as it now seemed incredibly foolish of her, but honestly, that was the truth of the matter. It hadn't phased her really, him asking about his sister, because she knew that he would be paranoid of them being friends. Knowing that she couldn't avoid the topic of conversation that had been presented, she glanced over at him with a look as if to convey the seriousness of her answers, before she started speaking. She only could hope that he wouldn't miss half of her words. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Please focus</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Well, Jackson, I'm in contact with Ellie because she's your sister. More importantly, we're friends, and we have been since before you left, so I don't know why that would be surprising... We don't actually talk much anymore though... Mostly, she was just around for the hard parts of transitioning into life without you, being supportive, and I knew she missed you as much as I did, so it wasn't a big deal for us to be upset together. It's a woman thing, I think. We continued movie nights, for a few weekends, but eventually it was just too depressing, and we gave up on that. You could always ask Ellie what she thinks, you know." </b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">She had paused, seeming pensive, hesitant about answering the second question he had asked. Street lights, neon signs, and stop lights were the only colors flashing into the vehicle, as they sped towards the hospital. She knew they wouldn't be there for another few minutes, at least, and regrettably, began the order of expressing her answer as honestly as she could without upsetting herself or him. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>As for why I have your stuff... Jack, I don't mean to be rude, but isn't that a bit obvious? You're kind of insulting me here. I mean, we weren't in love or anything." </b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">She laughed nervously, and continued. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>To be frank, I just didn't want to give up on you, and so I kept all your stuff, literally everything I could find. I don't know, I guess because, for a while, it made me feel better, and for a while after that because I was in denial about our situation. It helped me to not forget what was, what had already happened; I mean, for a long time I slept in your shirts, and had our pictures on the walls when I first moved into my apartment. Having your stuff helped me keep hoping for what would be in the future, too, although I get it now, I know that was incredibly childish and ridiculous. I did figure that out after about halfway through last year, which is why all your stuff is in the closet now and not all over my home." </b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">She finished, quietly, holding her breath. It had felt relieving in a sense, for her to admit many of those pent up feelings to him, although she was immediately having regrets. Her face showed her regret and concern, but she wasn't looking towards him, in an effort to not get upset. This was no time for more problems, as she considered Ellie. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It had been another ten minutes passed as the truck rumbled to a halt in the parking lot of the local hospital. She had the bag over her shoulder and her keys in her hands, sprinting across the parking lot towards the wide sliding doors. She was at the counter in only seconds, speaking hurriedly to another small woman. As it turned out, when Phera was still in school, she had taken her internship at this exact hospital they were now at. One of the nurses she was now talking to, Joyce, was a friend to her while she worked, and had pointed her in the right direction with all the information she would need. According to her, Ellie was in the second floor, in a room with a couple of nurses as she waited for her contractions to be closer together, and labor really start. Grabbing Jack's hand, she led him carefully and quietly though the corridors and stairwells to a room with a cracked door, which she pushed open calmly, tentative smiles as she peeked around the doorway. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Ellie was incredibly pregnant, and as soon as she saw Phera, she not only started crying, but grabbed her hand and yanked her into a big hug. Thankfully Phera had retained a hold of Jackson, pulling him into the room as well, to whom Ellie immediately cried harder, a surprised look on her face. She was obviously a complete emotional wreck, as she hugged them both tightly, now, in an awkward group hug. Of course, no one argues with a pregnant woman, as she managed to get out, "I can't believe you were so thoughtful you brought him, I wish Eric was here too for this happy reunion, I love you guys" and in moments, she was crying in pain, back to pacing around the room, as angry and pregnant as she was before they had arrived. Honestly, for the next few hours, Jack and Phera would most likely be left to their own devices, and would be alerted when the babies had arrived. As soon as Ellie were to leave, the two would be bored in a hospital waiting room. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">A river of exceptionally bright headlights rushed on by, tearing through the darkness of the night as the truck moved forward on the road. Jackson glanced out the passenger window, thankful Phera had been the one to be driving as the exhaustion settled in from the previous night’s continual lack of rest due to one of many reasons. While the coffee helped sustain his energy levels for most of the day, the caffeine crash was far more damaging than the exhaustion itself was, quite ironically. Had he simply pushed aside his irrational fear of silly dreams, he could have been well rested and alert for the undoubtedly long night he would spend at the hospital with Phera, both waiting for the new on the delivery of the twins. As of current times, no one knew the genders of either twins, and it seemed as though Phera had chosen neutral colors, whether it may be two of the same gender, or even both. Jackson had attended Ellie’s wedding, of which had been the last time he’s interacted with Ellie’s husband, Eric, in person. Over all, from what he’s gathered, the guy seemed nice enough, but appeared to be constantly fretting over financial security rather than securing the marriage.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson gently pressed his cheek against the cool window, blue eyes staring into the face of darkness. Stars began peeking out overhead, twinkling just bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. One of few things he missed from the country, seeing a crystal clear night sky had been something he squandered and didn’t appreciate until it had been taken away. Of course, looking back on the memories filled with chasing fireflies and tickled screams, Jackson learned to appreciate the moments spent with his mother and Tommy out in the fields during summer nights. No matter how much throbbing pain accompanied the memories shared with his mother, he did his best to keep them alive, somewhat out of fear of losing the retentions completely. Photographs were an excellent way of keeping memories vivid and alive, even if the clutches of fading grasped recollect over time, wearing down on the distinct and clear memory. Keeping alive the memories, in a way, kept alive the remembrance of both Tommy and his mother, something he still continued to believe in long after both their deaths in the tragic accident that ultimately tore the family apart in the end. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A long stretch of silence wafted in the air, something that had gone unnoticed by Jack until she blew a weary sigh past her lips. Traffic began to get thicker as they progressed further into the city, and the minutes began rolling by until she decided to begin addressing the two questions he had put into question just a while before. Just before, however, she began answering the questions and put them into explanation, she glanced his way with something of an intense and profound expression written on her face, as if to silently communicate and plead with him to try to focus to the best of his ability. Jackson hesitantly nodded, and stared straight ahead mutely as she began the unencumbered explanation. Though it took quite some effort, he managed to listen through the whole cluster of sentences and absorb most of the content. The explanation offered a different perspective, of which he had never fully considered in the midst of his paranoia, and shed light of what had happened shortly after his departure. Brief and hazy memories popped up of Phera and Ellie occasionally going out to movies together before his enlistment, and placed the final puzzle piece in for him to rid the previous paranoia.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
When it became apparent Jackson had nothing much to say, Phera continued on. Her words stung more than a little, and caused him to reflect on the day he had left. Required to rise up early, the two had been in a rush more than anything, too focused on getting things ready for the flight rather than facing the fact of the matter; Jackson was heading for war, and would more than likely end up missing, wounded, or dead. The departure had been emotional for everyone, including Jack, and overall hurried. It had been quick, sudden and left no room for anything more than a goodbye, and some hope he would return the way he had left. Looking back on the memory, he knew it had been silly. The truth of the matter was, everyone was blindly hoping he would get out alive, and if he was lucky, would remain fully intact. False hope blinded them, even Jackson, and sent everyone in for a shock after two years of him gradually deteriorating away, the outgoing, sweet personality fading away with each day. Upon the deaths of Tommy and his mom, his state of mind only worsened, and eventually, contact was lost with Ellie, Phera and friends back home. </span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Just as they neared the hospital, a blaring ambulance whipped on by in front of them, assumedly in a rush for reasons unknown. Jackson’s eyes trailed the vehicle, even as it faded into the city, and momentarily forgot what he had wanted to say to Phera. While all of which she had said, and held depressing truth, he simply didn’t know how to respond to such demeaning words. Like everything else in his life now, he found it better if he stayed silent, figuring she wouldn’t want to hear anything he had to say, though quite the opposite had been true with her. If anything, he didn’t speak enough around her, or more rather, anyone else. The most he has spoken since he’d arrived back home was on the night he had run off to the bar, and while it had been in short bursts and filled with boiling anger, it had been by far the most he’s expressed at once. In the midst of the rage, it hadn’t been very difficult to release all his emotions, quite surprisingly. On any other circumstance, he would have at least had an impediment while trying to get his thoughts across, but quite the opposite had been true. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Another ten minutes later, the two were hopping out of the truck. Phera broke out into a full sprint, something along the lines of concern and worry tracing her facial expression. Once past the transparent sliding doors, they entered the reception of the hospital. A woman behind the desk directed them to Ellie’s room with a kind smile, soon before Phera grabbed Jack’s left hand and proceeded to the elevator. The small space made him somewhat easy, but before he had the chance to allow for anxiety to build, the doors opened with a </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>ding</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Shortly after locating the room number, Phera entered with Jackson cautiously entering behind, mentally preparing him for what could happen in the next minute or so. Ellie could hate him like their father did, and order him out of the room. Or, she could welcome him with open arms and invite him in the room along with Phera. The possible outcomes of the situation were numerous, and frankly, made him somewhat nervous. Either way, Phera held on to him and practically dragged him inside the room. Upon sight, Ellie broke down into sobs, tears soaking down her face and hospital gown. Jackson was alarmed at first, assuming the worst of things, until Ellie suddenly pulled them both into a giant hug, all the while still crying. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Shortly after the reunion, a nurse asked them both to leave and wait patiently in the waiting room. Jackson then knew it would be a long night.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Pheralynne was awash with emotion as she looked around the hospital room. Ironically, usually hospitals made her moderately uncomfortable, being filled with death and sickness, and terrible sadness. Mostly now she felt excitement, brimming with true joy at the prospect of new life coming into this world. This wasn't just any life either, this was two lives at once being given to a family full of damage, who deserved a break. This was two second chances to bring everyone back together, which was something that prior to the pregnancy announcement, seemed unimaginable. Glancing at Jackson, Phera realized how blessed they all were in this moment, because it was a miracle for them to all be together, in decent health, expecting babies. It was a real possibility that they would have all gone separate ways, especially if Jack had gone into the ground... Shaking her thoughts, she knew it was better to revel in the jubilee than to think of the negative outcomes that could have been, and were narrowly avoided. Thankfully Ellie had been in great condition to go into labor, and although the reunion was short, it was exceedingly pleasant, which helped to instill hope in everyone in the room.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It had only been a matter of minutes when a nurse announced that Ellie's contractions were coming close together, and that her visitors, meaning herself and Jack, should go loiter in the waiting room out of the way. Regretfully, Phera squeezed Ellie's hand, and motioning to Jack, retreated from the room. It would be many hours of pain and progress before there were two new lives to be accounted for. Heading out of the room, she casually meandered through the spotless corridors, in what would seem like, to anyone else, a complete maze of hallways and rooms. If she were being honest, she was lucky that she had interned at this facility, and already had a good understanding of the layout of the building. Hanging a left and heading back down the stairwell they had come up, it was not but a few minutes passed when they were back in the waiting area, in front of the doors that would lead out to the parking lot. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Dingy, plastic chairs were lined up in rows around the large, open space. There were tables intermittently strewn throughout the area, with varying magazines and books, and plastic plants in the corners, likely felt to liven up the place. Frankly, she found fake plants disturbing and depressing, but she knew that medical facilities had strict rules about live plants and animals, and that it was a battle better left for someone else to fight, and she never much mentioned it. The duffel bag was still over her shoulder as she made her way past the waiting area, to the front desk, and started chatting up Joyce, the same nurse who had pointed them in the right direction when they had first arrived. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Hey Joyce! How are you doing? It's so good to see you, it's been months. How's the place treating you? Right, can you text me when Ellie is ready for visitors finally? I know it'll be a few hours probably, and I don't think I want to lay in here that long.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" The conversation was jokey and casual, and it was obvious that they were not only acquainted, but friends. It was only moments more before she was out the front doors, heading into the parking lot. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
After making a straight line from the sliding glass doors to the squeaking door of the truck, it seemed evident what the temporary plan was, at least for her. She hadn't said anything to Jack yet, as he followed her around hesitantly, and she wasn't sure that she needed to. They had been on a 'speak when necessary' basis as of recently, and she didn't see any reason to act like they weren't just because the situation was something different. The conversation she had started in the truck had brick walled, like every conversation of it's type before that, and she was not surprised. She knew not to let her hopes rise, as it was he wasn't too great at responding to her, and she couldn't suddenly expect that to be different. Her feelings were slightly hurt by the lack thereof of anything good to say, in response to her heartbreaking truths, but again, she knew not to take things too personally, at this point. His damage would most likely be more heartbreaking to himself, than to her, ever. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera was only in the truck for a moment, long enough to drop the bag in her seat, and pull the blanket from within it. She tossed the blanket out the door and over her back, into the bed of the truck, and grabbed a bottle of water and the hoodie she brought for Jack before closing the truck door once more. She threw herself up over the side of the truck wall and into the bed, something she had learned while Jack was gone, as any time prior, when he had owned it, she always let the tailgate down and climbed in, in a fashion that she used to call "the right way." She had spread the blanket out in a small bunch, and nestled herself down into it, tossing the hoodie down next to her. She assumed that Jack would understand her point, and make himself a spot, where they could both casually relax until they were needed. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The back of the truck was a place where Phera frequently spent her time, surprisingly, and she had found her niche, snuggling in between the wheel well and the back wall. She could lay her head up on the bump of the well, and throw her feet off over the side, next to the driver door. She had taken excellent care of the vehicle in general, driving it everywhere, mostly just to sleep in it actually. She parked it on the pier a lot, to feel the mist from the water, the sun and the breeze. She parked it in the fields of the park, too, to get the special kind of partial sunlight that comes underneath a large willow's branches and leaves. She didn't want to admit that she was attached to the truck too, but as she gazed up at the stars, the chill breeze of the late night street giving her goosebumps, she knew that she was. In fact, she was attached to a lot of things, and it was time to let them go, and move forward with what she had now. Looking over at Jack periodically, and thinking of Ellie and her children, she knew there was a reason for everything, and calmly rationalized about love and life, and the infinitely interesting possibilities therein that somehow never seemed to disappoint in the end. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Phera’s hand was still wrapped tightly around his own as they both were extracted from the room, followed by Ellie’s cries of agony and anguish echoing down the corridor. From a vague distance, Jackson picked up on the same cries of pain in separate rooms not too far from Ellie’s, and made the assumption that upon Ellie’s twins, more babies would be born tonight or even early tomorrow morning. It was a shame her husband, Eric, hadn’t been there for Ellie when she needed him the most. While Jackson knew next to nothing about pregnancy and labor, he at least understood the obvious fact that when women go into labor, they need someone to be there to hold their hand more than anything else. Women </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>need </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">comfort in perhaps one of the most life changing moments of their lives. Jackson had once been huge on showing physical affection, something he had missed dearly at times, and somehow found a way to make everything alright with a simple long hug or even kiss on the forehead when words weren’t enough. The sad truth was, that no longer was his reality. Words would never be sufficient enough, would never be natural to him. At least, for the time being.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
White corridors filled up most of the floor, along with more branches of rooms filled with sleeping patients. If anything, the tightness of the hallways made him uncomfortable and even more alert and aware of his surroundings. Every cracked door was scanned over, every open room scoped out as he strolled on by. Jackson did it out of habit, of course, and couldn’t find it in him to stop himself from fulfilling basic training that has been seared into his mind for perhaps years and years. Feeling constant paranoia and obsession made him slightly guilty, but the pattern was a seemingly never-ending loop. The obsession and custom was practically apart of him by now, and something that can’t be simply removed within one night. If at all, it would be a miracle if he stopped the routine for one minute. Either way, the corridors came to a close as they reached the elevator, and Jackson was left disoriented, not sure how much time had passed on by since they left poor Ellie all alone in the hospital room. Doctors had told him, regardless of whether or not he’d take the prescribed medication, that PTSD more often than not made patients unaware of time altogether, and be lost in whatever form of action they were doing for a while until they snapped out of it, like he had just done.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
His hand was left cold when Phera let go of him, reaching for the rails lined up on the side of the stairs. Staircases, surprisingly, held no dreadful memories for Jack, and allowed for him to calmly stare at the floor as it took them to the ground floor. Having already scanned the main lobby of the hospital, Jackson felt no need to instantly check for hostiles like he had done on the way out of Ellie’s room. If anything, he felt relatively relaxed, knowing he monitored most of the hospital with vigilance. On top of taking comfort in his observance of the rooms, Phera seemed to know to layout of the building pretty well. Well enough to suggest she had once worked here, before a time in which she had to instead opt out and care for her sickly father. He knew enough to know that shortly after graduating nursing school, she had applied here, and worked for a while until her father showed he could no longer carry on without assistance. Jack rubbed the base of his neck while walking down the stairs smoothly, a sign of him going down a meticulous train of thought. Phera lead him into the open lobby, drowned in silence.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The reception area was mostly empty, other than the exception of a few nervous folks, squirming in the plastic chairs lined up by windows, forming a perfect square. Jackson didn’t appreciate the fact that they may spend a few hours in uncomfortable chairs, of which were stood right in front of huge glass panes, leaving them out in the open and ultimately leaving them vulnerable. At least, that’s how he saw it anyway. Windows never meant good things in combat; they were hazardous, dangerous and held potential to harm him. Throughout boot camp, sergeants drilled into him and his fellow colleagues that standing by windows meant they were asking for trouble. Jackson stood a few yards away from Phera as she struck up conversation with the receptionist, and began pacing silently in circles. His eyes watched as his feet walked over the almost sterile tiled floor, back and forth as he yet again lost touch with time. What could have been hours was a mere few minutes before Phera ended the chat short, and made a beeline for the double doors in which they had entered a while ago. Wordlessly, he trailed along and occasionally glanced up at the open night sky.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Black pavement below his feet and a starry night sky above, Jackson followed Phera to the truck, slightly confused as to what she planned on doing. Were they just going to drive around for a bit until they got the call? Would they head back to the apartment? Many possibilities popped into mind, and overrode his thought process with dozens more. Phera didn’t bother explaining, and ultimately left him in the dark, both literally and figuratively, as she approached the truck in silence. She popped open the driver’s door, leaning into the truck itself for only a few seconds before exiting, something in her arms. The duffle bag she had taken was no longer in her possession, and was instead replaced with a blanket. Eventually Jack got the idea of what they were doing, after a short moment of moderate consideration, and followed suit with her. It had been a little over two years since the last time they had laid out in the truck’s bed, under the shining stars and moonlight. It brought back memories, and frankly, made him feel a twinge of bliss, even though he would never admit it.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
With ease and predisposition, he hopped over the truck’s side and placed himself on the bed gently shortly after the blanket was laid out. Though the blanket offered little cushion between him and the rough edges of the bed, Jackson managed to find a somewhat comfortable position as he laid on his back, calloused hands behind the crook of his head as he gazed up into the black sky, illuminated slightly by the moonlight. Thoughts raced through his mind, and always seemed to lead back to their last night spent in this very truck, under this very sky. It was odd, to say the least, thinking back on the memory and realize they were doing the exact same thing, only with a whole different atmosphere and different take on their relationship, if at all that. Jackson wasn’t sure what they were anymore, if he were being honest. For one thing, he knew without a doubt they weren’t anywhere near dating. But what did that make them, in the end? They were strangers to another, so it didn’t exactly make them old friends. Eventually, Jackson stopped his thought process before it baffled him too much, and instead focused on relaxing.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A stretch of silence floated between them, though Jackson could comfortably ignore it knowing this was now routine for the both of them. Even way back then, they had often laid side by side in silence in the same truck, only occasionally striking conversation about the day or simply making random bursts of whatever was on their mind. The thought of saying whatever came to mind was tempting, admittedly, but Jackson wasn’t sure himself what exactly he was thinking about it. To be frank, he was thinking about more than he could keep track of, and letting it off his chest was certainly appealing as the minutes rolled on by. Jackson clasped his hands over his chest, anxiously tapping against the fabric of his old shirt as he internally battled the decision of opening his mouth or not. With enormous doubt and uncertainty, he caved in eventually, and stopped fighting the urge to let something off his chest for once.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Remember our last night?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he blurted out, chewing on the inside of his cheek before continuing.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“There had been a shooting star. You asked me what I wished for, and… and I wished that years later, we’d have another night like this, on the truck bed,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jack paused, recollecting his thoughts to finish his point. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Do you think this is a coincidence, Phera? After all these years, here we are, under the same night sky, on the same truck bed?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">His words had been slightly choppy with tons of pauses, but for one thing, Jackson had actually started the conversation rather than Phera initiating it. Regardless of his slight hesitation and constant breaks in the words, Jackson felt lighter, somehow. He felt at ease, more than anything. For once, he felt… almost at peace, being there with Phera under the sky.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> With her head gently propped up against the protruding wheel well of the old truck bed, and her legs carelessly thrown over the side wall from the knee down, Pheralynne was obviously right at home there in the corner, and as comfortable as she could possibly be. There was a large, fuzzy blanket beneath her warmly dressed body, and more surprising than an early labor was the fact that Jackson was laying in the truck by her side, just like how things had been before life had gotten in the way of the two of them being together. It was still astounding her, even after it being multiple days now, that the pair had found their way back to each other, even when it had seemed before that all hope was entirely lost to them. Life had its own miraculous way of taking very confusing turns, and yet still somehow ending up at the same destination as if you had gone straight the whole way. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Her thoughts were warm, and slightly fuzzy in her brain, which was a nice contrast compared to the cool breeze of the dark parking lot. The streetlights in the distance were shining a gentle type of half light into the far end of the parking lot from them, but any of the standing lamps around them had all since gone out some time ago. The night sky was unusually dark, and held a plethora of different stars and constellations, lighting up in the cloudless canvas of navy. Funny enough, she had pointed out the same constellations years earlier, the big and little dipper, because she had joked that it was like reflections of themselves in the stars. It was truly a relaxing atmosphere, which was surprising considering why they had arrived there in the first place. There were gentle cries from nocturnal birds, and many of the calming bug sounds that go with being in the country, even though they weren't. Comfort seemed to only be a feeling and not a place, anymore. Perhaps, it was the company of a person. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Many moments of peaceful silence passed this way, with them both seemingly lost in the night and in their thoughts, before something truly miraculous happened. Jackson, it seemed, had initiated a conversation with Phera of his own accord. Not only that, but he was expressing a memory, and honest feelings therein. Thank the good lord that it was dark outside, when Jack started speaking slowly, or it's likely that he would have seen Phera's face light up unabashedly. She was simultaneously excited and ashamed of her utter excitement, but all the feelings were the same nonetheless, and she couldn't contain them in the least. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It was hard for her to admit her twisted and tangled emotions, when it came to Jack, but what she did know is that somewhere inside of the hard shell of the soldier he had become was the sweet boy that he used to be, and that if it were possible, she desperately wanted him back more than anything. It would be a terribly long process, she supposed, but in the end if it were possible, it would be more than worth it. Nothing would have meant more to her than having back what she considered to be her one true love. The fact that Jack had openly started talking to her... Well, this was resounding with her as an incredible sign in the right direction, a beacon of hope in what seemed like a sea of despair. This wasn't to say that it would be easy, or that she was certainly succeeding, but any progress was still progress, and she could be nothing but pleased by it. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Remember our last night? There had been a shooting star. You asked me what I wished for, and… and I wished that years later, we’d have another night like this, on the truck bed</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i><b>. </b></i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Do you think this is a coincidence, Phera? After all these years, here we are, under the same night sky, on the same truck bed</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">?" The words were surprisingly sweet, falling off of his lips, and the mere mention from his voice had stirred up memories that she was hesitant to talk about prior to this. Of course she remembered that night, because she could vividly remember all of their moments together. In fact, they were well cherished now, though she would never admit such a thing. Of course she didn't think it was entirely a coincidence, either. How could it be? She was hesitant to respond openly to his question, but realizing that he was likely entirely hesitant to even ask, she thought better of her uncertainty. It would be the most wise of her to simply respond back as calmly and confidently as humanly possible for her, with an honest and thoughtful answer. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It seemed like it was a few moments, the wheels turning behind her eyes as she was thinking, before she had a good answer to submit that fit into all the requirements she gave herself. She had to be honest, but she had to be able to confidently be truthful, or it would defeat the purpose of having spoken at all. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>If you want to know the truth as I see it, I don't think it's a coincidence that we're here right now, like this, at all. The same night that you wished for more nights like this... Well, I wished, more than anything I'd ever wished for, that you would come home to me in one piece. It was silly, but I promised the stars if they let me have you back I would owe them a favor... I guess I owe someone up there a favor, though I'm not sure who.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She was giggling gently as she finished, because she knew how desperately silly she sounded for that, but she didn't mind too terribly much at that since she knew it might make him feel more comfortable. Anything that would help to make conversation easier between the two of them was more than welcome, as she saw it, even if it was self sacrificing humor, by being honest about her naivety in the early years. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">As the soft-spoken words slowly drifted away into the calm night, memories of warmth sprang to life, displaying an array of colors, gentle smiles and laughter. Jackson released a soft breath, smiling in the dark as images of both him and Phera walking together on the beach came to mind. With the exception of the now abandoned park, the beach had been something of their favorite place to be, no matter the day or weather. Quite ironically, the two had often taken this same truck out to the ocean side, and just camped out on weekends to get away from it all. Thinking back on the memory, Jackson felt an ache buried deep in his chest, something much more painful than physical pain could ever be. He ached to be the same sweet boy he had once been, carefree and so… </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>trusting</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Before the tour, he would have called himself an optimist. While it was true for the time being, everything changed too drastically and too quickly for him to go back to the innocent boy he had been. It had been too late. Everything had come tumbling down a few months in to the tour, and there had been no turning back for Jackson, as much as he regrets it now.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The silence was discomforting and, more importantly, disarming. Jackson had already hesitated before opening his mouth, but just shortly after allowing for silence to settle in, he felt self-doubt muster inside. Had he said too much? Did he unintentionally upset her? Would she even respond? Was she mad at him? Clusters of questions, possible outcomes, and generally negative thoughts plagued his mind as he anxiously awaited her response. Repeating his words in his head, he mentally scolded himself for ever opening his mouth, and felt a deep sense of regret harbored in the pit of his stomach as silence became agonizing. Jackson twirled his thumbs obsessively, fighting the instinct to nervously tap his foot against the side of the truck bed. Suddenly thankful for the veil of darkness, he occasionally glanced over his shoulder at Phera, reassuring himself that she was fine and simply was taking the time needed to piece together a response. Certainly, if she was upset with him, she would show a few signs for a warning, right? Right. If anything he’s seen from the time spent with her, she was open with just about everything, which was quite the opposite of Jackson.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Eerie ambience instilled throughout the chilly atmosphere, giving him all the more reason to shiver under the dim moonlight. Thinking better of it, Jackson reached over and blindly searched for the hoodie Phera had laid out for him to become something of a pillow. The fabric was caught in his hand after another moment spent in blind search, before Jackson sat up with a grimace, and slid the hoodie over his head. Soft wool brushed against his skin, shielding him from the night’s cold temporarily. There had once been a time Jack had held a special place in his heart for summer and warm weather. Beaches, spending too much time under the sun, walking down the beaches; he had loved every single second of it. Of course, that had been a time in which Jackson didn’t hate sand with every fiber in his being, and along with it the blistering warm weather that reminded him all too well of Iraq. It was evident that while he didn’t enjoy shivering with winter approaching, he much preferred cold weather than sweltering temperatures that may just as well bring him back in memory of Iraq, something he’s been trying so desperately to escape. Only, he can’t.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Though Jackson refused to acknowledge so, memories of Iraq would never leave him. The smells, the sights, the sand. All of it. It would forever remain seared inside his mind and dreams, and as of now, he believed there was no way to get rid of its nasty scars. While Phera has hinted at him getting help, Jackson simply rejected the very idea of seeing a therapist, let alone taking prescribed medication. There was no logic in spilling everything he has harbored for the last two years to a </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>civilian</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, of all people. Civilians didn’t know squat about the real world, as they were too caught up in their own little bubble, safe and sound from the harsh reality of the world around outside. What good would it do for a civilian to listen to him, and to “help” him if they had no idea what it had been like to be in Iraq? How could anyone ever help him if they had </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>no idea </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">what it had been like to see everything he had seen? It was simply illogical, and not even considered to be much of an option in his own book. Jackson thought it was better for everyone around him if he just kept everything locked up inside.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera’s sweet melodic voice held not even the tiniest trace of doubt, hesitation or skepticism, much to his surprise. The words rolled off her tongue calmly and confidently, without a second to linger or waste, as she spoke softly to him. While Jackson’s gaze was towards the sky, he knew enough to assume she was smiling as she spoke. It was an odd instinct, something he hasn’t been in touch with… well, since he left. The slightest of indications were there, and it had been relatively easy to pick up on them, despite the consuming darkness and the mere fact he wasn’t looking at her. The confidence brewing behind her words put him at ease slightly, and gave him the reassurance he had needed that he had, in fact, not upset her or caused strife between them. Phera talked to him without much trouble at all, and told him that she believed, without a speck of uncertainty, it was anything but a coincidence. Even if it was a simple coincidence, how could anyone explain it away? After everything they’ve been through, here they are, reflecting back on the memory of the fallen star, and more importantly, his wish that may just as well have become true.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
She went on to tell him that on the very same night, she had made a wish upon a star, too. Jackson peered at her past the darkness, catching a small glimpse of her outline illuminated by the vague moonlight. Almost tersely, a giggle escaped past her lips after she finished speaking, allowing for her words to dwindle into the dark. The sound startled him for a brief moment, before he mentally scolded him for being jumpy, and cracked an amused, half-hearted smile at his incompetence even though he knew Phera most likely wouldn’t be able to see it. Jack considered what she had said, muddled his broken thoughts up for a while more, and eventually gave up altogether on his thought process after long moments of silence had gone by. While he had been unsure as to how to respond, he wrapped his arms around himself underneath the warmth of the hoodie, and laid motionlessly by Phera. It took quite some time to muster up resolution to speak again, he finally decided Phera at least deserved a few more words, if at all a sentence. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I guess… I guess whoever is up there will let you know when they… when they need that favor,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he mused quietly, stumbling over words in the process. He figured she wouldn’t mind too much, and instead take enjoyment in the fact he was speaking at all, even if it was choppy and broken.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> The night was cooling considerably by the minute, as Pheralynne and Jackson laid side by side in the truck, and the humidity from the nearby ocean breeze was adding a bone chilling effect to the drop in temperature. As silent moments swept past them both, she knew that her self sacrificing humor had passed them by in opportunity, and assumed with no surprise that he had opted not to respond at all. Waiting quietly, snuggling into the blanket more, she considered her circumstances. She at least had found peace in the knowledge that certainly that it was no fault of hers that he was failing to make quality conversation. With the time and patience being applied, she only hoped that would greatly improve, as did all things with the right amount of persistence. Suddenly, she smiled, as she heard Jack speaking. It was irrelevant to her that his words were strung together barely, because at least he had put them together. To any kind of progress, she always was excited, with him. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As Phera was considering responding to his words her cellphone lit up in her hoodie pocket, visible through the layers of fabrics, and she was momentarily distracted. Searching around under the blankets, she finally grabbed it from the recesses of warmth and brought it out, where she could read it. Joyce had texted her to let her know that Ellie had been out of labor for long enough to warrant being visited, which was incredible news, all things considered. It could have been many more hours, though thankfully it was not, because based on the weather they would have been forced to hibernate. All jokes aside, she pushed herself up to a sitting position in the truck bed, glancing over at Jack who was barely there in the dim light of their surroundings, and unfortunately for her as handsome as he always had been. Forcing herself to look the other way, she slowly and carefully climbed down out of their nest, waiting for him to get down as well before she took the blanket and threw it inside the cab.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
With their things placed in the safety of the interior of the truck, Phera grasped Jack's hand gently once again, leading him back into the building, The confusing map of corridors was easily navigated by her, as they returned to the room they had already been in earlier that day. She stopped outside the door, turning to look at him softly, "Here goes nothing. I hope you're as excited as I am." With that, tugging him along, she pushed the door open and wordlessly made her way in. Ellie was laid up in the hospital bed that now was the center of the room, with a swaddled, newborn baby in each arm. It turned out that as one was in pink and the other blue, she had ended up with fraternal twins- one boy and one girl. Though she looked entirely exhausted, she was glowing with motherhood, obviously in complete love with the tiny lives she had a hold of currently. As the two entered the room, pleasant chatter ensued, and she offered up the small, new humans to be held. Phera had no hesitations, taking the baby girl into her arms and cooing gently. It seemed she was also glowing, with the little child in her arms, and the baby responded incredibly positively. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Perhaps an hour had gone by this way, when everyone realized the time, and that the new mom would need to get some rest as soon as possible. Regardless the pair were tired as well, as it had been another very exciting day. Once again they left in the same way they had come, hand in hand for the purpose of comfort down and around the building, until they had reached the truck. As soon as they were both seated and ready, it was moving in the direction of home. The drive to the apartment didn't seem as long as it had on the way there, now that it was so late into the night and the streets were dead of traffic. It seemed only moments before she had parked in the back and they were both hopping out, eager to go in and get some rest of their own. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It was a fleeting moment of concern as they reached the apartment door, and Phera held her breath as she swung it open and entered, assuming Jack would follow quietly, which he did. Lyne was in the kitchen at the table, and Ryder, who was incredibly excited to see Phera, was immediately up from his bed and under her legs. She shooed him off and proceeded into the kitchen, where in hushed and hurried tones, her mom had started talking to her. It seemed unpleasant somehow, though it was likely that Jack would have little to no idea of it taking place from the living room, she hoped anyways. Bits a pieces were louder than others, and the gist of the conversation was disappointment and frustration, and with a huff from Lyne and a sigh from Phera, the conversation was over. Lyne had abruptly left the apartment, not looking at or saying a word to Jack, on the way by. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera was standing in the kitchen facing the windows, looking out at nothing with an entirely unsatisfied expression playing on what looked like gentle crying, with her arms crossed partially around herself. It was a few moments of pacing after that, as if she were thinking too much to be tired anymore, before she had climbed up onto the counter top precariously balanced on her knees and started to dig through a large cabinet that had been too high for her to reach. Ah, yes. The liquor stash, ever present, though this time she grabbed two glasses, probably just for good measure, just in case. She carefully pushed herself down from the counter, and with the bottle and glasses in hand, made her way directly over to the couch, and threw herself into the side he wasn't on. She deposited the armful on the table, before pouring herself, and leaving it open with the other glass. With that done, her feet were propped up gently on the table, and she had melted backwards into the couch, with no real regard or disregard for whatever Jack chose to do. She seemed to be in the moment of relaxing, probably attempting to not take whatever had happened with her mother too personally. Unfortunately, at least for herself, she figured it may well be another long night. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Phera didn't seem fazed by his small moment of stumbling through a line of words, at all. While it did temporarily comfort him given the knowledge that she was never one to judge harshly or criticize bluntly, Jackson couldn't help but to ponder what she had been thinking. Silence was almost as threatening as his paranoia at this point, sadly. While actions did speak louder than words most of the time, Jackson knew words could be just as powerful, too. Actions were temporary; words stayed out there forever. But what if there wasn't words at all? Were a lack of words better, or worse? Was Phera feeling bad for him? Was Phera wanting to leave? Was Phera... Jackson stopped his train of thought before it could go on any further. By the time he had convinced himself that she was simply tired and couldn't find the energy to speak, her phone set off in almost perfect timing to ease the tension spiraling in his own mind. The screen flashed on, briefly illuminating their surroundings as she pulled it from under the layers of blankets, and swiped across the screen to view the text in complete silence.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It didn't matter how long a stretch of silence lasted, Jackson always found a reason to become self-loathing and self-doubting in the midst of unspoken thought. While he did acknowledge to himself that it wasn't normal for people to think like he did, he could never stop himself from going back to his old ways. Thinking too much was something of raw torture to occupy his every though, and something that couldn't be avoided no matter how much he tried. The silence was too deafening, and made it too difficult for him to focus on anything other than his troubling inquisitions and assumptions he had blooming about in the back of his mind. It seemed as though every breath he took was labored, every breath he took reminded him that things were different. He was different. Jackson didn't know what boundaries to avoid, how he should behave, or let alone how to even speak around the people he had once been close to. Then again, there weren't many people he "hung out" with anymore, so it didn't present much of a problem. At least, for now. All he had to worry about was Phera and Ellie--and her new additions to the family whom he would be seeing a lot more of in the future.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
After the phone screen went dark, Phera tentatively sat up and made her way out of the truck bed wordlessly. Jackson decided to leave his thoughts behind, and instead focus on the task at hand. The two trailed through the pitch black parking lot in silence--like everything else they did, it seemed--until they reached the double door entrance, of which Phera gladly trudged inside first. Her hand was something of comfort to him, and something that kept his mind occupied for the time being. At least, it was enough to keep him distracted from the reality of the situation. Ellie had twins, and that made him to be their only uncle. More than anything, it guilt tripped him thinking of it until the point of no return. Tommy had always been a family guy, and often spoken to both siblings of what he wanted to do as a father, and maybe even a crazy uncle. Little Tommy had deserved to live longer, to be happy. He deserved to become a loving father, a sweet husband, and a fun-loving uncle. Only, he didn't. Jackson was the last person in anyone's mind for becoming any of those things, and yet, he was still breathing. Tommy wasn't. Jackson could only nod at Phera's gentle words, refusing to meet her eyes as they entered the hospital once more.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Something was different in the air. Maybe it was the scent of rubber gloves, or maybe the soft smiles from passing staff members. But it wasn't any of that. Two beautiful babies had been brought into the world, that night, and Jackson would be there to meet them and welcome them into the Wilde family--even if the Wildes were pretty much torn apart at this point. If anything should go wrong, Phera would be at his side to help. There was nothing to be afraid of or freak out over, he reminded himself. What the hell, he was in a damn hospital at that. People here only wanted to help, so what was the big deal? Why was he nervous? No, better question. When wasn't he nervous or frantic? Jackson did his best not to mentally scold himself for acting so stupidly, but by the time they had reached Ellie's hospital room, he had beaten himself up. But with a lopsided, sweet smile from Phera, the doubts and fears were pushed aside, and he walked inside to the hospital room. The only thing different being in the room was, well, two new precious and priceless souls that weren't there previously. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
His niece and nephew.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Ellie had relentlessly insisted Jack held his nephew, little Matthew, and while he resisted for as long as he possibly could, eventually he caved in. She seemed to be glowing--along with Phera, who was across the room with Matthew's fraternal sister--as she handed the newborn to him. The tiny baby didn't so much as squirm as he was being passed from his mother to his uncle, and even seemed to be deep in sleep while his sister was wide awake. Jackson did his best not to let the nerves mess with his head, and eventually took hold of the baby boy. Matthew--quite thankfully--stayed asleep in Jack's arm, and put his anxiety to ease fairly quickly. Ellie was chatting up with Phera, but Jackson had tuned them out halfway in between holding little Matty in his arms. The baby boy was sweet, if anything, and stirred in his arms from time to time. Eventually, Jackson handed Matthew back to Ellie, as did Phera when they both realized Ellie needed some rest. With a soft goodbye, Jackson and Phera were on their way home.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera's hand felt colder than it had been before, and sent chills down his spine. She didn't say much of anything on their way to the truck, and he figured he didn't have to either. Even if he did want to say something, he was too tired to and simply wanted to get back at the apartment, relax for a little bit, and hopefully catch a small nap somewhere along the way. Jackson mulled the thought over as they both hopped inside the truck, and drove straight to the apartment complex in silence. He didn't mind the silence too much, this time aorund, and he surprisingly held no desire to ask what was on her mind. If Phera wanted to speak or obtain information from him, she'd ask. She wouldn't be one to pry information from him, right? Right. She wouldn't do that. Not now, anyway. Jackson leaned his cheek against the window, and watched as the world melted away.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It didn't take long for them to reach the apartment, considering the given limitation of traffic at the late hour of night. Upon arrival at the front door, their hands dropped, and no words followed. Jackson wasn't too big on the holding hands thing, but hey, if that was what kept Phera feeling comfortable or safe, he wouldn't mind too much. It didn't make him uncomfortable; it disarmed him and made him feel almost taken aback. Ryder had been the last thing on Jack's mind until he came running to Phera, tail waggingly happy to see them both--though, it was apparent the dog still had mixed feelings about Jackson. He was thankful for the distraction, and quickly slid his way into the living room where he proceeded to unlace his boots, take off his cap, and get changed in the bathroom. The old clothing was getting almost too suffocating with memories at this point.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson had just emerged from changing, and just in time to see someone he hasn't forgotten storm out of the apartment. Phera's mom. While he hadn't been surprised by the surprise visit, it made him feel a twinge of guilt--or more appropriately, a stomach full of it. Phera looked distressed and frustrated, Ryder was whining in the corner, and she was standing in the living room with an arm full of alcohol. She plopped herself down on the couch across from him, and settled the glass on the coffee table. Jackson hesitated for just a second, before he was reaching for the bottle to pour himself a glass.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> The atmosphere of the shadowy apartment had become substantially weightier for both Pheralynne and Jackson simultaneously, from the strife of family relations and another lengthy day, as the two confusedly accompanied one another in the confined space of the living room for rounds of drinks, attempting desperately to recollect themselves and relax. The circulating air within the area of the few connected rooms was frigid, as if a window was opened somewhere to the freezing night or the heater had abandoned his only duty, leaving an indescribable sensation to the consistently warming skin and leather couch against the cold. Even Ryder had at some point climbed up onto the fabric with her, laying partially in her lap as they cuddled. The silence of the room would be suspended in short intervals by miscellaneous noises of varying degrees; the sounds were as quiet as sipping from glasses or the wrinkle of couches from movement, or as loud as slamming doors in the complex by other tenants or cars honking in the streets. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Between the pair, in speech, there was an ultimate quiet as usual, the likes of which was neither peaceful nor pressuring but lost somewhere in limbo, unable to be pinpointed as any one feeling or person at the cause. Both parties were muddled when it came to the topic of the other, unable to determine where they had been left standing as a pair, and equally unable to communicate that uncertainty to each other safely. Among the hesitation and formality, the sprout of the seed from their prior love was blossoming, whether they accepted that or not. Thankfully, inebriation had a way of blurring the lines between security and insecurity, essentially removing many of the filters, or in this case barriers, from thinking and acting, allowing them a more honest interaction than they were used to. Innately, it seemed the ambivalence Phera was feeling about Jack and vice versa was holding the progression of time still in the empty space between them. Having grown up and apart, both individuals were terrified of the rejection or destruction of what they barely had left, and in that, neither was willing to make conversation or moves about that togetherness, or lack thereof. Each knew that the conversation must eventually be had, and yet both avoided it. Fear had prevented advancement in their relation, stifling them and hiding the truth of the matter; regardless what the actions were that had been made in the past, they were still in love with each other in the present. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The signs to support that truth were clear and visible from each individual, the examples in only the short few days seeming abounding, virtually endless. Starting from the beginning, Phera had kept everything that belonged to Jack in exactly the condition it had been in when he left, and although most things slowly were closed away from her vision for her own emotional protection, she always had them safe. After so many years of separation, she had still accepted him back into her life and her home openly, taking him on as a personal responsibility, helping to care for him in at least the ways that she felt she could appropriately. Thinking on that, there were the facts also that Jack had even known to call and trust Phera, and allowed himself to ask and accept her help. Not only did he cross a bridge by staying willingly in a confined space with her, but also by allowing her gentle physicality and details, such as hand holding and having a dog. Actions that would be completely unacceptable by anyone else were being allowed to her, possibly in a misguided attempt to let her have her way, or maybe as a welcome addition to him returning to normal, or trying anyways. The effort was honestly the best example in him, in his condition, but in so many ways, she already had known and accepted that, and reciprocated it constantly; that obvious return, the best example in her. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
With her legs propped up on the table still, many drinks had passed Phera while few had Jack poured for himself. The thoughts above, and never ending combinations of many other ideas, presented themselves in her mind, leading her through a winding river of consciousness that had no obvious beginning or end. The amount of consumed alcohol had entirely lifted the resolve to hide her emotions and words from both herself and him, and though she likely wouldn't remember her thoughts, feelings, or actions come the morning time, this was still an important moment occurring. It was pertinent subconsciously for her to accept the honesty that she had been rejecting, to understand the circumstances around them together and apart, and acknowledge that she loved him.</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i> Oh, god, she loved him.</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> The burning pain in her chest was less from drinking and more from having an unrequited, unsupported feeling of affection and attachment built up over time into tender resentment. With painful reminders from her mother that he had chosen another life over her, the intense suffering that came from feeling incomplete and inferior impaired her reasoning, leading her to believe that she wasn't good enough to keep him with her. The anger in her soul wasn't directed at him so much as it was directed at herself, an unfortunate side effect of losing track of her self esteem, and wallowing in the dangerous sadness thereby. Remembering something too then that he had said before in anger, she twisted blame easily into herself. Catching herself staring directly at him with what had to have been a look of sad longing, she turned a dark shade of pink and away, hiding her embarrassment. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
In her drunken state, somewhat open and vulnerable, she attempted to offer a hurried explanation to express away the mistaken face, lacking the forethought to lie, and instead saying exactly what she had been thinking to cause the look. Though her words were gently slurred, she was still understandable, and animated in her speech. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I don't mean to be sad,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she started with a wave of one arm, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I just think a lot too much sometimes.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She wasn't making perfect sense in application, but the effort would be understood regardless, as she looked back towards him. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I think... I wish my mom was wrong, when she said that thing,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she added, sadness creeping back into her voice, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>but I don't know.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She wasn't making any sense now, in fact, since she hadn't offered anything solid, but she was still trying. Continuing where she left off, obviously no reserve in her words, she finished off her sentence in a way that still made little sense, but enough to be hurtful accidentally. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I don't know... because, maybe she is yes, was right that you abandoned me... but maybe she... is she wrong? Maybe... because, I do know it's kinda my fault too now and that was sad.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Her words fell out without any harsh tones or anger, as if she had somehow accepted the intended meaning, unaffected by it. Her subconscious had regurgitated something that consciously she hoped he hadn't meant when he said it, but that secretly she must have feared he really thought, for it to come falling out of her mouth. Glancing over, she realized quickly with a surprised face openly visible to her that she had upset him. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Damn it all, how one would wish to take back their words when drunk! Her brain was scrambling to recover from what she had blurted out about abandonment and faults, but her thoughts were fuzzy and she was reaching into nothing searching for something. The only thing forced into her head at that moment was a drunken recollection of calming his anger years past, and the willful instillation of a sudden plan. She almost tripped as she stood up carefully, hilariously yet delicately making her way around the corner of the table and to the couch that he was on, falling with her little weight into the seat next to him. Thankfully, in a pleasant accident, she had at least chosen the side of him that was uninjured, as she leaned her weight into his side, resting her face in his good shoulder, her eyes were surprisingly easy for the situation. This was helping to clear that she was atypically drunk, unable to lie convincingly and thus opting instead to be almost too truthful. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Don't be sad,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she started. There was a childish innocence to her words, as if she had regressed slightly in time, and it was clear by the slurring and sleepiness that she wouldn't be entirely conscious for long, as she continued, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I was sad, but.. not sad, now, because... it's ok, and it's ok because... because you came back. You're back and, and even though you left, see... because I didn't, I did not leave at all, and I would never going to... not, like, ever because... and because, 'cause I love you so much.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Her final sentence was by far the quietest, and within seconds it was clear that she had passed out, slumping peacefully to the other direction, curling up between the couch and and the warmth of him. Though she had clearly been rambling as she fell asleep, her words were unsettling in their observation and honesty, and it was mildly unfortunate that she would remember none of that encounter. If he opted to bring it up, since he would remember it, that would be entirely different, but obviously she could have never consciously said; "I love you," with resolve. It was true, after all, but still terrifyingly capable of being rejected.</span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson had never been one to drink before enlistment. While some found it to be something of a juxtaposition between his habit of restraining from alcohol and his rather outgoing personality, he simply never held the desire to allow for himself to lose control over a few drinks. Phera’s family, on the other hand, didn’t hold back when on a drinking binge, and often lead to killer headaches and groans in the morning, of which gave him all the more reason to avoid alcohol. Of course, now alcohol was something he longed for every now and then. No matter the severity of the hangover, Jackson found himself to enjoy the fact his mind would be impaired long enough for him to be able to forget everything in the moment, and relax for once. On top of being numbed from the past, he found he slept better after having a drink or two, with no dreams whatsoever. All in all, drinking held an appeal to him now, and he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity when he was given the chance to forget about everything, even if it was just for a while. Maybe there was truth to that saying, “ignorance is bliss”, after all.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
First drink down and warming his body, he felt more at ease than he had the entire day. Between the stress of being constantly reminded of Iraq, and the worry of Ellie and the twins, Jackson mentally told himself that one more drink wouldn’t hurt. One more drink would make things better, if anything, and help take the edge off even more so than it already has. Arms stretched out over the coffee table, he poured himself another glass, and leaned back into the couch’s soft cushions once more. An overwhelming sense of calm, and maybe even a hint of buzz, flooded through him as he allowed for his body to unwind as the alcohol spread warmth through his body. Had he been drunk enough, he would have been smiling like a fool; it’s been years since he’s felt at peace, and… safe. No, safe was the wrong word. Or was it? Jackson pondered over the issue for what seemed to be minutes, but in all reality, was seconds. It wasn’t the wrong word. But how could it be? How could he feel </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>safe </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">after what he’s been through and seen? It’s simply not possible. Or is it?</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
With the glass pressed to his lips, he downed another drink and released a long breath. Jackson exchanged glances with Phera, but never opened his mouth to speak what was on his mind for obvious reasons. Since his return, he found no practical need or desire to openly voice his thoughts and still has yet to find reason now. Phera didn’t seem fazed by the silence however, and instead took it upon herself to converse without holding anything back or hesitating in the slightest. Had he been thinking clearly, Jack would have been baffled as she began chattering away, speaking hastily with a slurred tongue. But this was not the case. Nothing she said had concrete speech, but he followed along anyway and instead pretended he understood what she had been saying. It was easy, somehow, laying back and listen to her talk, and if anything, made him feel at ease knowing he didn’t have to say a word if he didn’t want to. She was babbling, and held an saggy expression of a strange sadness and remorse. Jackson cocked his head in silent question, feeling as though he had done something to cause an expression to be sported on by Phera.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
He had been wrong, again. Phera waved the sadness off as if it were nothing more than a pesky housefly, and slurred her words together as she attempted to explain the feeling to him. Jackson waited patiently, and listened to her ramble on, the sadness progressively creeping back in her tone as she talked more. Come to think of it, this hasn’t been the first time Jack has seen her in a drunken state. Before graduation, the two had gone to late parties, and Phera always seemed to have her fair share of cheap beer. Jackson refrained from drinking with the excuse to be the designated driver, and never got himself involved with hangovers or drunk-talk like Phera had done back in her wild-child days that he had loved so much. Among instances of her passing out in his shotgun seat, Jackson recalled she had once slipped up and accidently revealed that she and his close family and friends had been planning a surprise party for his birthday that year. Of course, she had forgotten the incident, and he had pretended he hadn’t heard it from her. To this day, no one knows about it.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Your… mom?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he asked, his eyebrows knitted together. What did her mother have to do with anything? Jackson fumbled for words and thoughts, fidgeting in his seat as Phera looked at him. She was stumbling over words, slurring them all together but not enough to cause him to struggle deciphering what she was saying. He was on the edge of the couch now, the empty glass in hand as he leaned forward in curiosity. It took him a bit to put the broken pieces together, but he understood nonetheless. Her mother had come to speak to Phera just a while ago—it had been the hushed voices he had heard in the kitchen earlier—and her mother had told her something. Her mother had told Phera that he had abandoned her. While it was the cold hard truth of the matter, a pang shot through his heart, and made him flinch. Regardless of his efforts to conceal the hurt and damage of the reminder, Phera seemed to look right into the very wound itself. Before he could say anything, wheels were turning behind her eyes, despite the cloudiness from the one too many drinks swirling in them.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
While it took a few seconds to process the implied meaning of her words, Phera acted immediately after realization struck her. She stood up, and toppled her way over to the couch he currently was on. She staggered and blundered around the coffee table, making it even more evident to him that she was clearly drunk, and probably didn’t mean what she had said. Jackson knew deep down, however, that as much as he wished she hadn’t meant what she said, that she had, in fact, meant every word. When drunk, Phera had the tendency to spill everything on her mind out into the open, no matter who it was she was with, and let loose from all the secrets and enigmas that have been locked away for God knows how long. Jackson shifted slightly as she plopped down on the couch; thankfully, whether by accident or intent, she didn’t choose the side in which his injured shoulder was. She was smiling softly, her cheek pressed up against his shoulder as she continued talking and explaining away her thoughts to him, not bothering to pause for him to respond.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Her words were strangely sweet, rolling off her tongue in a slurred manner. Though they were in an attempt to cheer him up, they only seemed to make it worse. He had left her. Abandoned her. She had every reason to have moved on by now, but she hasn’t. She stayed when he hadn’t, and she loves him despite it all. Jackson couldn’t find the slightest reason as to why she still loves him, watching her close her eyes slowly as he wrapped his good arm around her, feeling his eyes burn with tears that would never fall. He silently finished his drink in darkness, Phera in his arms, as he mulled over what she had said, and what he hadn’t said. Eventually, he let the thought process drop, and allowed for sleep to take control instead.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Multiple, shadowy hours of the evening had passed by in relative peace and quiet, and if all things were being carefully considered, in reference to the fact that the city was just outside the thin walls of the apartment complex and that it never truly slept, that news was particularly surprising. The slightly muffled yet somehow still loud noises of cars whizzing by or honking, birds and dogs singing and barking, and other miscellaneous outdoor sounds were surprisingly no match for the intense slumber found within the building, or, at least in this particular dwelling. Pheralynne and Jackson were cuddled into each other on the couch in the living room like lovebirds, a picture that was both entirely adorable and somewhat confusing, as fast asleep then as they had been all throughout the hours together. With his arm wrapped about her, and at some point in the night her arm having folded over his abdomen in return, it was safe to say that they had both seemed to sleep comfortably, however unusual the circumstances involved happened to be. Yes, the entire night went safely and privately, with no disturbing pains or nightmares, and no real disruptions of any kind. Although it was typically safe to say that their relationship, or what was left anyways, could only be described as ambiguous, it seemed exceptionally clear on this morning for once that their hearts were in the same place, as they laid in tranquil security together. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
A gentle type of warm sunlight was now filtering into the windows and heating the overall temperature of the room, signifying the call of morning to all the Earth's inhabitants, including the duo asleep, of whom one was now stirring. Inadvertently as the sun reached her body, Phera was waking up, if only an almost unnoticed amount. An incredibly small stream of consciousness, the likes of which was comparable to a thin fishing line in the vast ocean, also known as the mild, fuzzy feeling of being awake but not completely functional, had found her finally. She had yet to even force her eyes open, the lids heavy with the weight of a long, drunk, prior evening, as she began slowly to accept and understand the feelings of her physicality. Her body had miscellaneous aches strewn seemingly randomly throughout, likely from the alcohol, stress, and sleeping in an odd position on the couch, and with the wheels in her brain turning back and forth, she began to recognize that things were off compared to normal. She was not in her bed, laying down, and she was not alone... The slight pressure of an arm around her shoulders, a warm body pressed into her, her face nuzzled into the chest of someone... In seconds, with lightning fast processing kicking in, she had at least peeked one eye open if only to glimpse enough to recognize her surroundings and try to respond accordingly, setting in stone the truth of the situation as she thought it was.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Even only allowing herself a sliver of visibility, so as to still appear sleeping, suddenly Phera realized all at once the reality of the circumstances and what must have happened in the prior moments to lead to where she had seemingly awoken, intertwined with Jack there. Accidentally, it seemed she had indeed fallen asleep on him at some point, and although that was entirely surprising, even more so than that was the fact that he had both allowed it and accepted it. From her straight line of sight after establishing that she was on the couch with him, she could see the coffee table, which contained a bottle and a few glasses laying out upon it, and the other couch across from them, which contained Ryder. Stretched out on multiple cushions, her furry friend seemed to have wanted to be nearby and keep an eye on things; in all honesty the trio of them seemed like they were common to each other, if anyone would have seen, unbelievably amicable for what the real matter at hand was. Unfortunately, the truth was that they were strangers for all intents and purposes, and she was panicking even in this slight consciousness. Thankfully Jack was still knocked out, giving her plenty of time to think about the situation, the circumstances, and what she could do, since she almost had no clue where to begin. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
First and foremost she had already acknowledged that moving would be unwise, as she didn't want to wake him prematurely, and regardless, she was quite enjoying the snuggling, as she perceived this to be a rare and special moment. Secondly, although she was certainly reveling in the affection that she had so long desired, she frankly was simultaneously beginning to be eaten alive with anxiety, a burning uncertainty in her chest that had been creeping upon her, slowly building up from the moment she first realized they were attached physically. Desperately she wanted to be glad of the relaxation between them, but instead of being happy, she was inconsolably worried about virtually every aspect between them. She was at least left with many more questions than she had answers, and that was enough to make her nervous of how things would be when he joined her, awake. How far back could she remember the previous night, anyways? She could recall that they were originally on two separate couches... How had they ended up sitting by each other? That was where things got fuzzy in her memory. Sometime between the drinks, one of them had moved to the other side of the room. Her inability to remember what happened led her to believe that it was likely her, who jumped couches, though she couldn't be certain, and was too afraid to ask. There were countless other questions zipping throughout her mind then, as well.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
How much had she really had to drink, and had she gotten that drunk? She could recall a few drinks, but goodness, she couldn't by any means count, or know how inebriated she really was. It was clear that he had joined her in drinking, but what about his consumption and status; was he at the same level as her? She easily figured that the answer to that was probably not, since he had always been the more moderate on the alcohol, between the two of them. What happened between them that led to her moving to him? Had she said or done something that she shouldn't have? That was typical behavior for her, honestly, though she really was hoping not. She had a tendency to spill her heart when she was tipsy, in a sweet way, but the last thing she needed to do was admit to him what she was feeling. It would do neither of them any good for her to overwhelm him. When had she managed to drift off to sleep after that, anyways? Had he been aware that she was asleep for a while, or had they fallen asleep around the same moments? She hoped that he wasn't laying awake uncomfortably for a length of time after her, but then again, would he have embraced her if he was anything other than alright with it? No, Jack wouldn't have wrapped his arm around her if there wasn't some kind of emotional situation... But what? Was he really feeling so safe now that he would not only accept such a touch but enjoy it, instead of avoiding it? There had to have been something she said or did to initiate that behavior from him, but what? Oh, her mind was on fire with the terrifying possibilities. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Reluctantly, as the feelings of discomfort in her continued to grow, Phera had ultimately decided to shut off her brain and force herself to move. She absolutely knew that it would wake Jackson, but at this point, there was nothing she could do to avoid it, and she knew that at least she would need coffee and pain medication. Ever so gently and slowly she pulled her arm into herself, being careful to not startle him with her movements. In fact, as she curled her limbs into herself, it was almost an intimate caress by her fingertips over his shirt, before she reached out her far arm in the beginning of a stretch. His arm slid off from around her as she yawned and extended her muscles, and glancing over at him so close, it was astounding how alluring he managed to be. With a blush and coy smile she looked away from him immediately, realizing that her hopes needed to be dashed before she got too excited. She stood up from the couch and stretched once again, not wanting to allow herself the chance to be rejected or upset, and began the trek to the kitchen, to begin another strange, new day.  </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>No dreams, </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">had been his first thought upon awakening. It had been true, astonishingly—he had slept through the entire night without a single dream that beckoned him back to the hellhole of his past. Jackson couldn’t even faintly recall the last occurrence he had had a night quite like the one previous, of which resulted in no startled intake of breath upon emerging from sleep. The thought was refreshing, and offered a peace of mind as he laid motionless, struggling to find the strength to pull his eyelids open to face the day, and more notably, the hangover that would follow. While he felt well-rested, it was rather difficult to completely believe he had slept through the whole night without any disturbances or interruptions whatsoever. Given his diagnosis of insomnia since he had been an early teen, Jackson never managed to sleep as a normal being would. After two years living in hell on earth, it only decreased his chances of having a good night of rest quite drastically to the point he gave up on sleeping, and only rested when absolutely necessary. The past few nights, however, have given him more rest than he’s had in two years, and even more so the previous night.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It wasn’t long until realization dawned him. Just beneath his arm laid soft skin, spreading warmth to his own. The person attached to said soft skin was motionless, and breathing softly underneath his arm. Jackson tensed instinctively, feeling a minor panic bubbling inside his chest. As much as he tried to recollect the night’s events, all he came up with was alcohol, and Phera stumbling over to his couch. Everything past Phera stumbling was blurry, and didn’t completely fill the picture that he tried desperately to recapture. Moments after stirring from the blissful sleep, Phera shifted underneath his arm ever so slightly, and gently removed her arm that had been sprawled across his abdomen, and rose up from the comfort of the couch quietly. A few padded footsteps trailed along the living room with soft </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>thumps</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, followed by minor pause that was short lived, before she continued walking away from the couch, and away from Jackson. While he had been certain she suspected he was awake, he decided against from opening his eyes, not harboring the desire to worsen the headache for just a while more, even if it meant relentless thoughts and even more relentless anxiety spent alone.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
His arm, of which had previously been cushioned by her skin, felt astoundingly chilly without her body heat. Of course, it hadn’t been news to him that she always seemed to be warm in both physical and personality, and even more so now. Jackson recalled long winter nights spent by the fireplace, and a blanket draped over their shoulders as they spilled their thoughts out into the open air, and had a good laugh about the day’s adventures and quirks. It had been something of a tradition to them, something that he had often looked forward to after a brutal day at both school and his part-time job. Phera had helped with homework, squeezed in a little time with him to chat and have an emotional release from being pent up in class or work, and even managed to find the time to be with him as long as she had been allowed to. At the time, he had thought nothing much of the gesture, and went along as he always had. Looking back on it, he wished he would have treasured the precious time spent with her—he hadn’t appreciated the time she had given to him, and now he would pay for it in ways he had never imagined. Time, as of present, was spent in hellish nightmares, startling incidents, and fear.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Light was spilling out of the window, and intensified the hammering headache in the back of his head, causing him to grimace upon cracking his eyes open. It had been a good five minutes, at least, since Phera had left to presumably get ready for the day, and Jackson figured it was about time to take the day on, as much as he loathed the faint idea. Quite thankfully, Ryder wasn’t in sight—Jackson had too much of a hangover to have the strength to deal with the dog, and frankly, react to, given the already growing anxiety inside from the previous night, and all the possibilities clung to it. He sat up to the couch’s cushions, stretching with a soft yawn escaping past his lips. He would, for the time being, push the night’s prior events to the back of his mind, and instead focus on ridding himself of the uncompromising headache with a few painkillers, as well as get himself some breakfast to satisfy the hunger pangs. The rest, he would worry about later when his head isn’t pounding with pain, he figured. Maybe pieces of memory would come back to him after his stomach was full, and he had a long hot shower to fully wake up.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Morning routines aside, Jackson felt more alert and awake then he previously had been, and shuffled his way into the living room in almost complete silence. Other than the hustle and bustle of the city, the morning was relatively quiet, and held no ambient gunshots in the distance, something he had grown accustomed to over the past two years in a way it struck him odd to not hear it now. He had unconsciously paused in the center of the living room, straining his ears to pick up on the noises just outside the apartment out of mere habit. Ryder looked at him rather curiously, but made no sudden movements to pull Jackson out of his trance. A few moments went by, and when he had been certain there was nothing life-threatening within the apartment complex, he resumed his routine and briskly walked into the kitchen to fix himself a quick breakfast. He assumed he would simply eat a bowl of cereal, along with whatever fruits Phera had laying around, and continue on with the day for the mean time. While he had no reassurances as to what the day would bring, he knew whatever would happen would happen. He couldn’t prepare himself for anything that would be thrown at him, but at least he had Phera by his side to bear some of the burdensome weight of life with him, even if he still held confusion and anxiety about the previous night.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera, though in a drunken state, had told him that she loved him. As much as he pushed the thought aside, he couldn’t ignore the obvious truth of the matter. She had said it, and he hadn’t said it back. Since his return, he hasn’t given much thought to what he had been </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feeling</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, as all he ever really acknowledge nowadays was the fear, anxiety and guilt, and left no room for anything else up until now. Did he still have fragments of emotions for the girl he had first fell in love with and gave his heart to? Jackson dwelled on the perplexing question, and fiddled with the concept for a while in the midst of breakfast alone. If he were being truthful with himself, even he did not know the answer to the question. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Only time could tell, he figured, as it certainly wouldn’t be confirmed between bites of Frosty Flakes at eight in the morning. Whatever the answer may be, Jackson knew enough to know Phera had been sincere in her words, even if it had been influenced by more than a few drinks the previous night. Three simple words, and yet it made him uneasy like nothing else. What did it mean? Was she still in love with him? Or had she just tried to comfort him? The more he mulled over the night’s events, the more his headache worsened, and ultimately, his detachment worsened too.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It hadn’t helped his thought process when she trickled in and out of the kitchen, seemingly going about her business as if nothing had happened. Jackson’s confusion only grew, watching her act so… </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>casually</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Her behavior was indifferent to the night’s events, and added to the confounded words swirling round and round in his head. Before she had confessed her love for him, she had openly told him what her mother had said. Jackson found it tremendously difficult to get the conversation out of mind; how could he? He couldn’t.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> With incredibly intense hangover pain pulsing behind her eyes and threatening to crack her thick skull wide open, Pheralynne had unfortunately dragged herself away from the deep comfort of the leather couch, where she had been cuddled up intimately in a confusing embrace with Jackson, almost unwilling to leave his side for the obvious reasons. When was the next chance she would have to enjoy the cozy taste of the past? It was likely a very rare accident that befell them that prior night, and she was already regretting experiencing it, for now having to experience its loss was horrifyingly disturbing to her poor heart. The anxiety of being unable to remember what occurred was in fact the worst part of her struggle on this new morning, as her emotions ran amok with the scary possibilities. Pushing her thoughts far away into the corner of her consciousness and slowly moving her legs forcibly one after the other towards the kitchen, the obvious intent of fixing herself physically was at the forefront of her mind. The feeling of a throbbing headache, followed up by symptoms such as dehydration and mild confusion, had ultimately left her feeling worse for wear than she had before, as usual, and she was already desperately seeking relief. Entirely oblivious to whether Jackson had gotten up or stayed laid out on the cushions as she stopped in the next room, she rummaged quickly through the cabinets for medications, glancing over labels and descriptions of bottles until she found the small, blue container that she needed. Removing two small pills from within the confines of the plastic, she put everything away before retracing her steps to the living room, throwing back both tablets and chasing them with a hefty swig from the open bottle that sat on the tabletop. Confidently she had assessed early in life, based on her father of course, that alcohol was the only real cure for alcohol induced problems; how long had she been saying that now anyways? </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Changing her pace once more, she returned to the kitchen, putting away the liquor in the shelf and dropping glasses in the sink to be washed, before setting up the coffee pot to brew; she was going to need a lot of caffeine if she wanted to survive the day, seeing as how they had awoken quite early, all things being considered. She was hoping after the stress of the previous day that they would both sleep in, though it seemed as the sun was rising that obviously, that plan had been dashed. After prepping the water, the grounds in the filter, and turning everything on, she meandered again out of the room, passing through the living room casually, still not entirely paying attention to the other party located within her apartments confines, though she at least had observed blatant information. It seemed he was at least awake, as he was yawning and stretching from the makeshift bed area, though with heavy uncertainty, she said nothing, and proceeded back to her section of the apartment.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
In the interior of her bedroom which she had willingly retreated to, behind the safety of a closed door, she formulated a fuzzy and yet somehow still decent plan: After cleaning up and dressing, she could grab some coffee, take out the dog, and maybe then try and find out what the hell happened the drunken night that led to this awkward morning. Ryder had followed her back in an attempt to get her attention and love, and she sighed wistfully. Her thoughts, as much as she tried to avoid this happening, kept bouncing back to Jack with every chance they got, obviously unwilling to cooperate with her preferred version of reality. Flashes of emotion would roll past her in waves, and every time she figured she was clear of the unpleasant recollections, more would appear in her brain to replace the ones past. The feeling of warmth, and acceptance, especially from him, was something that she had been craving to have for solid years. Having that even momentarily had filled a very empty spot in her heart, and the only upsetting information was that it had left a bigger spot in its immediate absence. Intent upon putting on a good face, she grabbed a wet rag from her master bathroom, wiping herself down entirely. Feeling clean was helping her to feel mild amounts better already, so to continue, she grabbed a wide tooth comb from her dresser. Separating her curls, she pulled back her hair away from her delicate face, tying the wild mane off with a thick ribbon. She had moisturized her face as well, leaving her looking much less haggard than she had been. Changing into a noticeably, baggy tee shirt with a fire symbol decoration and clean, tight, black leggings that were entirely plain, she was only a few minutes hidden before she emerged from her den feeling much more ready for the day and anything in it. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As she passed into the living area expecting to see Jack on the couch, she could hear the sounds of activity coming from the kitchen and reconsidered. She passed through the doorway to him facing away from her, bent over a bowl of cereal that he had rummaged around for. She had no mind to him making himself at home, and found her way to the coffee without mentioning his breakfast endeavor, as the pot had now finished brewing. Feeling brave, not wanting to remain in an anxious state, Phera formulated another plan. She was seeking to avoid the situation entirely, but from the look on his face that she had finally noticed, she could see that something was eating at him just the way it was with her. Pouring two cups, she set herself down at the table across from him, plopping a plain cup closer to him. Somehow, coffee had turned into an introduction between them, as a nice thing she could do without overstepping any boundaries; the worst thing he could do was refuse the cup, which innately she could just add her fixings to, and drink for him. Looking up from her hot beverage towards him, an eyebrow raised in curious question about where to start, she ran a hand over the back of her neck, a sheepish grin finding her features. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I hate to have to ask dumb questions,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she started quietly, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>but I'm a bit confused, to be honest.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She didn't want to admit her uncertainty, but she figured that he wouldn't likely respond to outright interrogations without some kind of explanation. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I'm figuring you have a much better idea of what happened last night than I do...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Her sentence trailed off with a halfhearted smile, as if she were aware something was obviously off. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Rethinking her position, she ran a hand over her temple and eyebrows, frustration mildly evident on her fair face. She had always been bad at covering up her expressions, and now was no exception to that. Especially as she was becoming comfortable with this new, strange version of him, things were falling into place for her, as he had accidentally given her something to look forward to, something to do. He wasn't exactly what she remembered, but that didn't make her feel any differently about him than she always had. Or, did she? Consciously she was as usual denying her emotions for him, desperate to remain unattached and emotionally safe. Rejection had ruined her once already, when he had left her originally, and she knew deep down that the only reason she wasn't trying harder to bring him back to her was because she was too scared to fail. What if what they had was unrecoverable? What if he was too far gone to remember, or commit to something like that? These questions and more were eating at her constantly, and if she had any clue, she would guess that she said something terribly inappropriate the night before. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Look, I'm really sorry if I said anything mean, or stupid, or something. To be honest I'm not really sure what happened... You wanna give me a rundown so I can go ahead and apologize all over myself?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Laughing to herself for a second, she added, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Just like old times</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Her presence shifted his mood, and put him on edge without her even having to breathe a single word. It was odd, he thought, how one person and one night could lead into a storm of questions, anxiety and a pure lump of fear ever-growing in the back of his mind. Reflecting upon it, Jackson considered the possibilities of Phera bringing up her mother’s visit in conversation sometime in the future. It was certainly possible, but unlikely since she had only offered up a small strand of information when drunk, of which he could only infer that she wouldn’t speak of it otherwise. At least if she was sober, anyway. Still, the conversation she had had with her mother was in the rear end of his mind at this point; her last words had set it all into motion, anxiety and all. He couldn’t figure out, on his own, whether or not she had been genuine, and more importantly, what it meant. The chaos erupting in his mind only added to the confusion, and the stinging hurt still left by her words. Worst of all, Jackson couldn’t beat around the bush with what her mother had said about him. She had been right, saying what she had said, even if it hurt a little more than it should have.</span></span><br>
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The sugary taste of Frosty Flakes felt sweet to the tongue, and the milk surprisingly refreshing and replenishing to his taste buds. Jackson contemplated for a long moment, and concluded that after returning home, everything had a vividness and crispness to it he had not noticed or seen before. Perhaps one could explain away and claim it was simply because of his near-death experience set him into a different perspective of life, and perhaps it was indeed true. Being under constant enemy fire sent him to bed every night with a new definition of fear, and ultimately, a new sense of reality. Every little thing, in his own mind, mattered and held meaning. Whether it was the simple cup of hot coffee, or a glass full of cold water, it all was valuable, treasurable. Jackson hadn’t shared this with anyone since Iraq, of course, but mulling over these thoughts lifted his spirts, even if by a little bit, and overrode the progressing sense of fear growing in the pit of his stomach. Unfortunately, the good feeling didn’t last long as he would have liked, just like everything else in life. Ironically, everything influenced with a bad impression seemed to last forever in his view, such as dreams.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera came into view, and shattered the sensation of a calm morning alone and a relaxing breakfast spent in careful contemplation. Instead, a heightened sense of panic and anxiety spiked through him and replaced the feeling, and impaired his thinking process, and ultimately killed his hopeful beliefs for the day. At any given moment, she could bring up the topic he most wanted to avoid—the three words that sent him into a mad disarray. Or rather, she could bring up a hurtful conversation about her mother and her words. Either way, Jackson wanted to avoid the dialogue altogether, but deep down, he didn’t want to upset Phera in a way that would cause her to question him even more vigorously. Given her personality, silence would only intensify her curiosity and ultimately cause her to have more reason to bring up the subjects he most wanted to avoid. But then it occurred to him, if he simply gave her enough information, she would assume things that he would rather not explain out loud, and he wouldn’t have to tell her the rest of the story. Right? It was simple, really. Give her enough information to keep her from busting in with more questions.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Another hesitant bite of cereal, and Jackson could </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feel </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">her gaze burning through him. It was apparent that she was just as hesitant to engage him, but for a long period of time, she said nothing to his relief. The longer time went on without conversation, the more he felt relief swell inside him. Maybe, just </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>maybe</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, she wouldn’t even bring it up. At least, that is, for now. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Please, </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he thought between bites of the sugary breakfast, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>don’t talk about anything. Please. Not now. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson bounced his leg up and down underneath the wooden table, feeling the nerves return as Phera moved around in the kitchen. She gracefully swept across the tiled floor, hands stretched out towards the cupboards above her head full of red, curly hair. Something hidden within her movements sent chills down his spine, and small quivers through his body. Quite thankfully, his small indications of edginess were concealed by the lip of the table, something he hoped would be enough to keep her from noticing and triggering an uneasy conversation in the process. Regardless of the impending fear, he forced himself to put on a neutral face by the time she fixed up two mugs of coffee. He was too late.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Pure and wholesome dread crawled into every fiber of bone, dragging him down to cringe-worthy thoughts and fears. Even knowing Phera was a sweet and kind woman, Jackson felt distress slither through his mind as he watched her take a seat, directly across from his own. His heart rate shot up, and he didn’t find it himself to finish taking another bite of the flakes. She offered him the cup of coffee, just as she had the two previous days, and seemed to harbor a curious and yet sheepish expression sported on her features. Although he did his best to avoid her gaze, his own eyes skimmed on by through hers as he reached for the mug with a quiet, yet audible, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Thank you.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">She didn’t seemed to register the small comment, and was grasping her own mug in an odd silence, as if contemplating something beforehand. Regardless of the meaning of her silence, Jackson’s leg didn’t cease from bouncing, and neither did the chills spreading through his body. Then, at last, she broke the tension in the air with eight simple words. While she did openly admit she hated asking senseless questions, she proceeded on without doubt wavering her voice. It started quietly, as if she were ashamed to be discussing this now, but gradually returned to a normal tone in which was stabilized with a new found attitude.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
She was smiling at him, but the gesture seemed hesitant and yet deliberate. Jackson sat in silence, not having found the will to drink the black coffee just yet. He considered the question briefly, and connected the dots. Despite his alarm and anxiety about the whole thing, she didn’t even remember the previous night. He could use it to his advantage, and pretend nothing ever happened. But Jack couldn’t find it in himself to completely avoid the question; she in fact wanted answers, and to put her own questions to ease as he did. Only, he wouldn’t tell her the whole thing. No, that would be too much of a dangerous thing. It would not only conflict things between them, but cause a rift of awkwardness and confusion to be placed as well. Jackson bit his tongue, and calculated his answer beforehand after she finished her sentence, explaining she apologized for anything she might have said or done. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Nothing… happened. Not like… never mind. I mean, you mentioned something about your mom’s visit here and… look, can we just forget about it? You were really drunk, and so was I, so… so it doesn’t even matter. It’s fine.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">He was lying through his teeth.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Pheralynne had only moments before finished ashamedly inquiring aloud to Jackson about the blurry events of that mysterious, prior night, her voice having evened out in tone from nervous to the same musical, calm as usual by the time she had decided herself entirely completed with her additions and apologies. Assuming the worst about herself was not helping to ease her frustrations, but making them worse by the minute, though she was thus far somehow managing to control herself both inwardly and outwardly via persistent thought redirection. In all her seemingly infinite wisdom and purposeful self care, honest and straightforward knowledge of herself as a person, she was leaning figuratively towards the unfortunate comprehension that she had likely spoken something entirely improper or untimely, leaving him to deal with something unpleasant, during which all the while she had no idea it had even happened and likely acted completely ridiculously. Upon openly admitting, albeit very embarrassed, that she wasn't certain what had actually occurred, and understanding things were out so easily in the open between them just by her query, one of the heavy weights of uncertainty fell from atop her shoulders. The realization occurred to her that she had in fact done her part in their communications effort already for the day by going out this far on a limb into what must be uncomfortable territory for them both, and as it were metaphorically; the ball was now in his court. Where the conversation would or would not go was no longer her responsibility thankfully, but his, as the recipient of her question and future deliverer of any type response. Either he would or would not have a partial or whole, suitable or inappropriate answer, considering the many available options, and she supposed she would accept whatever he could or would give her in terms of a reply. Positively, at least she had been confident enough to honestly converse with him candidly, a step which would turn out to be necessary for them both in the long run by fostering trust. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Taking a silent sip from the dark, decorative mug that she was holding delicately, which contained a fixed, creamy liquid billowing steam from its heat, Phera was observing Jack extremely carefully. From across the small tabletop, and so as not to bring unwarranted and unwanted attention to herself, she opted to not stare directly at him. Not only would a heavy gaze make him uncomfortable, but also that distraction of discomfort could ruin the potential sincerity of the moment with assumed judgement and therefor incurred anxiety. Taking short glances periodically, as if casually, during which she would analyze his facial expressions and posture to help determine an emotional state, it became clear and plain to her that an unsteadiness resided within him. The lights were on behind the glassy surface of his eyes, as if the wheel was turning in his mind a lot harder than it needed to be. For what possible reason would he be hesitant to answer in as frankly a way as she had inquired? It would be entirely rude for her to simply assume she knew what he was thinking or try and guess what could possibly have caused the delay, because at this point, she was getting used to him having to contemplate everything, and it shouldn't be surprising. Typically he was very paced and uncertain, often taking long pauses between random words, but the look she was witnessing expressed as differently than just the usual, slow, pensive mood. In fact, this seemed new and mildly concerning, though she would play her cards carefully to not alert him of what she feared she knew about his feelings. Probably wrongly assuming himself expressionless, it would be unwise for her to call him out in any way about any negativity buried beneath the surface, since that would be considered prying and probably damaging between them. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Beginning speaking, Jackson was surprisingly vague in his choice of words to Phera, who was hanging on every syllable, grasping for every sound that came from his mouth. It seemed as though he was going to brush the entire incident away, starting with words like nothing and never mind, though, then there was a mention of her mother. As if in a flashback, her mind hopped the fence from their conversation into the argument she had in hushed tones in the kitchen with her mom, things blurring indeterminably into each other. Bits and pieces of the night had come back to her then, knowing full well that she had likely expressed something hurtful, just as her mom had. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Oh shit,"</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> dripped from her lips almost inaudibly as one hand found her face, as if to express her mild disdain with herself and hide her shame. He had continued speaking, as if not noticing her forcible expression of concern, and she ran her hand back and in towards her hair, pulling on the end of her curly ponytail as she let her arm fall back into her lap. After she was assured that he was finished speaking, having heard him as he expressed they should forget and everything was fine, an open frown crossed her fair face, as obviously she didn't much like that answer. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I was really hoping you wouldn't say that."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> At this point, knowing full well that she may have hurt his feelings in her authentic state, sharing information that wasn't necessarily meant for him, there was certainly no plausible way for her to forget about this. She felt it pertinent to explain what had happened, or touch on what the words meant or... Who was she kidding? She wasn't even sure what she had said, and he had asked they forget about it. How important would it be to her, to explain something she didn't full understand? Actually, it would be incredibly important, considering his condition, that she not leave things to stew in his mind. Sighing softly as if with some resolution, she began talking again, but this time in a very sad truthfulness, obviously slightly regretful of the explanation she was baring for her previous words or actions.</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b> "Well, I'm not going to sugar coat this for you. I'm sorry for whatever I said, because she can be entirely harsh and you know I can be too revealing at times, especially drunk."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> She paused and tapped her lip before continuing,</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b> "There's no nice way to put this; you know my mom doesn't much give a shit for you." </b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">With a slight smirk, as if that wasn't bad news for some reason, she added on, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Thankfully I don't much give a shit for what she thinks, in return, so if I were you I wouldn't worry too much about it." </b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Standing up from the table slowly, Phera took her cup and excused herself, pushing her chair in behind her and walking past him towards the living room. The gentle touch of the fingertips of her free hand found his good, right shoulder, a very quick and temporary caress, likely a reassuring gesture to signify her amicability as she left him there in the kitchen. Her brain was alight with thoughts as she passed through the doorway, about the night, and about Jack. With her eyes landing on the couch, she stopped dead in her tracks and cocked her head quizzically to the side, instantly reminded of something she had almost forgotten. She had been running on the assumption that he would be entirely honest with her, also assuming that the worst thing she had said was something about her mother. As mildly reassuring as that would be for her, it also made no logical sense... It would be terribly surprising if she hadn't said some sort of emotional garbage, because how else would there be an explanation to them sleeping together...? Wait, he had offered no explanation as to that circumstance in the first place, skipping over it with the mention of her mom, and them both being drunk, everything is fine... Well, fuck, how drunk were they? He was omitting something! Had she made moves on him? Or was it somehow impossibly the other way around? Her brain was back to frantically skipping about, since she was understanding both that there was more to the story than he had let on, and that she would have no way of figuring out what it was without him saying it directly to her. Spinning on her heels, she was back in the kitchen in seconds, standing quietly nearby the chair she had been sitting in, but looking very straightly at Jack with no obvious intent to actually sit down. She looked not necessarily angry, but very concerned in a displeased way. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Ok,"</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> the word was soft and resolute, like she was still convincing herself to even speak, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I'm only going to ask this one time, and I'd really appreciate a straight answer."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> Those words, on the other hand, were not soft at all. It came out sounding slightly more intimidating than it needed to, just because of the obvious seriousness. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"What's the part of last night that you aren't telling me?"</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> Just because she didn't think of him as a liar didn't mean that she would put it past him to leave something out, because at this point, she was well aware that he had done just that. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Everything within sight became an easy distraction for Jackson’s eyes, the pair both filled to the brim with indications of nerves and uneasiness. Anything, it seemed, was better than their current conversation, and where it would inevitably end. He was sure of it, and did everything in his willpower to ensure he remained trapped in his own thoughts, far away from the rough edges of reality for as long as possible. Whether the fear or confusion was the reason for his behavior, he could not know or even dare to allow for himself to submit to these emotions completely and blindly whilst put under the spotlight, of which was operated by Phera for the time being. She would be, perhaps, the only person on earth that would even bother putting him on the spot when it came to issues like these. Regardless of the circumstances and Phera’s inquiring curiosity getting the better of her, Jackson felt a twinge of guilt swell up inside. Just like everything else, she just wanted answers. She wanted to clear the doubt fogging her mind, just as he wanted to regarding her words and their meaning, and now she was asking him for answers, of which he didn’t give in complete truth. It had occurred to him that before enlistment, before all the drama that went tumbling down through relationships, he had been honest. Perhaps this explained the guilt and regret that befell after lying through his teeth, but at this point, there wasn’t going back on his word. As his mother told him, once words were spoken, they stayed out there forever. Sometimes they were the cause of haunted dreams, and other times they were the cause of a smile.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The black coffee was bitter and piping hot, just the way he liked it for years. Even before enlistment, Jack had been an avid coffee consumer, and was constantly seen in mornings with a mug in hand before anything else took place in his routine. Phera had, he recalled, coffee every now and then, but nothing like she did now. Now, it seemed, she had it every day and apart of her morning rituals, like he had back in the day. It was funny, he thought, how some little things could change and bring back such vivid memories even after years have passed. Slowly sipping on the beverage, Jackson periodically glanced at Phera in between drinks, and mulled over his answers in a silent manner. They were vague enough, and offered little to no substance of a real response to shed light on the night’s previous events. Perhaps he had taken the wrong approach, because as the words left his mouth, Phera’s expression changed slightly. The indications were there, of course, but only someone that has known her for quite some time would be able to pick up on them and decipher them. Given the change in the air, Jackson fiddled with his mug for a while, clearly avoiding her occasional glance that sent his heart racing, and not in a good way. She swore quietly under her breath, and to emphasize her emotions, lifted a hand to be wrapped over her mouth in a manner of both guilt and disdain of her own actions. Jackson didn’t find the heart to shrug or offer words of comfort to her; after all, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>he </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">was the one holding the information from her, not the other way around. All he knew to do was dwell in momentary silence.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
She had claimed she was not one to sugar coat it, and lived up to her word as she told him the cold hard truth. If anything, her words sent him rigid and tense, and only added to the outbreak of thoughts in the labyrinth of his mind. Every piece of information felt overwhelming, and the fact that Phera seemed genuinely sorry and apologetic of the whole situation only made his guilt worse. She expressed something of a rueful attitude, and offered him what she wanted to be comforting words. Jackson didn’t respond, but instead intently stared into the abyss of coffee within his mug, steam swirling into the air as she stood up, coffee in hand. Her gentle touch—thankfully on his good shoulder—sent him back to uneasiness, feeling as though the hour would never end. Then she was gone. Instantly, relief flooded him and his body relaxed somewhat. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Maybe</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> she wouldn’t come back. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Maybe</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">she wouldn’t suspect anything else had happened. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Maybe</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> he had said enough. Jackson took another swig of the bitter liquid, allowing it to burn down his throat and warm the pit of his stomach. Then the tidbit of relief vanished, gone the second she came back into view. Struggling to swallow the last bit of coffee, he met the serious gaze of her, and tensed, expecting the worst on instinct. Her words sounded harsh to his own words, and inflicted distress and panic inside his veins. Jackson’s strength broke, and he struggled to find words to properly answer her as exasperation filled him.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“You wanna know what happened? </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>Fine</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>. You told me that you love me, alright?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he paused, standing up from his seat to meet her eyes for the first time that morning. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Right after that, you passed out on me, and I was too drunk and tired to do anything about it,”</b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson finished, eyes downcast as he walked away into the comfort of the living room.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> The tension built up within the atmosphere of that kitchen could metaphorically be cut straight throughout with a blade, as Pheralynne stood steadily as possible near a sturdy chair tucked under the small table, sunlight pouring into the area around her and Jackson, whom she was now staring directly at after inquiring more seriously about the previous evening. It was entirely atypical of her thus far anyways, to be so forward with him, primarily out of honest and crushing fear of his reactions, but in this particular case there was no time for that; if she had messed anything up, she would need to remedy the damage immediately, lest there be negativity. Leaving any bad words or feelings unmonitored to sour between them was a certain death sentence to whatever remained of their relationship, though it was struggling to even be called a friendship in the light of fair observation. Astounding guts and moxie built up by logic and determination had left her feeling rebellious and confident, assuming with certainty that direct inquiry was the best and only way to discover the honest details of the night, particularly information that had been skipped on purpose. Thinking on this further now, perhaps there was a very valid reason he omitted partial facts to her, and the visible distress emanating from him left her also feeling anxious, uncertain now of what she had truly initiated. The amount of regret she was harboring for that assumption had forcibly tripled at least, as they stood in a discouraging silence, trapped between wanting and not wanting to know the whole truth. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As the moments ticked by on the clock, the tide of time constant and unfaltering as always, anxiety crept up from the pit of her now disturbingly nauseous stomach into her tight lungs and chest, forcing her into a terrifying discomfort completely unusual to her. Although she was still breathing in and out, standing up straight, and looking alert and aware, she was faltering and flailing desperately in her mind for some semblance of past certainty that was too far gone now to reclaim. She had gone from casual to crazed intensely fast internally, with no real signs of trouble on the outside of her, other than the perhaps mildly concerned facial expression resting on her visage. It was astounding and horrifying how quickly her emotions would dart back and forth, a roller coaster which she hadn't willingly climbed aboard, and which she preferably was seeking to escape entirely. How was it possible for her encounters with him to all end in the same misguided ways, with her despairing and longing for reassurance that he couldn't provide her with, since he couldn't any longer provide himself. Everything was so unknown and unpredictable for each of them that they had no better chance together, or so it seemed on a daily basis anyways. With every positive that bounced her away from the reality, a negative would drag her back kicking and screaming, mentally anguishing over the worry in her curiosity. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Trying to convince herself to calm down, Phera talked to herself calmly, asking internally what was the worst thing that could have happened? She knew that they ended up on the same couch, and that they had cuddled through the night, but the question was in how they had ended up that way. As far as she could reason, they were both dressed and relatively rational, which meant it wasn't as if they'd had sex or anything, so there was that to be positive about. Of course, that left to the imagination many unfortunate scenes from their years past, the likes of which would make grown, married couples blush, opening up another wide wound in her mind. Thankfully she was capable of redirecting her thoughts again, forcing herself to keep considering the real options, not things that were entirely impossible. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Finally, snapping her away from her thought process, she heard the gruff, exasperated voice of Jack as he started speaking to her, obviously dismayed at the situation in its entirety. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>You told me that you love me, alright?</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Ultimately, time had stopped in that moment, and the words shot past her ears as if to directly assault her feelings, causing her to catch her breath in her chest. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>What...?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" As the heavy weight of the word love registered to her ears she had stopped breathing entirely, as if she had gone into shock, the words slapping her in a place she hadn't realized was so terribly tender. In a matter of seconds as he stood up and seemed in that instant to tower above her intimidatingly, he made direct eye contact with her for the first time in that entire morning, looking disillusioned if anything. Though she was not registering his facial expressions, her face was certainly showing her feelings; an untimely and ultimately surprised look resounded in her eyes openly, features that could simultaneously be described as both utter horror and suffocating depression, comparable to a young puppy lost in the road, waiting to be flattened by traffic. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>But...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She was at a complete loss for a response, letting him turn and leave the room without saying anything else. She stood, glued in place, staring into the place where he used to stand just moments before. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Phera reached out the hand closest to the table quickly, waving it around until it landed on something solid, namely the chair, and held herself up barely by that alone. The anxiety had burned a hole straight through her middle, as if to disrupt all of her internal organs at once, hurting her in a way that she didn't think possible before that moment. Something deep inside of her had been resisting the idea that she cared for him at all, desperate to keep herself emotionally safe and avoid another painful rejection from the same man who had damaged her with that behavior before, but it was more than evident that was far from the truth. From the moment he had gotten back, she had gone out of her way to make him comfortable, happy, and safe, even when that compromised her. She had kept everything he owned, remembered things in detail about him and them together that he could only barely touch vaguely, and even stayed entirely alone for solid years, refusing the companionship of any men because they simply weren't him. In all honesty, it couldn't have slapped her in the face any harder; she WAS in love with him. She always had been, and she likely always would be, and fighting against the inevitable had a way of turning on her in the end. She was realizing all at once that with her overwhelming feelings, she was likely pushing him even further away than he already was, in essence making things much harder on herself than they already were. Having not been breathing for quite a while, she finally sucked in oxygen quietly, and immediately tears were dropping from her skin, with small, wavering whimpers escaping from the back of her throat barely audibly to accompany them. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Though it very well seemed dramatic, her world was crashing around her. She was a symbol of strength, an embodiment of continuing on where things seemed impossible, holding out hope for the things which very frequently would never come to fruition. Whether it was hopeless romanticism between them, or even a desperate desire to resolve the past, the truth of the matter was that she was entirely too emotionally invested into someone who still hadn't discovered or appreciated her value, after all this time. The reality of unrequited love left her bruised heart barely functioning, and with every small breath she managed to suck in, the internal pressure was squeezing that air back out. She could see Ryder from the corner of her eyes, watching her very carefully and whining back at her, as if he knew something was wrong before she did... In seconds, the remaining strength in her limbs was cut and her vision faded out entirely, leaving her body to hit the chair, table, and then floor with a loud thud. Consciousness had entirely left her, her limp form sprawled out on the tiled floor, with dots of blood forming on her forehead where she had slammed into the table on the way down. Ryder had gotten to her in furry seconds, crying and licking at her face to no avail. Apparently the dog was as smart as he was dedicated, as he immediately left her side and made a straight line for the living room, barking repeatedly and anxiously at the only other human in the room, Jack, as if to say, "do something!" Inevitably, someone would have to do something, since she certainly wasn't going to. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Bitterness had found its way in his veins, simmering and festering deep within his very core. It had been left untouched and undiscovered up until this very moment, leaving Jackson feeling empty, confused and in a funk he couldn’t seem to get out of. Every breath he took was labored, and every thought corrupted by bewilderment and misery that drowned him. Nothing in his world made sense, and it left him feeling crippled with the thought of trying to pick up all the pieces only to break again. Why would someone like Phera love someone like </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>him</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">?” How could they? The simply idea didn’t seem at all possible, to have someone as sweet and kind as Phera </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>love </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">someone as bitter and </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>broken </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">as Jack. None of it clarified the mystifying puzzle, and all of it sent Jackson into a storm of confusion, giving him all the more reason to distance himself from her. She didn’t need to love him, he decided. Not anymore. She would only get her heart broken again, because that’s what he does best. He breaks everything around him, and most of all, he breaks himself inside a mental warfare that never seems to leave him in peace. No, it never leaves. It crawls in every minute during his waking, and while he’s sleeping. Nothing could get rid of it, he thought. No one could fix him.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A sensation burned through him, leaving trails of self-hate and guilt in the aftermath. Jackson shouldn’t have walked away like he had done, he shouldn’t have been so… detached from Phera, when all she wanted was straight answers from him for once in his life. She’s been nothing but good to him, and now he’s being a complete asshole and has no clear reason as to </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>why</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Trying to sort through his rapid thoughts, he paced back and forth around the coffee table, Ryder’s whines a distant noise to his ears that never fully registered. Between the fast paced steps around the living room, he ran a hand through his messy hair in attempt to ground himself in reality. The last thing he needed this moment was to have a flashback, of all things going on currently. Before he had walked out of the kitchen on an impulse, Phera’s expression had changed from a neutral one into something more… haunting. It appeared to be a cross between outright horror and pure shock, as if it had been the last thing she suspected had happened that night. Of all things, it had been least expected in his own mind, too. He could still barely believe it himself, quite frankly. For a brief period of time long before he had told her, he had waved it off as him being too drunk and simply imagining the whole thing, but as much as he willed the memory to fade away, it never did. Only then did he know it had been real.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A loud clash emerged from the kitchen, causing him to jump from his collective thoughts. All the sounds he had pushed to the back of his conscious came crashing in, all at once registering in his mind. Though he brushed the small incident off as perhaps a lack of coordination from Phera—she’d done so in the past, from what he recollected—and moved on with his rushing river of thoughts. Jackson paused in the middle of the room, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from trailing too far into the world his mind formed too often. Nothing was more dangerous, more hazardous than trickling and dabbling into the dark parts of his mind, leaving him more and more detached from the real world that was in front of him. It frightened him, not knowing if he could keep himself out of his head for too long. Jackson had seen what a real war could do to a real man—hell, he went through it himself firsthand—and has subsequently held the desire to evade the possibility of him losing his mind. He’s seen soldiers break, snap and explode before. But it was another thing seeing them slowly lose touch of reality, forever lost in the past and torment their minds made. It scared him shitless, if he were being honest, to have the thought that </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>he </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">could turn into one of </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>them</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. He didn’t want to. No, he couldn’t become one of them. Could he? Did crazy people know they’re crazy?</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Ryder was barking at him, the noise piercing through his thoughts once more. Jackson stared at the dog in stunned silence, eyebrows knitted together in baffled confusion. Then reality sunk in his bones, and he felt panic swell with him. Something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. Ryder never barked unless something happened, from what he could tell. Did something happen? Was someone breaking into the house? Oh God, what if someone armed was breaking in? What would he do? Was Phera alright? What weapons could he… Jackson stopped his panic induced questions, and thought better of the situation, and turned on his heels to enter the kitchen with extreme caution. His ears strained for a long stretch of time, before he mentally declared that no one was, in fact, breaking into the apartment. Jackson’s eyes skimmed through the objects and windows of the kitchen, until they lingered briefly on the table and chair that was toppled over. His heart dropped as he gazed at the aftermath of whatever had taken place here. Phera’s body laid sprawled across the chair and tiled floor, limp and lifeless with her copper hair spilling everywhere. Dabbles of blood were visible on her forehead, sending a new found wave of fear and panic through him as he rushed to her side, completely forgetting all the mixed emotions held for her just moments prior.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Shortly after taking her pulse, Jackson rummaged around the house for her cellphone in a rushed manner, not registering the objects tossed aside in the process, leaving her apartment looking as if someone </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>had </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">in fact broke in and left the apartment in pieces. When he had, at last, found her cellphone, he immediately dialed 9-1-1. About ten minutes later, the ambulance arrived. Paramedics hauled her onto a stretcher, and before he could say anything, she was in the back of the ambulance. Out of convenience and for the sake of obtaining some answers as to how she collapsed, Jackson was allowed to be taken to the hospital alongside Phera. A few quick questions, a somewhat short journey, and they had arrived at said hospital. The paramedics rolled the stretcher into double doors, leaving Jackson alone in the waiting room with his head in his hands.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: rgb(245,116,95)"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Metaphorically out like a light, Pheralynne was entirely, undeniably unconscious, floating freely in the void abyss of deep, impact sleep brought on by hyperventilation causing oxygen over-saturation, which would have been a temporary unconsciousness if not for the immediate head injury that occurred. Life flashed and flickered like a movie far beyond her mental reach, continuing on its journey without her consciousness being required for functionality, as if she wasn't present at all for the chaos of imminent medical danger regardless of her being the center that attention. Unbeknownst to Phera, standing in the kitchen and suffering the rapid, shallow breathing onset by her anxiety led to hypocapnia, which in turn then would cause respiratory alkalosis; ultimately she had reduced the blood flow to her own brain, causing muscle weakness, drowsiness, and even a slight unconsciousness. Falling from standing even for her small stature was a painful process, a five foot drop for her skull, and especially worse after hitting multiple furniture items on the way to that tiled floor. If she hadn't already been messed up from the breathing problem alone, now she was suffering a traumatic brain injury on top of that, the extent of which in damage wouldn't be evident until a doctor had prodded and probed into her medical history and done pertinent scans of her current condition. It would be about twenty minutes from the moment she fell to the ambulance arriving in the emergency bay, baring Phera to the depths of the mess of hospital hallways, and the atmosphere of the building was different then suddenly, perhaps more tense. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Though no one would ever call attention to this information purposefully, the truth of the matter was that Phera was a priority patient for a multitude of reasons, including her parents money and her previous internship, and she would be seen to the best care they could provide her with. Already having access to her medical records from her previous work was incredibly useful in an event like this, and reading between the lines with Jack's vague answers, bless his heart for at least attempting to be helpful, a picture was formulated by one of the doctors seeing to her, with whom she had personal history. Named Vance, this particular doctor had tried many times to incur her favor via treats and offers of dates, though obviously she had always refused his proposals, never offering an explanation. To him, it was clear now that the explanation for her hesitancy with him was Jack, sitting in the waiting room, patiently wondering himself what the hell happened to his fair redhead. Reading over her file more completely and understanding the crushing anxiety onset a few years ago, he had formulated some idea of what had happened, the likes of which was a believable accident, however unfortunate, and he shipped her over to be CT scanned, to make sure there would be no brain swelling or bleeding. If the scan came back clear, it was likely a mild injury, and she would wake from unconsciousness anytime in the near future. If her temporary coma went on any longer than a half hour, it would be considered moderate at that point, and concern would mount for whether she would wake up at all. The longer someone is unconscious from a head injury, the worse their chances really are, and the worse their symptoms. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"You must be Jackson." The serious tone in which the words were spoken by the doctor approaching through the waiting room at a fast pace left no spaces for hesitation, the words cutting through the air from quite a distance. Was something wrong, or would he have good news to give Jack? Doctors, especially Vance, had a way of seeming very negative all the time, even when there was nothing wrong. Offering the boy a hand to shake, the man wasted no time continuing with his implied speech. "I'm Dr.Vance Markson, and I have good news and bad news for you, son, about your girlfriend." Good news and bad news, of course, since nothing could decide what it wanted to be in her life one way or the other, and WAIT, girlfriend? Jesus, could things get any more confusing than they already were for them? Well, hell, the Doctor would have no idea whether that was true or not, all he would know is that they came together, and she had mentioned him many times. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"The bad news is that Pheralynne is unfortunately still unconscious, and suffering from a mild traumatic brain injury, right now. If she doesn't become conscious in," looking at his watch quickly and counting, he sighed, "the next ten minutes, then we have to move her up to moderate traumatic brain injury on the scale." Obviously, the exceptional seriousness of the situation was clear. "Now the good news is, it's very likely that she will be awake here shortly, based on everything I've managed to figure so far. Her CT scan came back negative of any bad signs of swelling or bleeding, and her vital signs are essentially back to normal. What we have on our hands now is a waiting game that can only be ended by her." Well, that wasn't entirely pleasant sounding in the long run of things, but what would be a better answer? At least she wasn't suddenly dying or dead, and thinking well of it, Vance continued talking again. "Well, you probably want to see her, come on now, we can bring you to her room." With that, not waiting for a credible answer one way or the other, he was walking away, still talking. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"So, I think you should know what to expect when she does wake up; she's prone to anxious fits, it seems like, so know that she's going to be a little upset and confused at what happened. Try and keep her calm and relaxed, because the last thing we need is her getting upset again and ending up right back here again." He had laughed that one off as a joke, but eh, some things were in poor taste. Her health wasn't necessarily funny, but he didn't have time to care about bad reception of jokes, continuing on once more. "Oh, yeah, what to expect. She could suffer a lot of side effects from only hours or even to multiple days after this, including things like nausea, dizziness, drowsiness, blurry vision, and headaches." Vance had stopped in front of a door, swinging it open and holding it. "Go right on ahead, she's still out cold right now, but a nurse will be back and forth to figure when she wakes up, and of course you'll see when her emergency contact arrives, and hopefully everything will be fine." With that, he was gone, leaving Jack in a room with an unconscious body, laid out and looking incredibly tiny and even frail, in the grand scheme of the large room. What a story this would turn out to be. </span></span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Nothing, at this point in time, could be said or thought to comfort the wary mind of Jackson as he sat silently within the white walls of the waiting room, anxiously hoping to hear news on Phera soon. Since he had stumbled in through the glass double doors of the hospital, no one has chosen to have approached him to offer up any information whatsoever. Not that he had expected anyone, staff or not, to do such a thing, but it left him wondering if they would even give information out to people outside of relatives. Regardless, he knew enough to know that medical staff have written down his name shortly after asking a few answers, of which none he could respond with full certainty, resulting in vague answers and vague possibilities staff considered. The receptionist had then instructed him to patiently abide in the waiting room, and remain there until either a staff member asks he leaves and wait for a phone call, or a doctor simply gives him the rundown on Phera’s condition, and escorts him to her hospital room. The directions were unsophisticated enough, but Jackson’s mind was already lingering on the urge to take a walk, away from the suffocating room he currently was in.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Only, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Given the frightening possibilities of Phera’s condition, anything could happen within a single moment. Jackson, certainly, didn’t want to be somewhere else when Phera needed him; she had been there for him after he had gotten shot, regardless if it hadn’t been in person but on a cheap phone. It would be outright selfish of him, he acknowledged, and as much as he </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>wanted </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to, he decided against the despicable act and stayed put within the hospital. Rapid thoughts flickered through his mind, sending an array of negative emotions coursing through his body. His stomach was flipped, filled to the brim with fear. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh please God, please let her be okay. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">But somehow, naivety didn’t brush away the anxiety and terror like it once had. Instead, just the opposite happened. More horrified thoughts came and went, leaving him fidgeting with his shirt and squirming in his suddenly uncomfortable seat. Was she alright? Where was she? When could he see her? Would she suffer any permanent damage? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh God</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh God. Please, please let her be alright. Please God. She doesn’t deserve any of this. I deserve it. Not her. Anyone but her.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Even before a bullet ripped through his shoulder, Jack hated hospitals. The thought of so many lives lost in a single building never held appeal to him, even if there had been no incidents prior to his enlistment. If anything, hospitals creeped him out with the ambient despair coursing throughout its empty halls, and brought back terrifying flashbacks to the day he had been rushed to the ER himself. Of course, the details were hazy and images blurry, but he remembered better than anything else the </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>pain. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Everything that day had hurt and ached like nothing before, and he recalled himself wishing to be knocked out or numbed. Of course, the hospital had only so many numbing drugs before the procedure ended, leaving him with the excruciating agony for more than he’d like to acknowledge. Jackson was squirming inside the plastic chair, periodically glancing around the room in desperate search of passing staff or medical personal; of no such luck, so far. In between silence and anguished thoughts, his leg bounced from the sterile white floors repeatedly in an anxious outlet of his. Jackson had never been one to deal with anticipation well, and now it seemed to be worse.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
He had been biting his nails unconsciously, something he would later take note of, but for the time being he barely registered the pain. It was a funny and curious thing, really. Jackson, of all people, used pain to cope with pain. Anything at all to take off his mind of the reality of the situation, it seemed, was better than staring at his demons in the eye straight on. That hadn’t been for him since deployment, and was rather something Phera would do. She had been indefinitely straightforward with how she approached problems and situations alike, and it had always been something admirable in a person, he thought. Even now, he had viewed taking things the direct route being frightening and horrifying, but with Phera’s given personality and attitude, it seemed natural and upon instinct to do such a thing. Now examining himself, he couldn’t find it in himself to be like Phera; brave and not afraid to be upfront with life. It was something out of range for him, and something that seemed to be unobtainable after everything he’s been through. Forthrightness landed him in a labyrinth of emotions and memories he couldn’t find the will or strength to deal with, presently.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A almost grave voice sliced through the silence, almost startling Jackson from his in depth contemplations. Though it held a warm, soothing intone from the man’s throat, the tone in which he spoke upon planted a pit of both fear and dread in his already churning stomach. Clad in a white coat, that of a doctor’s, the middle-aged man extended a gruff hand towards Jackson as he stood up, shaking the oddly warm hand in silence. It was clear that the doctor, whoever he was, knew of Jack without the need of introduction from him. While the thought did strike him as peculiar, he brushed the paranoia aside and could only assume the man had been passed information from the staff that questioned him. It certainly would explain how he knew his name, but how had he been able to recognize him? It was a baffling matter he chose not to look into too much detail for the time being, but was still burning in the back of his mind as the man introduced himself as Dr. Vance Markson. From what Jackson could infer, the doctor was professional and blatantly held an air of knowledge around him. It wasn’t in the least bit comforting, but Jackson chose to refrain from giving into fear this time.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
It hadn’t fully registered by the time Dr. Vance’s words disappeared into the thick air, but as Jackson released his hand and allowed for it to fall limp by his side, it clicked. The doctor had assumed Phera was his girlfriend, and a wave of confusion hit him instantaneously alongside bewilderment. Girlfriend? Where had that assumption come from? Then, almost stupidly, Jackson recalled this had been the hospital she had worked in. If anything, knowing this man may have known Phera personally made things more baffling, and left questions unanswered as they walked side by side down a white hallway, the doc offering up news; both good and bad. It was evident the doctor shared the mindset of Phera, too—he was straightforward, and left no traces of hesitation in his voice whatsoever. Jackson could only do his absolute best to keep up with Dr. Vance’s rapid words, but somewhere along the conversation he found himself feeling more lost than anything else. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>She has ten minutes. Ten minutes until what? Oh dear God. Please let her wake up. Even if she hates me and kicks me out, just let her wake up. Just tell me she’ll be okay. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">But there was no one but himself to tell him she would be okay.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The side effects weren’t as bad as he had thought them to be, but still enough to cause a grimace to be sported on his tired features. Jack followed the doctor in silence, occasionally glancing around the hospital rooms they passed. Some of which were empty, but others were met with the gaze of a sickly patient bedridden that sent a shiver down his spine.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>She’ll be fine. Phera has to be. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">After a silent pathetic pep talk to himself, Jackson found the strength to reach out and press open the door. The hinges squeaked loudly, but the body lying motionless on the bed didn’t stir even in the slightest. Her copper hair was spilling over her shoulders, but did nothing to hide the fragility she seemed to possess and cause his heart to sink with sadness. How had he not noticed it? How selfish has he been the last two days? Jackson shook his head as he stood in the middle of his room, feeling guilty as ever as he stared at Phera’s peaceful state. Had she been back home, she could have been sleeping, regardless of the bandage across her head. A swell of sorrow tore through him, leaving him feeling as though he was drowning in guilt and remorse. She told him she loved him. He hadn’t.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson was now seated at her bedside, and the strange desire and thought to hold her hand came rushing through him. It was almost an impulse, but he didn’t have the energy to fight it. And there he was, holding her limp, warm hand in his own. He was smiling sadly, as if some part of him remembered the small, soft hands. As if some part of him never left, as if some part of him never broke. They remained that way for quite some time, him holding her hand as he tried to comfort his mortified-self, trying to think of what he would say when she woke up. Over the past few days, he hadn’t said much of anything other than when initiated by Phera, but this time around he wanted things to change around. He wanted to talk to her, to calm her when she needed to be. He wanted to be what she had been for him; a comfort. She deserved that much, even if he was confused and afraid now. It hadn’t entirely crossed his mind that her mother would be arriving. And even if he had, it was too late. The door was squeaking again, behind him.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Remaining entirely unconscious and sprawled out in a hospital bed, drifting through endless black with no concept of reality or time, Pheralynne was essentially a beautiful brick of a person; although she was still god-awfully pretty to look at, uselessness had stolen her physical body and mind in a complex fit of brain trauma, leaving her at least temporarily, currently, vegetative at best. Though it hadn't yet been thirty minutes from the accident that caused her hospitalization and cessation of alertness, time was still ticking away in a surreal and unfortunate countdown against her, waiting to claim her consciousness permanently if allowed to. Regardless of the many physical examinations, multiple machinery scans, being moved from place to place, and even Jackson now holding her hand gently, she was still deep within the aimless abyss of comatose sleep, her brain entirely unresponsive to outside stimulus. As if there was some kind of strange, disturbing filter blocking the outside world from reaching her internal senses, nothing had yet woken her, and it was unfortunately beginning to seem as if nothing would, as desperately terrible as that would be. Tension and depression were running rampantly high in the atmosphere of the building, not only from Jack who was openly distraught, but from various doctors and nurses, who would know her personally and periodically poke their heads in the room or peek through the windows, obviously wondering to themselves if she had regained any semblance of the fiery life she usually contained. Disappointment peaked when each individual would come to the same horrible conclusion- she had not. The proverbial hourglass was emptying of sand, the timer running out, all the while people stood helplessly by watching as if it were a tragic movie to which none could look away from. Whispered concerns and expressions of fear floated throughout the empty space, and even in their softness, their intended contexts were overwhelmingly loud.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Sudden silence swept across the lobby, hallways, and rooms of the area simultaneously as both air flooded in through the main doors and a vibrant, older woman forced herself into the building with it in quite an obvious hurry, commanding an unwarranted amount of attention considering the circumstances. Rushing in and causing a whirlwind scene, Lynae was immediately, visibly, very easily distinguishable as Phera's mother, by their resemblance both in especially appearances and even in personalities, though it was clear that the younger girl was much sweeter in nature. Sporting an indignant, haughty glare on her middle aged visage, complete with knitted brows and a firm frown, it was evident to anyone and everyone that she was seemingly unpleasant in mood and in no state to be trifled with. "Where is my daughter?" Her pointed question was soaked with demand and expectation, and Joyce, who was in ER Reception for the second day in a row, was already frazzled, failing now in her shock to come up with an answer fast enough apparently. Lynae was gone in a huff with a hand over her shoulder, stomping towards likely she didn't know what. By god, her daughter was back in these halls somewhere and she was going to find her, and discover what was really going on! Thankfully, as all of this was occurring, Vance was coming from the area of hallways containing Phera's room already, noticing immediately both the familiar face and the need presented at hand. This woman was easily recognizable, though he had never seen her before, as an older, spitting image of the girl he so fancied. "Excuse me ma'am," he began with his gruff voice, stopping Lynae in her tracks, "I think I know where you need to go. Right this way." He had finished with his arm extended backwards in his direction, and as she evaluated that he was a doctor, she quickly followed him without question. The woman had quite a way about her, and it was clear she knew what to do to get where she wanted to.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"I got a call about my daughter, Pheralynne. What in the world is going on?" Sounding terse and frustrated, it almost came across as though she was much angrier to be interrupted than upset or worried about the state of her child, of whom she received an emergency call, not just any old call. It was very unfortunate how glaringly apparent the disdain was for the situation, when there were bigger matters at hand presently, such as the potential life of her only daughter. Although typically Phera and Lynae held a relatively close relationship, so it appeared outwardly at least, they had always been two different types of people, and maintained into her adulthood more of a fake and distant life in regards to each other. At face value they were wonderful family full of love, but underneath, the two were vastly different and resented each other for it immensely. Vance may have understood this but he took no notice of this via words purposefully, knowing full well what was and wasn't his place to say to patients or their families, and casually began explaining what had happened plainly, saying, "Well, she took a nasty fall is what it sounds like, and we believe she has a traumatic brain injury. She's unconscious right now, and stable, but we're not certain what the next step is." As every word fell from his mouth implying progressively worse circumstances, Lynae looked more and more surprised, and perhaps then moderately upset; still, this was an atypical reaction from the normal, concerned, loving mother. Finally reaching the doorway of the particular room, peeking in through the window of the door carefully and uncertainly, a suddenly confused look appeared and quickly turned back to annoyance. Vance hadn't even a moment to ask before she had pushed the door open, the squeaking of the hinges opening and closing, and disappeared into the room without him. Thinking it best not to intrude on what was clearly a tense and disturbing time for the makeshift family, he exited the hall back to different work. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Lynae had crossed her arms and adopted another scowl as she came upon Jackson and Phera, although any other person would be inspired with likely heartwarming feelings looking at the pair. Jack had a gentle grip on her small hand, and hadn't turned to look away from her for even a second, and Lynae had found herself standing nearby the bedside in an unlikely move, talking to Jack directly. "I knew you would be bad news for her, I told her to be careful." Now, that kind of response was not surprising. If ever there was a time for her to have addressed him, of course it would be for something negative and demeaning. "I can't believe she's been so ignorant, gotten herself into this absurd mess." She was pacing the floor now, looking back and forth from her feet to the two, still talking but now in increasingly louder tones. "What did you do to her, anyways? I know this had something to do with you!" Her personality had always been slightly unpleasant, but this was something new entirely, the stress from an actual emotional situation happening. "Well you know what, you can deal with this! You got her into this, you can get her out of it! I mean shit, that's what she expects isn't it?" She was shaking her head, not looking to Jack for a response in any capacity, merely directing her anger towards him in some explosion of feelings. With another big huff, she added "I can't believe she was so stupid to pick you over this family." The door had slammed shut impossibly loudly, and the moment was over, she was gone. Out of the hospital in record time, she had simply left them both. In an interesting turn of events, as the sound of the door echoed around the room, Phera was unknowingly gaining consciousness. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Reflexively as her eyelids began to flutter open gently her hand tightened around Jackson's, and in moments she had turned her visage towards him, her unused hand finding and rubbing her eyes slightly. Her vision was intensely blurry and rubbing at it had helped none, although thankfully she could still certainly tell who was with her, and though it hadn't settled on her yet what had happened or where she was, she was slightly more relaxed knowing that she wasn't alone. Confusion began mounting in her as she glanced around the room, picking up on the fact that they were in fact in a hospital, and the pain in the back of her head was metaphorically written across her face. Gently touching her forehead and realizing there was a bandage was another blatant wince, and with that she had sighed and let her arm drop, looking back in the direction of Jackson, as if she was waiting for some kind of foggy explanation. She couldn't see well, but she was hearing his breathing, which seemed surprisingly irregular, as if he was incredibly relieved. Something serious must have happened...</span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The whole world was wrapped in her small, soft hand as he held it with a certain tenderness and delicacy he could not explain even if he had wanted to. Every moment with her was suddenly not to be wasted, regardless if she were still unconscious, and every breath she took was a sweet melody to his ears. It had him in a trance of careful thought, being there with her fingers wrapped in his own as he watched her with a twinge of sadness. Nothing could pull him away from her in those so few, but so precious moments spent by her bedside. Nothing could make him let go her small hand, even if he himself was not sure or aware of his emotions or feelings for Phera. Had it been up to him, he would never want to find out if he did, indeed, love her after all these years. If he did know and acknowledge any feelings—if they were even there to begin with, that is—for Phera, things would only spiral downwards into despair. Jackson knew he could never be with her, even if he held the desire and heart to do so, for reasons only he would keep locked away from her.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
He didn’t feel anything for her, he decided. Not for the meantime, and perhaps never would. No one could ever have the answer to the mind-numbing question except Jackson, and for now, he didn’t feel love for her even given her fragile state. It was nothing she had done to him, of course. It simply was because he held the belief she deserved so much </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>better</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, someone so much better out there than him. Not only that, but he didn’t even know if he had such a capacity to ever love again, as he couldn’t even love himself or provide comfort to himself any longer. How could Phera expect him to love her if he couldn’t even do the same for himself? To put simply, it was impossible. Unreachable, he thought. Love was, in his own perspective and beliefs, unobtainable for people like him. Love wasn’t made for broken people. No, it wasn’t. People like him wrecked everything in their path, much like that of a war. Jackson had a war within him, and wars could only ever destroy, not create. It was as simple as that. Nothing was to be discussed or debated; it was an established fact.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A blonde nurse whisked in quietly as she was allowed for, checked Phera’s vital signs, and exited wordlessly and just as quickly as she had come in. Jackson didn’t acknowledge anything happening around him, and didn’t take his eyes off of Phera’s beautifully damaged face. A bandage was present on the place of impact, but it seemed nothing could draw away from her raw and pure beauty. It was undeniable, and common knowledge for anyone within sight of her, that she was in fact a beautiful lady. More beautiful than he’s ever met, in both physical attributes, and in personality traits. She was the definition of beauty itself, he thought. She was everything a woman should be; kind, sweet, intelligent, understanding, sweet and caring. Jackson mulled over these thoughts that, rather abruptly and curtly, arose into his thoughts and contemplations. It only added another deposit to his account of guilt and gnawing fear, and caused him to hold her hand slightly tighter, as if the very act could keep her away from the face of death for just a while longer. And maybe it did, in a way. While she was completely unresponsive, he could almost </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feel </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">her trying to wake up, trying to fight her way out.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Moments prior to the door opening a whole new meaning to the word “nightmare” into the room, Jackson was listening to nurses talk in hushed voices in the far end of the chamber. Though they did their best to not be overheard, he was able to pick up on a few words, and put together the fragments of a puzzle. Of all her coworkers, most of them seemed defeated even before the last five minutes of Phera’s time window. It discouraged him tremendously, and chiseled away at his somewhat lingering strand of hope he was hanging onto to keep himself from going insane. Though he had wanted to tell the nurses otherwise, he simply couldn’t find himself to speak the words aloud that were ringing inside his head. Saying them wouldn’t make them come true, he resolved, and as much as he had hope in the woman bedridden in front of him, he simply couldn’t affirm the thoughts and wishes into the open air. Jackson could only wait and pray for the best, and leave it at that. Nothing could be said or done to awaken Phera, he concluded in a defeated sulk. Nothing. Not him, not medical personal. Nothing.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The high pitched squeak shot into the mostly empty hospital room, but surprisingly did not startle Jackson from his thoughts. Evidently, he remained in his seat motionlessly, eyes fixed on Phera as he gripped her hand firmly, afraid if he let go she would too. After several moments—or seconds, he couldn’t tell at this point—, the person that had entered the room spoke up. The figure became a woman, middle aged and the spitting image of Phera, and was standing stiffly by the bed just across from him. Only then did he meet the gaze of the woman, and recognition sparked within him, and along with it a new found sense of terror that struck him like a bolt of lightning. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh shit</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking as he gazed into the familiar eyes of a woman he had never wanted to encounter again. It was Phera’s mother. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Of course she’s here, </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he thought, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>she’s the emergency contact. The only one. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson, regardless of the panic welling up inside of him, didn’t pull away his hand from Phera, as if in a small act of defiance. He grimaced, practically shrinking inside his seat as the older woman opened her mouth.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
If anything, Jackson felt like a young child in heaps of trouble. And in a sense, he was. It had been his fault that Phera was in this situation, and as much as her words hurt him in places he never knew could be hurt, he knew they rang true. All of it. Phera </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>did </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">expect Jackson to get her out of every hazard and every trouble bubbling into existence, even if she wouldn’t ever admit to such a thing. Regardless, her mother’s word struck him with pain and immense amounts of guilt, and left him feeling bruised and defeated. He was just that; bruised. Bruised by words, bruised by memories, and bruised by his indefinite past. Jackson was too full of fear and shame to ever even conspire to respond to the babbling mother, and instead cowered away into his seat like a child. Her mother always had a way with stripping away his confidence and everything he had thought himself to be, and beat him with words and beliefs, whether they may good or bad. Who was Jackson to ever question Lynae? Who was </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>he </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to even be here with her daughter? The extent of her harshly brutal words had gotten inside his head, long after Lynae had left with a slammed door.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Broken pieces of distress and dread were left in the aftermath, and to the point of it paining him to have to look at the clock every moment or so. She only had ten minutes until she was declared in a permanent coma. The fear, the terror was eating him alive from the inside out. In fact, it took everything in him not to stand up and begin pacing around, leaving her hand cold and no longer held gently. He couldn’t do that to her, unconscious or not. So, Jackson stayed put, hand in hand, back against the plastic seat for what felt like eons, but in reality was seconds. While most people wouldn’t notice or pick up on the change in her breathing, he did. It was more lively and not as weak as it had been before, and it gave him a spark of hope. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Please, God. Please. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">It became a mantra inside the walls of his own mind, but may just as well have been spoken out loud, because the impossible happened. The impossible became reality; she was waking! She was waking! Though he didn’t show many signs of it, he felt… relieved. As if this had all been a game, and they had won. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>She </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">had won.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Her eyes didn’t seem to focus in entirely, but gears were winding behind them in mild confusion. Jackson had opened his mouth, wanting to blurt something out, but could find no words to express his relief. He was laughing quietly, the kind that made his whole body shake, and then there were tears in his eyes. Of course, he would never let them fall, but that was beside the point. She was awake and alive! Eventually, the laughter died out, and was replaced with a sense of fear as he realized she needed an explanation. How could he give her one when he himself wasn’t entirely sure what had happened? With a deep intake of breath, he chewed the inside of his cheek before reopening his mouth after a moment of silence.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“You’re okay now, Phera,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he said quietly. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“You must have… you must have passed out, or fell. You hit your head on the corner of the table, and… and never mind. You don’t need to hear this now. But you’re safe now. You’re okay.” </b></span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px">In what could only be described as an entirely unexpected and seemingly miraculous turn of events there in that tense hospital room, Pheralynne had regained tentative control of her consciousness, fighting the painful damage and the blankness of the void abyss instead for forced activity and at least partial alertness. Her bright eyes had hesitantly opened slowly, and although she was experiencing at least temporarily intensely blurred vision and immediate pain in the depth of her skull, she was comprehending circumstances well enough, somehow managing understanding her environment and gathering conclusions about her condition. Even in apparent mild confusion and moderate disorientation, she accumulated knowledge relatively quickly about her location, her physical and mental states, and her accompaniment. Phera acknowledged a lot of information in the span of a few minutes at the most; she found herself in an emergency room having some type of medical crisis requiring action and attention, she was in quite a bind in terms of the shape of her body and mind being relatively poor, and tightly in one hand, she was holding onto Jackson. After only a look around her gaze had stopped on Jack momentarily, and regardless of the cloudy fog blending the edges of everything together, it was evident to her that he was laughing quietly, and the noise brought her an astounding sense of comfort. In the days that she had since been with him, she had not yet heard him really laugh, and now it sailed past her ears softly and casually. Through the stabbing suffering in her brain she was surprisingly still grasping his emotions through the sounds, apprehending that he must have been in some way relieved and pleased, likely simple for her because of her inherent knowledge of him by observation. It may well have been apparent to Jack then that slight anxiety was creeping up in her confusion of the finer details of things, and he offered forth an explanation that was detailed enough to quell her concerns and vague enough to keep her calm. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>But you’re safe now. You’re okay.</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" The sentimental value of the tender moment was immeasurable to her, the reassurance surprisingly affectionate from him, and the memory permanently mixed with the rest in a deep part of her heart reserved only for him. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Interrupting the loveliness of the heartwarming scene between them, the one and only Dr.Vance Markson was back in action, pushing the door of the room open and in shock, finding himself by the bed in a moment. "She's awake!" The surprise was clear as he fiddled to put handfuls of miscellaneous items in his pockets, grabbing her free hand and examining her vitals against the clock carefully. "I almost can't believe it. This is wonderful." Releasing her arm, which she retracted gently into her chest, he was back out of the room in a flash, the same way he had entered, leaving Phera with another confused look, as she quipped quietly "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>This is not wonderful.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" As if she wasn't entirely realizing that he had left the room, she mused on past her first sentence, adding "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I really can't see, which doesn't seem very good to me, plus I think my head might explode.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" At least she was smirking, a hint of her playful personality shining through in the short words, even in such a diminished condition. Moments in and out, the doctor was back in the room with a clipboard and a folder, pulling up a chair next to Jack and starting in on an interesting speech. "Well, there's a few things you need to know," he started, opening the manila and pulling out a first sheet. "So, she's narrowly remained in the mild brain trauma category, and there's a few things we need to worry about in the immediate future." Reading down the sheet and highlighting a section of information, he was reading as he went, "Do not let a trauma patient sleep for any longer than two hours at a time." He paused and looked at Jackson straight, adding "I wouldn't let her sleep at all until tonight, it's too early in the day for her to be so drowsy." Phera was quiet as she listened to the conversation, her eyes not focused on either person but lost somewhere in the empty space between them. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Vance kept talking, since there was more to cover. "You're going to have to keep a close eye on her for a few days, until we're sure that all the bad symptoms pass without any more incident. Don't let her overexert herself, she needs to rest and relax." He was speaking slightly condescendingly, as if he already knew Jack would have a hard time keeping Phera down and resting like she should be doing. Without elaborating on that at all, he had moved on again. "Again, she could suffer some bad headaches and migraines, blurry vision, throwing up, and a few other select issues." Handing Jack a piece of paper that had that information on it, he moved on again to the next thing. With Vance, it was quickly from one thing to another until there was nothing else, and though he would accept questions, he would rather proactively prevent questions from even happening. "So, we can sign for her release here shortly, and you can get her on home if you want. Other than giving her some strong pain medicines, she should be completely fine to be released now. Any questions?" After giving the pair plenty of time to say anything, he chuckled and added, "Don't worry, we're a call away if there's a problem." With that sound advice given to them both, he handed Jackson a discharge form; he would have to sign for her, that he was responsible for her care, at least temporarily. Vance had seemed terse and to the point with Jack, and had left the room once again quickly, but this time to fetch medicines for Phera. Speaking of, she had already decided to try and sit up, releasing Jack's hand finally and forcing herself up from the comfort of laying down. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Although she was a tiny bit dizzy and partially blinded, she held herself up straight entirely, proving to herself and the room that she had the willpower to at least try. Vance was back in the room, a look of shock on his face, and without even mentioning it shaking his head, he sat down on the side of the bed with her. "I'm going to give you a shot of some pain medication, it'll keep you relaxed and help you to feel better, though it might induce a little bit more drowsiness and some loopy behaviors." Phera wouldn't be able to see the mean smirk directed from Vance to Jackson, though it was gone as soon as it came. Obviously Vance had implied that he was not making this easier on Jack. Flicking the syringe and carefully taking Phera's arm, the shot was in and over with in a matter of moments, his fingers lingering on her skin longer than necessary. She was quiet as she offered up a "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Thanks Vance,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" which wouldn't be surprising... Except that, wait, they were on a first name basis? Of course, she had interned here, but there was more to their relationship than anyone had let on thus far, and now wouldn't be the time or place to ask leading questions about that. Phera was rubbing her eyes more as Vance wheeled a chair into the room, raising an eyebrow at Jack in question as he left it, and left the room. Over his shoulder he called out, "You can leave the discharge form at the ER reception desk with Joyce, and have fun, move along." He was gone after that, for the last time in this trip, and Phera was perplexedly staring around the area. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>We get to go home then</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">?" She had found Jack, and was looking in his general direction at least. Never had they thought the words "we" and "home" would be in the same sentence, but she wasn't being careful of her words recently anyways, so there was no matter to it now.</span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The moment in which Phera came to life, was the moment in which Jackson had come to life. Alive in the rich focus he more than frequently lacked in, his dark blue eyes traced her small and delicate features that were glowing with a vibrancy he had taken for granted since he had arrived home. </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Home</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. It was funny, thinking that he now had a home when a month ago he wasn’t certain of his fate and a place he would reside in while trying to merge back into civilization for the first time in two years. The thought impressed mixed emotions into his heart, jumbling up his true and genuine feelings as he watched Phera become more conscious and aware of her surroundings. If anything, it was a marvelous thing, watching somebody wake up to reality. It captivated him, memorized him as she became more animated within each passing second, even if it was small progressive steps such as scanning the room she was in, and obtaining information through her hazy eyes that had trouble focusing. Jackson never did let go of her hand even when he realized he </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">shouldn’t </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">be, and instead reveled in the present. She was alive. She was okay. She would live.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Phera’s features softened slightly, seeming to have taken on the soft-spoken words fallen from Jackson’s lips. To some degree, it comforted Jackson upon knowledge that he had, in fact, been capable to put her at ease in a possibly emotionally dangerous situation. Though he may never believe he’s capable of love, he was reassured that he just </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>might </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">be capable of comforting others, even while he is unable to comfort himself. It was a pathetic way to look at it, he knew, but it was the only way he knew of currently. Comforting others meant he wasn’t completely a monster. Monsters couldn’t comfort people, could they? He didn’t know. His own thought process was jumbling up his thoughts, and confusing everything he had just learned. Was he just imagining the whole thing? Was Phera just trying to appear comforted because she felt pity for him? That must be it. It was the only reasonable explanation of her actions; Jackson </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>knew </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he wasn’t capable of comforting others. To put simply, he believed with all his heart and mind that it wasn’t possible for one to comfort others when one couldn’t comfort himself. For him, it held no such logic. It was impossible.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson was left feeling defeated and discouraged, more than anything, when Phera released his hand. Of course, at that time, he had conceived the idea that she had simply let go of his hand because she pitied his attempt to comfort her. Again, the theory crossed his mind over and over that it was, indeed now a fact, that he couldn’t pacify </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>anyone</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, including himself. In the midst of his thoughts was a trail of crushing emotions of vanquish and melancholy, not caring if they were displayed across his features for anyone to see. Dr. Markson had returned without Jackson’s knowledge, and almost immediately sprang into action upon realizing Phera was awake. Though the doctor’s seemingly innocent engagements didn’t really faze her, he couldn’t help but to take careful notice of the doctor. Not only did he seem especially close with Phera, but Dr. Markson appeared to occasionally glance at Jackson with a sickening amusement and pressurizing looks shining in his eyes between words of advice and instruction to not let Phera sleep at all that night. Though he was momentarily vexed by the man and his unspoken maltreatment, it only added to his paranoia and defeat.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
At the end of Dr. Markson’s carefully explained instructions, he paused for any questions to surface from either Jackson or Phera, but none ever came, and allowed for him to openly comment with a hearty attitude. Already, Jack knew he didn’t like the man. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Something </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">about him and his attitude rubbed him the wrong way, and he didn’t want anything further to do with the doctor. He could only hope in the future that they wouldn’t have to interact with him again, but he knew it was unlikely that such a thing would happen. Only in the instance of Phera needing medical attention, or of himself, would they ever have to see him again. Hopefully. Dr. Markson briskly handed Jackson a set of papers to be filled out, a condescending smirk towards him, and was gone before he could voice his thoughts in time. The two were once more alone, and fear began gnawing at him the first chance it had gotten. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>He</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> was responsible for Phera. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>He</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> would have to fill out the papers. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>He</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> would have to take care of her. If anything, Jackson felt sickened with the thought of all the responsibility on his shoulders for the one person that was still in his life.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Yeah. We get to go home.”</b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The discharge form was only a page long, as well as double sided, and should have been simple enough for anyone to fill out. It required some usual information one would expect, such as the address of their dwelling, phone number, and so on. Jackson stared at the piece of paper for a while, feeling a sense of overwhelming control him as he filled out each slot with uncertainty and anxiety. Was she in apartment E or F? Her phone number ended with a 8 and not a 4, right? Oh God, was he to put her mom as an emergency contact? Or should he just put Ellie, considering her mom didn’t want anything to do with them? Jackson put his head in his hands, releasing a long and quiet sigh. Sooner or later, he would have to tell her. How would he even start? Jackson didn’t want to find out, for now. He figured he could tell her when she was better, and only then. For the time being, he focused on filling out the discharge papers, signed with his sloppy signature, and glanced at Phera and the chair with a twinge of dread. At least he got the discharge forms over with.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Do you… do you need help getting into the wheelchair?” </b></span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px">Although Pheralynne now found herself sitting up straight in the hospital bed and looking around, apparently feeling relatively alert compared to the comparison of her prior condition, base functions of her body were still at best very minimally serviceable. Her eyesight was blurred to the point of being entirely disorienting, and though she was doing alright locating people by their sounds of talking and movements, the resounding lack of depth perception and focus left her struggling to comprehend distances between herself and inanimate objects. In fact, waving her own arm in front of her visage, it was very clear that she was essentially blinded, at least temporarily. The consistent throbbing behind her eyes inside her skull was not helping her to focus on the scenery around her at all, but in fact disabling her more, which was both a new concept and incredibly unnerving for the poor girl. After all, being in great health and a nurse for a living, she primarily focused on the damage of others outside of herself, never having the time or reason to worry about herself too much; she was not accustomed to being in need of anyone's help, she was the help. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It may not have been entirely obvious at the time that it happened but at the realization that she had accidentally said another interesting and private sentence, Phera considered her emotions and her breath stuck in her throat, leaving another small, scary tightness in her chest. At best, she was uncertain to how Jackson would respond to the situation at hand, let alone her now most recent words, which had left plenty of room to the imagination in their mischance. Even as an accident, the words were very forward in their implication, and she hadn't much considered it; well, she hadn't been careful of her words recently in any case, so she supposed this would be no different from any other ridiculous things she had managed to drop from her mouth. The words "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>we</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" and "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>home</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" strung together to imply casual acceptance, pulling him inclusively into the net of comfort and affection, trust and safety that went with a home. See, a house was a place to live, but a home? Oh, a home was a victory for the heart, a place of permanent protection for the delicate feelings that reside in every person. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
In her line of thinking, it was astounding as Jack replied to her actively, leaving her reveling once again in a moment that she may well have been looking too far into. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Yeah. We get to go home,</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" the words fell from him confidently almost, as if he was resigned to the truth of those bold words even when she wasn't in first saying them. Hope springing eternal and anew, it was of course like her to grasp hope where she viewed it, even if it left her feeling dejected agony later. What she had in that moment was the accepted realization that he was at home with her, whether he liked that or not, and that for even a temporary moment, a type of teamwork between them was beginning to show. The floral arrangement of progress was blooming, showing off the bare and new shine of beautiful petals, from varying types of flowers, including faith, thankfully. All Phera had needed from Jackson this entire time was a bit of faith, in her and in them together, that really anything was possible, a little faith that he wasn't as far gone as he believed himself to be and that there must be a reason she couldn't simply let him go. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
All the while she had been lost in her thoughts, he had been fiddling with her discharge papers, she assumed. She could hear the slightly exasperated sighs as he flipped back and forth, likely trying to remember all the information they wanted from her that he was having to give now, instead. Although he could have asked her for many of the answers and she could have responded, he seemed to do relatively well on his own, or at least enough to finish it up and sign. Of course, unable to see, Phera would only know that Jack was done by the tone of his voice as he asked her about the wheelchair, which Vance had brought into the room. Quizzically, Phera tilted her head and raised her eyebrow, a cute expression even for her, and she wasn't directly looking at Jackson when she responded with a sad smirk on her face. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Well, Jack, I can't see. I think I might need some help, yeah.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" There was a moment of unsure silence when an even more confused facial expression crossed her, leaving her looking over in his direction at least, as she blurted out, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Wait, how are you going to help me without hurting yourself?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" There was an expression of general concern, as if she had realized even in her own time of need that he wouldn't be entirely without needs of his own, and always one to be considerate, she had recollected that he wasn't to be picking up anything heavy. Although he could try and escort her with the good half of him to the chair, it would be a task enough when they arrived at the apartment, and with that she had figured a better option. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
A small, red button on the side of the bed was tapped by her fingers, after she had felt around for it for a few moments. Finding the panel with her fingers was no big deal, but she had to recall from memory the location and color of each button, before eventually appropriately landing on the "help" button. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Well that's not happening.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She was resolute in her tone, though it was meant in good favor, obviously. In a few seconds, Joyce had poked her head into the door, a wide smile lacing her pretty face. "Phera, you need help?" Joyce was straight to the point, and in the room between the wheelchair and the bed in an instant. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I would love some help Joyce, if you wouldn't mind</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." Her response was fast and sweet, "You know I don't ever mind." The amicability between them was adorable, as Joyce leaned down and let one arm behind Phera, lifting her slightly under the shoulders and directing her towards the wheelchair. It wasn't as if Phera couldn't walk, but being unable to see was incredibly disorienting, and the direction was most helpful. In a matter of moments, she was comfortably sitting, and Joyce had pulled the door open all the way, saying "I'm going to go hail a cab for you two, just find me in the lobby here in a minute ok?" With that and a nod from Phera, she was gone in a flash, leaving her and Jack again, alone. </span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">It had been a silly, unnecessary question to begin with. Why, exactly, had he followed through with it and blurted it out? Even he did not know, and mulling over it moments after only seemed to make it worse. </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">God</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, how </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">stupid </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">had he been to ask such a question? Of course she would need help! She could barely sit up on her own, for God’s sakes. The poor girl had even told him her head was exploding with pain, and she couldn’t see. Why, again, had he let the memoranda slip past his mind? He did not know, once more. It was a silly thing to get worked up over too, he knew, but he couldn’t refrain from beating himself up for it either. His mother would have told him to get over it, as it was unhealthy for anyone to beat themselves up so much over something so miniscule, but the tiny word of advice floated amongst other bundles of thoughts, causing a moment of distraction to course through him like a wildfire. Of course, being distracted has been something easily achieved by him nowadays, and something that was simply unavoidable at this point in time. Perhaps some would say his thoughts were to blame, others would claim it was merely his mental and medical health, but both were true. Thoughts were rapid and often branched out into more and more, something that could not be stopped by anything or anyone. As for the mental health, well, it was blatantly obvious for anyone watching. Phera knew. Jackson knew. Everyone knew, it seemed.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Once upon a time, Jack had been an open book. Everyone had known his secrets before he knew them himself, his brother had told him on multiple occasions. It had been true. Phera had claimed it was his tells that gave it away, but she never did expound on the visual indications to him, for fear he would learn to mask them. But within the case of the hidden enlistment, it had taken everything in him to not tell her. Guilt trudged in him with every second spent with loved ones, and eventually his armor cracked. Right there in the kitchen of his old home, he had told everyone. Of course, it had been of shock to everyone, but especially Phera. Looking at her now, Jackson felt that same twinge of guilt for not having told her, yet, that her mother had come and stormed out just as fast as she entered, leaving a few nasty comments in the aftermath of the situation. Jackson wanted to tell her, merely to avoid possible anger and disappointment from her that he had, once again, kept an unnecessary secret. Of course, this did </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>not </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">mean—in any way, shape or form—that he would begin spilling everything from his mind to her. No, that was ridiculous. Only secrets that dealt with Phera, he would tell. That was that, and nothing could be done about it. He would tell her when they got home.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Home</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Was it even a home to him? Or was it just a home to Phera? He did not know. To him and to his mother, home was never a singular place or dwelling. No. Home was where the heart soared. Home was where the soul thrived. Could he say that of the apartment complex he was temporarily living in? He couldn’t decide for himself, and resolved that maybe he would never feel at home again. With too many dangers out in the world, and living inside his mind, how could he ever call any place or person “home” again? To establish a home, one required a heart and soul. Did he still have those? Or were they lost somewhere out there, forever? Jackson was frustrated with the thought, and eventually gave up on the concept. He would have the chance to mull it over later, when staying awake with Phera. Time, he found, was a comical thing. The past never left him, the future never left his mind, but the present was the one thing he couldn’t stay in. Too many distractions, too many thoughts kept him occupied in the past, or future. The present was farther away, it seemed, then anything else at times. It really was, in fact, a comical thing to him.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>“Well, Jack, I can’t see. I think I might need help, yeah.” </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Phera’s mouth was tugged at the corners into what appeared to be an amused smile, but beneath it laid sadness. Jackson found himself staring at her in thought, reading in between the lines of her soft-spoken words. It was silly of him to question her motives behind the words, but at this point, he didn’t really care. He didn’t care if he was a tad bit paranoid, or a tad bid over-critical of himself. None of that mattered, not when Phera was hurting and it was </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>all</i></span></span> <span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>his fault</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Slicing through all his thoughts, Phera continued speaking with a light tone, bring into question his condition. Of course. She was right. As always. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? His doctor had specifically asked him not to do anything physically demanding of him, no matter how small or insignificant it may appear, while he was still healing. Straining himself could lead to wide possibilities of tearing open his stitches, or much, much worse. Jackson would rather avoid the whole situation entirely, if at all possible; and he could. It was evident she had a plan already fleshed out, and by the time he had taken notice, she was already pressing the red assistance button.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
In the moment prior to the nurse, who’s name he’d remember later had been Joyce, walking in through the door, Jackson felt another wrench of anxiety. How would he keep Phera awake? Dr. Markson had declared she would be slightly drowsy from the drugs, and he would have to keep her awake through the whole night. Staying awake himself was easy enough, as it was something natural to him, but Jackson has learned in the past she can never stay up beyond 3 o’clock in the morning. It was unnerving, having not only the weight of responsibility to care for her on his shoulders, but also knowing he would, somehow, keep both himself and Phera awake through the </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>whole </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">night. Though it frightened him to think that it was possible he wouldn’t be able to properly care for her, he knew he had to. If he didn’t, who would? No one. Ellie was probably too busy with the twins, as was Eric, and her mother probably wouldn’t be on speaking terms with him ever. The only person she had to turn to was Jackson, as much as he didn’t want to be relied on, and there was no turning back at this point.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Waiting in the lobby with Phera in the wheelchair was somewhat calming for Jackson, and became something of a breather for him. The discharge forms were approved, and Joyce was calling for a taxi. He didn’t have to drive, and he wouldn’t have to worry about travelling back to the apartment for the time being. In the time they waited, Jack devised a plan. When they got home, he would clean up the mess in the kitchen, maybe see what leftovers were in the fridge to serve as dinner. After dinner, he’d put on her favorite movies, and hope that it would work in keeping her awake. If </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>that </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">failed… he’d have to start talking. It’d be startling to her and completely take her off guard, but it’d probably be enough to keep her awake and aware for the night. How long would he have to talk? How many movies would she want to watch? Oh God, what if there weren’t any leftovers? What would he even cook? All he knew how to cook is eggs and Ramen noodles. Jackson paced around the lobby, occasionally glancing at Phera in silence. Then Joyce reentered the lobby, and smiled at them both.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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Finding herself seated as comfortably as possible in the pleasantly soft, small, hospital wheelchair, Pheralynne was awash with a plethora of vibrant emotions and vivid thoughts, things rushing in and retreating out of her mind much like the tide on the beach, every moment pressed to the next with feelings threatening to explode and a consistency that seemed to rival inevitability. Seeing vicariously through her other senses now since her apparent, temporary vision failure had come on and not quite yet departed, combined with the state of her previously mentioned overactive mentality, comprehension of reality was certainly becoming an interesting topic for her, to say the least. Although she could clearly hear environmental stimulus, feel the things around her as she touched them, and formulate sentences in response to people's inquiries with her, something was innately, frustratingly fuzzy in the links of the chain internal. It wasn't to say that she was entirely losing her grasp of reality, but at least temporarily, her version of it had shifted from the usual to something much more surreal; unable to ground herself into the actuality of objects and their permanency without her eyesight, she struggled to make connections based on the appearances of things, instead floating in the freakishly blended blobs of light and color and bizarre shadowed effects on items who used to have defined lines. When one would usually have thoughts so distracted by appearance, she was in fact reeling in her mind without any real, tangible, visible distractions. She may as well have had her eyes closed entirely, in the grand scheme of things. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Unable to escape the heavy processing of thoughts as the wheelchair rolled slowly through the halls towards the lobby, Phera fell into the nostalgic sadness she so frequently tried desperately not to even consider as her focus found recollections of herself and Jack. Even in the short days of present as it were, forgetting the times they shared together from before his deployment and absence, there was multitude of emotional moments collected into a tiny jar of sorts and thrown into the back shelf of her heart where only he was welcome. Opening it and exposing the contents mentally, she tried to process the memories in a scaled fashion, on one side good and the other bad. She had fallen asleep on him and he had done nothing, when knowingly he easily could have moved from under her to the other couch, and he was even grasping her hand willingly in terrible concern. As she recalled herself freely giving openly of her time, effort, and love to him with only minor interruptions, she found herself more and more disappointed in her conclusions. Though she had found a few things to consider sparks of hope or inspiration, mostly, she was dejected in the lack of solid evidence from which to garner any positive opinion at all. They had already had two major setbacks as well, one that resulted in him being gone in the city the entire night and most of the next day aimlessly, and the other that had resulted in this emergency trip they were on now. It had only been a few days, she kept telling herself, and they had plenty of time with which to incur a functional routine and relationship. Things couldn't always be this difficult and ambivalent... could they? </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Where Phera was ultimately flailing and floundering in uncertainty and negativity, drowning quietly, was merely in solidity, or foundation; she couldn't possibly expect Jackson to have the defining answers to pertinent questions that she desired so strongly, even though inevitably he was the only person who could give her what she was looking for. Inevitably did not necessarily mean now, and though she considered herself a patient person, it was obvious that in many ways she was not at all. Wondering constantly about the lines between them, the past behind them, and the future ahead of them was so physically, mentally, emotionally, and maybe even spiritually, exhausting. There was not enough time in the day for Phera to worry consistently about all the things floating around openly in the space behind her eyes, and there never would be, though that wouldn't stop her from trying. The constant anxiety in every single, little thing was leaving her taxed to the maximum, and yet for whatever reason, she had not quit yet, and had no intention of stopping with him anytime soon. What was the worst thing that could happen between them, now? What, would he leave her? Although she didn't want to admit this, she had survived him leaving her once, and though she had absolutely despised it with everything in her, she had managed to continue on. Damage that she didn't want to repeat would not prevent her in fear from at least trying, because in all honesty she viewed him in a way that was more than worth at least making an effort for, otherwise they wouldn't have made it this far together. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The lobby had been mostly empty in the time they had been in it, and although Phera had her eyes not particularly focused on any one thing in the distance while she was thinking, she had managed to see the blurry mess that she assumed was Jackson pacing about in her peripheral. Periodically he would stop for whatever unknown reason, and between the pacing and the uneven breathing, she could tell that he must be some type of upset. It would be hard to establish how upset he was without being able to see him, and when she was about to attempt to get his attention and just ask him, she heard Joyce begin talking. She must have come in from outside of the hospital front fetching a cab, and she hadn't noticed her whatsoever until she was being wheeled out the door, Jackson in tow behind the two girls. Almost too happily, "Alrighty well you guys be safe and be careful, and good luck." She had pulled open the door of the cab and helped to guide Phera into it before shutting the door. In close up space, things were terribly more disturbing to her open eyes, and she couldn't much differentiate between the inside of the car's seats and walls, leaving her slightly uncomfortable and anxious, breathing faster. Trying not to show the mild fear on her face for how unusual this was to her, she closed her eyes entirely, and felt around the shoulder area behind her until she had simply found the seat belt, clicking it on as normal before huffing and slumping further into the leather. Just sitting in a vehicle was a task in this condition, that left her feeling slightly defeated.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She heard all the sounds of Jack climbing into the taxi, closing the door, talking with the driver, and belting himself as she felt things begin moving, and without hesitating or thinking, she was speaking quietly obviously at him, saying only "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I'm sorry.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" The words were neither sad nor happy, lost somewhere in the interim space between them, meant to imply multiple reasons for which she felt apologetic. Not only had she gotten them into this hospital mess, but now he was stuck taking care of her for what would be the first time she couldn't medically do that for herself. She had no idea how he was really feeling, but if it were anything like how she felt, she could only be sympathetic, since it wasn't incredibly pleasant for her at the moment. All she could think about was sleeping, and not just any usual sleep, but the prior nights sleep which now seemed blurry itself, the two of them... She knew that not only was she not supposed to be sleeping, but held back her disappointment that it would not likely be with him again for any good reason, any time soon either. Conflicting feelings tore her apart, and all the while all she had managed to say was sorry. For someone that was usually so talkative, it was speaking volumes in itself that she had said nothing else. </span><br>
<br>
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-3643080" data-lb-caption-desc="Lady Odyssey · Aug 3, 2015 at 11:29 PM">

		

		
	


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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 1px solid #FFB000;"><span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: rgb(47,65,111)"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Everything was melting around him. The creamy walls crashed in against the black of the chair, the medical staff swirling into the distant background of the hospital. Jackson was trapped in his head, isolated in booming thought and contemplation. Though it was nothing unfamiliar, the emotions were tugging at him in a manner that made it seemingly impossible to cope with reality around him. Echoes of Iraq swam freely inside his mind, making every object and person an automatic threat to both the safety of himself and Phera, whom he was wheeling through the maze of halls and white washed walls. It was impossibly difficult to keep himself intact, seeing as Phera was not anymore unharmed than he was. Of course, her injury was that of physical while his was something completely distinct and shoved into the confines of his heart, left to collect dust after being locked away until the time came around that they could no longer be contained, and explode. The whole process involved with was completely exhausting, and was an endless merry-go-round that he didn’t have power to stop. At least, that is, not on his own. Phera could help. She could, if he had wanted her help. But how could he allow for her to help him in one of the most sensitive parts of the human being to ever exist when he couldn’t even acknowledge his problems in the eye? It was illogical, and would always effect both him and everyone surrounding him so long as he continued on the path he had made for himself.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Thoughts kept tying back to Dr. Markson. The smirks received from him, the looks of condescending pride swelling beneath the surface. Everything about the strange man rubbed Jackson wrong, regardless of the mere fact they have only met once in their whole lives. Of course, he had been too busy and caught up with the doctor’s glances to notice that Phera had called him by his first name. It was a tedious clue, at that, but still a clue nonetheless that would later spring into mind, and get his paranoid wheels turning inside his head. A soft squeak erupted every now and then from the neglected wheels of the chair, but it hadn’t even scraped the surface of his swirling mind’s attention in the least bit. Whether or not Phera was annoyed by it, he had no way of knowing. Every facial expression etched in her gentle features was either marked by confusion, or exhaustion. Though it had been confusing for them both—more so for Phera, for obvious reasons—, Jackson pushed through the discomfort and unease and focused on the task at hand. A simple task, really. It certainly was easier on him to guide her through the hospital, and kept his mind occupied on the present somewhat. At least, it was enough to keep him grounded and avoid unnecessary contact with the monster of memories threatening to spill into him and cause panic to arise.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Quite thankfully and greatly to his relief, the lobby was mostly empty. A few figures trailed back and forth into the room, but none of which stuck around long enough to stir a troubling angst within him. It gave enough time to recollect himself, and ultimately prepare himself for the not-so-distant future that involved a taxi cab, mild panic spent in a tight space beside Phera, and formulating a plan to keep her awake. Though the idea had crossed his mind on multiple occasions, watching an array of her favorite movies wouldn’t do either of them good. For one thing, she couldn’t see much of anything as far as he could gage. That plan was out of the box, and left him with a few options to choose from. Wheeling her out into the city wasn’t a half bad idea, but he had a few things to consider; he didn’t know the layout of the streets, and feared he would get lost. Another plan scratched. What else could two people do on a casual afternoon? Jackson racked around his mind, desperately searching for answers as he silently stood behind Phera. After cooking them a quick meal, he was out of ideas. Maybe she’d know what to do, if he didn’t already think of something along the drive back home. There was that word again. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Home</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Jackson ran a trembling hand through a mess of hair, avoiding eye contact received from staff members whisking in and out of the lobby with a stressed demeanor to them.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Suddenly, it hit him. No matter what they ended up doing, no matter where they ended up going, one thing would be required of him. To talk. It wouldn’t mean a single thing if they even did anything; it was something of a fact that people stayed awake when either their thoughts were too active, or someone was speaking to them. Everything else would be meaningless if he didn’t talk, and to put into perspective, it was perfect even if he wouldn’t see it that way. Jackson was given the opportunity to sit down with her, and explain to her what had happened just moments before she woke up. Oh God, would she be mad he didn’t tell her immediately? Would she judge him if he stumbled more than usual upon words? No. She wouldn’t do that. Would she? He didn’t know anymore. It had been too long, since the last time the two had really talked. The closet they had come to had been back on the truck bed just a few nights ago. Or was it last night? Or the night before? He was losing track of the days and nights. They were all blurred together, now, and frustrated him. How could he remember so vividly the days spent in Iraq, but couldn’t recall the special moments spent with Phera in the same light? Has he gone mad? Was he losing his mind? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>No. Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he reminded and reassured himself, watching distantly as Joyce came sweeping in.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The taxi smelled of pizza, cigarettes and city musk. Jackson inhaled the last breath of fresh air, and inserted himself into the confining space of the yellow cab. He had never been claustrophobic like a few of his friends had been, but being closed in a tight space struck fear into him that had never once been present before enlistment. Perhaps it was the stories seared into his mind, most of Humvees being blown sky high into the air by carefully crafted IEDs (improvised explosive devices). Few have survived such incidents, but were enough to place horror into him whenever inside a small enough space. Small spaces meant the enemy had untold advantages, whether used with bombs or rocket propelled grenades. The day he had been shot, his squad had been pinned down in a fire fight within a civilian compound. It had added to his fear of small spaces, having been pinned in a small room until the inevitable happened. Jackson blinked the memory away, just in time to hear Phera’s two words be spoken. Before anything else entered his mind, confusion swept across him. She was… </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>sorry</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">? For what? Was she sorry because something she had done, or for the fact that he would be taking care of her now? He couldn’t decipher the message, and for a long stretch of time he remained silent as he attempted to gather his scattered thoughts and form them, somehow, into a chopped sentence.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Phera… I’m the one that’s supposed to say that. Not… not you.” </b></span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px">The dense metropolitan atmosphere of greater Seattle had never been entirely pleasant in its abundant absorption of dangerous contaminants including various smokes, miscellaneous chemicals, and assorted fumes, and in essence capturing and containing any section of that moderately polluted air within the confines of a small cab between the companionship of three, adult people seemed to intensify the negative effects. With her pained, mildly malfunctioning eyes shut gently to hopefully prevent the terrible confusion incurred by the blurry whirlwind of conglomerate colors substituting obviously poorly for her normal vision, Pheralynne felt herself quickly adapting and carefully tuning into every single one of her other differing senses at a much higher rate, and her overactive mind was easily translating information at an alarmingly fast speed. Sinking exhausted into the worn, old leather of the vehicle backseat, she was experiencing beneath her delicate fingertips the virtually threadbare material flexing and stretching to adjust under the pressure of her weight, however little; it was clearly apparent how a multitude, no, countless, other wayward travelers must have once claimed this exact seat as personally their own before her, and the immense sense of insignificance had her squeezing quietly the edges of the fibers by her legs, grasping onto physical reality as securely as possible. The image of what she assumed the seat must look like drifted through her mind like the ghost of a real sight, and the imprint jumbled with the pictures produced by random sounds of the enclosed space and outside, such as engine parts pumping, wheels rolling across the bumpy streets, and air flow between the many vehicles sharing the roads with them whizzing past and honking. Associated scents from cigarettes, random previously eaten foods, car exhaust and even other minuscule particles of passing smells such as cologne and coffee wafted throughout the invisible gases. What would seem vastly overwhelming in analysis by abundance was actually found to be relaxing and methodical, each thread leading to another tie in an organized distraction. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
These already named ideas and feelings and a plethora more thoughts kept Phera innately and purposefully distracted from the looming silence disarming her confidence with Jackson once more since her vocalization, for what had to have been a countless amount of times now since his return. She had just previously managed to formulate two little words into an admission of guilt the likes of which had left her momentarily feeling empty and reminiscing on thoughts better left untouched, forcing her to immediately activate the self defense mechanism this time around that lost her in thoughts outside of her own memory, or memories of him, them, or any togetherness. In the grand scheme of all things, being temporarily blinded had become a blessing by forcing her to think about her other senses, preventing her from focusing too much of her energy into her anxiety center- Jackson. Even attempted avoidance maneuvers never quite kept her from traveling back into the realm of the comfortable past where both up and down lived together, always threatening to overcome her logic with a power not easily fought by any means she knew of. Finally, just when the quiet was advancing to consume her sanity entirely in a self destructive spiral, somehow right on time as usual, Jack had spoken one of his all but infamous sentences pieced together with good intentions regardless of its bad, stuttered application. In, to her, what was a strange and unexpected turn of events, she found herself baffled upon the recognition of a turned apology. “</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Phera… I’m the one that’s supposed to say that. Not… not you</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">.” Immediately the flood gates of her very enclosed, active rush of feelings and reasons were swung open with force and a look like that of a dejected puppy had come over her features unwillingly, leaving her looking increasingly more fragile by the moment. Her brain was scattered and struggling to make sense of itself, anxious to find her an adequate response to him. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Not me?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" The question came out much more rejected and unsettling than as if it were to need a real answer, and she was shaking her head, her focus lost somewhere out the windows of the moving cab. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Why not me, how not?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" This question was more assertive, much more certain and upsetting in its application, and an explanation was obviously imminent in the situation. There was no earthly way that she could continue on from this conversation without expressing some semblance of honesty again, because up to this point she hadn't much been honest with herself, let alone him. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>There's a list of reasons, where do I even begin?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" This was a rhetorical question, as she began hurriedly and anxiously counting reasons on her delicate fingers. One finger went up, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>First of all, I'm supposed to be taking care of you.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" A forced exhale and inhale, and she was continuing that train of thought, saying "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I know how you are now, and I haven't been taking that into great consideration.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Straightening a second finger, she was jumping to another topic now, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Speaking of taking things into consideration,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" and lowering her voice entirely she added, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>we both know that I've said multiple things I had no god awful reason on the planet to be saying, period, whether it's the truth or not isn't the point. Some things are better left unsaid.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" It was entirely clear in that moment that she did for all intents and purposes remember what had gotten them into this situation in the first place, and tossing up a third and final finger, she huffed quietly. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>It doesn't help that I've now put you through a medical crisis all on your own as well and you're stuck looking out for me all the while I'm virtually blind... And for all of that stuff, and probably more, I'm sorry.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" The explanation was definitely one to be bargained with, having had plenty of support for her argument. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Why are you sorry?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" The question was surprisingly insignificant after her previous words. As she had finished speaking, her hands fell into her lap, though she twiddled her fingers restlessly as she stared out the window and considered all the heavy words that she had left in the open space between them. Leaning her head into the window and trying not to breathe too loudly, she was already understanding how she was contradicting her good intentions again already just by having committed to her little speech. God, what was she doing?</span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Why </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">was </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he sorry? Well, for starters, he hadn’t told Phera that her mother had stopped by with a venomous few words for the both of them. Though he still had yet to completely digest what had happened in the hospital room, he knew it had been wrong for him to keep the information from her and ultimately keep her in the dark of things revolving around her own mother. It was just… </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">wrong</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, and the very reason why they were in this mess in the first place. Jackson wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake, and certainly wasn’t going to damage their relationship—or whatever it was, exactly—any further than he had already done. He full well knew it was too little, too late to try and fix things between them or even pick up his broken pieces, but at the same time, he didn’t want to go around and be locking secrets away from her that she deserved to know. Obviously, he wasn’t going to be opening up to her anytime soon about what was constantly stirring in his mind, but what was he supposed to do? See a therapist, and get a little puppy? No. Jackson wasn’t ready. Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure if he ever would be ready, either, despite Phera’s wishes and desires for him to seek out help. He clearly didn’t want the help, and didn’t want to acknowledge he needed help, so what was the point in arguing with her any further? All he could do at this point was tell her the truth of what happened, and keep marching on as he always does. Nothing more to that. It was natural, more than anything, to be spilling information on other people rather than himself. It was easier, too, being that it didn’t make him have to answer questions he has been avoiding since day one.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Regardless of his logical reasoning for his own motives, his fingers were fiddling and tugging relentlessly at the blue fabric of his shirt, a commonly known indication he was, indeed, nervous. Why was he nervous? He had no reason at all, whatsoever, to be nervous. This was Phera, after all. She would never be one to judge him, and never one to completely shut him out. Well, other than that time in which she had just done that and slammed the door on him upon entrance to her bedroom. But that was beside the point. Even if she would be slightly upset and confused, she wouldn’t ever cut him off when he’s trying to tell her something he’s kept locked away, even if it wasn’t for the greatest motives. The only reason, really, he planned on telling her what had happened between him and her mother, was simply because it involved her and her relationship with her mother. Silly, yes, but perfectly logical in his own mind. If something was heavily involved with Phera and was a secret, why hold it back when it could leak out and hurt her later? Why not just rip the Band-Aid off sooner rather than later? It was logical. It was ethical. It made sense, and that was what he was going to do. So long as what he told her was centered around her, and not around his own troubled thoughts and dreams, he was fine with it. So long as </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>he</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> didn’t start spilling all of </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>his </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">secrets, he was fine with it. Jackson didn’t want her knowing what he knew, and seeing what he had seen in Iraq. It was too much, quite frankly, for him to bear, so how could she bear it? It was silly. The whole idea and concept of him ever getting help from her, or some random civilian therapist, was silly. All of it.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
While it was true that he was tossed into this crisis of a situation with no warning, it had been his fault to begin with. Dr. Vance Markson had already clearly and silently communicated with Jackson that, even with everything that happened, he wasn’t capable of caring for someone like Phera. It was almost certainly plausible the doctor was right, condescending smirks and all. Even as he toyed with these thoughts, he knew that he would have to speak the truth sooner or later, regardless if he was panicking or not. Was she going to be upset? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>No shit, of course she is</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, a tiny voice rather harshly told him in the back of his mind. It was true. Who wouldn’t be upset upon discovery their mother came, while they were unconscious and dying, with venom dripping words and immediately left? He felt sick, watching cars slide too close for his liking to the taxi cab’s side, and closed his eyes to cope with the gnawing fear making a pit of his stomach. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh God. Please help me. How does anyone even say this kinda stuff out loud to someone? How does anyone speak so easily and without fear? </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson was still playing with the ends of his shirt. If he was unable to keep his emotions under control, why keep his hands still? A deep breath. Shaking hands pressed against the window. A deep breath. Fear growing. A deep breath. Why couldn’t he just say it? Why couldn’t he just be done with it already? Why was it so hard to talk? He didn’t know. Talking was gut wrenching, and something to be avoided when possible. Talking meant being vulnerable, something he has loathed since enlistment. Being vulnerable meant being open to being hurt. He didn’t want to be hurt anymore. Not by anyone, but more importantly, he didn’t want to be hurt by the work of his own hands anymore.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson glanced sideways toward Phera’s direction, blinking as a wave of confusion came over him. What had she been saying? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh, it’s no use. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">He sighed, clenching both hands in frustration and then sinking into a plethora of  self-loathing somewhere in the middle. It wasn’t as if he had </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>meant </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to space out while she had been talking, but what was he to do? How could he stay focused on the present, and keep his line of thought going at the same time? Another deep breath. He needed to tell her, or he would never be able to look her in the eye again. He </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>needed </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to. He had to. But oh God, what if she was going to be mad at him? What if she wouldn’t speak to him afterword? What if she kicked him—… He stopped thinking, and on impulse of terror and fear, opened his mouth.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Your mom stopped by, okay?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he blurted hastily, body gone rigid. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Before… before you were awake.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson couldn’t stop now. The secret was out there, and would be forever. There was no going back. He swallowed the fear, and continued. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“She... she, uh. </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>Jesus Christ</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>. How… how do I say this?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Another pause. His throat felt dry, his tongue tied as his mind racked for words, but came up empty handed. His leg bounced up and down against the worn floor of the cab. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“She had said she, she had said she warned you about me. She was beyond mad, and… and just left you. Because of me.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Another pause. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I’m sorry, Phera."</b></span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Fidgeting thumbs racing consistent circles in the close confines of her small lap and leaning the flushed features of her face against a somehow surprisingly cool glass of the taxi window, Pheralynne was simultaneously drowning in regrets incurred by another unintentionally lofty, self-important speech and deeply dreading any plausible response Jackson would be capable of offering up in return to that tirade of sorts from her. How it was possible for her to stubbornly, continuously throw herself into verbal situations that she would imminently repent for upon recognition of their inappropriate or misguided nature was proving to be a mystery entirely, but seemingly an almost permanent fixture in her communications with him, so far as she could tell. As much as she wanted to believe in her understanding and application of nursing knowledge from school and Jack as an individual person from their previous relationship, she was beginning to grow increasingly terrified that she was incredibly out of her league and only making the situation worse for them both, separately and together. Finally opening her eyes then, while so near the both reflective and transparent surface, the quickly passing world was an impressionistic masterwork of ultimately indecipherable blended quality, and an innately emptying feeling of things passing her by without her notice or any ability to fix that unfortunate circumstance filled her, leading her to self protection for a repeated time. In a way once again her disability to see entirely normally which would usually be considered a terrible misfortune was currently saving her via the pertinent distraction it produced; letting her hands stray to her curls and tug them gently towards the bottom had added an entirely new visual appeal and splotch of color to be thrown back into her hazy sight, dragging her away at least temporarily from the frustration and sadness that was her current life.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Impossibly difficult to admit, but astoundingly and overwhelmingly honest again, were her formulated opinions of herself and Jack as she came to recognize her repeated willful ignorance to the pattern of her feelings, thoughts, and ultimately behaviors, since it would be easier to surpass the problem than dig deep into the open wounds to resolve the real issue. What was the true problem at the core for her personally, anyways? Well, in the effort of being straightforward with herself, the vast majority of the problem was just that she was trapped in a situation with no evident escape route, an immense trouble with no clear resolution; She was in love and not just any love, but the burning unrequited affection caused from being in love with someone who was simultaneously alive and dead, to her. Unable to forget or release what he had been to her before, regardless of if it made any sense or not, and simultaneously seeing who he had become was contradicting and confusing, and left her mourning the loss of a person who was still right in front of her. Wanting him to reciprocate her feelings was, she knew, certainly asking too much, even if it was one of the only things in her mind on a regular basis, and of course she should never say that either. The depression of the admission of love rebounded in her heart, back and forth a few times, before she understood just how much pain she was really in by it. What was her life turning out to be? She had no one and nothing, really, except for a dog named after a broken man whose company was seemingly too distant to truly be welcome without being upsetting. Not daring to even glance in his direction for fear that even blinded she would begin crying in another unwelcome show of feelings, the window became her quiet new home, never having left her focus as she drowned in pessimism.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Right in perfect timing as Phera was absolutely losing her sense of hope in the situation again, Jack was blurting out words that were strung together haphazardly with feelings she understood all too well by the tone of his voice; Just because she couldn't visualize his facial expressions or twitching habits did not mean that she simply didn't know what to expect or what things were like, since she could imagine him being vastly uncomfortable obviously. It seemed he was easily upset every time he had to speak, leaving her with the conclusion that he was an anxious mess about being open; for what reason would talking be such a milestone? Regardless, comprehending his words took her a few more seconds than understanding the feeling behind them, and when it struck her that he had just openly admitted that her mother had come by while she was still unconscious in the hospital there was a sense of immediate concern. In another set of moments as he was playing with Jesus Christ, anxious in his delivery obviously Phera was miles ahead, understanding that if she hadn't known this already, it must be something unpleasant that was difficult for him to admit to her. The large pauses between his sentences left her with a lot of time to piece things together in complete anxiety, but finally she heard an apology, and knew that he was entirely done with his vocalizations at least for the time being. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>She had said she warned you about me. She was beyond mad, and… and just left you. Because of me. I’m sorry, Phera</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." Many things were occurring to her all at once about the situation she found herself in, and which ones were first or more important were beyond her. Replaying his words it had occurred to her that not only did he entirely skip everything she had just said, once again as was not the first or last time, but that this topic was almost entirely random in the grand scheme of the conversation, and for that to be the case, it must have been settled beneath his skin for quite some time. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
At first a seething distrust filled her chest, leaving her with the curious wonder of why he didn't feel the need to mention that sooner... Without hesitation, even to herself, she was already coming to his rescue; there was no personal or private way that he could have announced that while they were still in the hospital, and frankly, at least he was telling her at all when he could have conveniently left that part out entirely, like he so loved to do. Besides, it's not like the information by itself was disturbing or new in any way- flashing back to the drunken night of mistaken words and stupid behavior, she grasped at the bare memories of the fight with her mom in the kitchen away from Jack, where she had already said many of those things and worse. Shaking her head in disbelief as she grasped that she would have to say something, she skirted over anything negative and just addressed him directly for fear that she would make him more upset than he already was, and herself as well. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Look, Jackson, that isn't something for you to be sorry about...</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Her words were blunt, and likely confusing to him. Of course he would feel bad, because he was assuming himself at fault for the bad actions of her mother, but that was definitely not the case. Following along, she said, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I love it that you told me this instead of avoiding it, so thanks.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" There was that love word again in context this time, but it had slipped by in the mass of words as she continued, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>but, honestly this is not surprising to me at all. I already knew.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Looking over towards him, there was a kind of accepted frustration evident on her features, like it was dismaying as everything but with nothing to be done about it. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Long story short, on the questionable night that I should be really sorry for, she was already fighting with me about exactly this, and that wasn't even the first time then,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" her hands were all over, making gestures and helping her walk through the ideas. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>She's enjoying this claim that I picked you over her, for some reason, like she's in competition with you or something for my attention, not like that makes any sense.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Another short pause, and her thoughts were scattered all over again, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>She doesn't think me much capable of dealing with you, not that I've ever been in the business of caring what she thinks, and that's what started this entire thing. She did warn me about you, and I told her to fuck off, basically</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." For strong language to be unfiltered from her, especially about her mother, she must have been far more upset than she was letting on, and she was. On the multiple occasions where she had considered her moms advice, she only left feeling more certain about Jack and less certain about her. A look of interest came over her as one eyebrow shot up, and she was off again, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I mean, if anything, she made this decision not me, and definitely not you. It's her problem if she dislikes it so much that she would rather alienate herself away from it.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She was tapping her fingers on her face, pulling at her curls in a weird, anxious habit he had adopted in his time away. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Actually, in all honesty, this is just validating for me if anything.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She was certain that her last sentence would be confusing to him, and he would more than likely be wondering how something so bad could be validating... "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>It's just obvious that she's wrong, and just doesn't see it, and I can't force her... but, you don't just leave the people you love, not for any reason.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Innately and accidentally, this sentence said a lot more about how she felt about Jackson than it did about how she felt towards her mom. However true it was that she wouldn't leave him, she didn't mean to imply that, because she didn't want him to know that she really felt that way. Being vulnerable this far with anyone including him had only left her feeling unimportant, broken, unworthy, unloved, and disappointed. There was nothing good to come of him knowing more of her feelings, and as she realized what she had admitted already again, she was full with regret and confusion. What the hell was even going on?</span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson couldn’t quite keep stationary within the plush cushioned seat, as if his constant motion and nervous movements made up for blatantly obvious lack of words. In essence, they did. The rhythm in which his hands moved and shuffled had a mildly calm effect on his frantic thoughts, keeping them on a short leash from venturing too far into his brooding memories, of which were just waiting to be released and roam about within the dark corners of his mind. It seemed as though the present really was the only thing keeping him from being entangled in both the past and the troubling future, and acted as a medium for him to find refuge in. Of course, this had its flaws as did everything else in life. The present, however, had a wide variety of ups and downs, but unfortunately seemed to have more downs than ups that he knew of currently. Though it offered a haven of some sorts for a small period of time, it frequently ended with a spiral back into the dreadful past. All it took was one, brooding echo of the past to suck him back into the hell hole he was desperately trying to claw his way out of on a daily and nightly basis. The echoes came in sights, smells, emotions, and slivers of raw terror that clasped onto him wherever he went. Whether it may be a simple glimpse of a menacing dog, or the warm grains of fine sand brushed against his skin, it was enough. It was always enough to send him back into the history of his tour.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The taxi’s movements were erratic and spasmodic, sending his heart into a fit of adrenaline and fear along the way. It was apparent the driver was more than annoyed, and expressed it openly as he took a sharp left turn into a back road as a car horn buzzed harshly in Jackson’s ears, startling him with wide eyes. Though he had grown accustomed to jerky and bouncy rides on dirt roads while in Iraq, Jackson had never conceived the idea that he would be </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>afraid </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">of simply being in a car. While it did have much to do with the space being more than confining and posing potential threats of all kinds, it wasn’t that in this point of time. The sporadic movements made him feel sick, if anything, and added a whole new level to the fear he was constantly reveling in. He knew the fear was irrational, illogical and just plain silly, but how could he be anything but tense? Was this driver even qualified to be operating a taxi? How old was the guy, and how long has it been since he’s gotten a ticket? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh God</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, where were they? Were they lost? Was he taking them to the right place? Had Jackson somehow screwed this up, just like he did with everything else? Did he—… Jack squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe in and back out in attempt to calm himself. He certainly wouldn’t be helping anybody if he panicked, right? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>We’re fine. Phera didn’t correct me when I told him where we live, so… there’s no way I screwed the address up. Right?</i></span></span><br>
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By the time the yellow cab pulled into an abrupt stop at the intersection, Jackson’s hands were clenched with white knuckles. His dark blue eyes were tracing the outlines of nearby buildings, mostly holding blind hope of catching glimpse of a landmark that was familiar to him. But every street looked foreign to him, and only intensified his swelling panic. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh God, oh God. We can’t be lost. Not now. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">What would he even do if they were lost? Where would they go? Would Phera be able to guide him through the maze of a city? Maybe they would ask strangers for directions? Jackson hadn’t noticed he was chewing on his lip, a lingering taste of copper left on his tongue. He couldn’t remember anything from nearby her apartment other than the bar. Another deep breath, and another strange street. His eyes were flickering back and forth to the taxi meter with another depth of fear added, dread sinking into his bones as he reached into his back pocket in frantic search of his wallet. Hands trembling, he rummaged in both pockets, and to his relief found the surface of smooth leather just as Phera began speaking. Her words were soft, as always, and spoke with a confidence he could only ever wish to have in his possession again. Jackson kept his eyes focused on the scenery passing by them, for fear he would find her upset or looking at him with sympathetic eyes. He didn’t need her sympathy. It wouldn’t be genuine even if she was trying to be sympathetic towards him. Jackson unclenched both hands and placed them gently in his lap.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The words were baffling, if anything, and took more than a few moments for him to grasp the full meaning of what she was saying. What did she mean? Why </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>wouldn’t </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he be sorry? Jackson was back to fiddling with his thumbs during her pause. He hated waiting. Call him impatient, but he would rather have the Band-Aid ripped off sooner rather than later. If she was mad at him, why wait? If she was going to kick him out and never speak to him, why wait? There was no point in it, no logic, and was ultimately a waste of time for both of them. Jack’s leg bounced up and down as the cab sped up, screeching to a halt within only a short moment. Then her words registered. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>She knew? How could she have known? </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">His eyes were on her now, eyebrows furrowed together in even more confusion. As she went on to explain things even further, his heart sank. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“A </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>competition</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>… a competition </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>with me</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he echoed quietly, tearing his gaze away from Phera as his hands trembled. No matter how comforting her words offered to be, the pit in which he had dug for himself in his own mind grew only deeper. Guilt for his wrongdoing, anger for himself, and sorrow for Phera and her tattered relationship with her mom; all of it was boiling and festering beneath his skin, but had no means of escape. He did what he always did with the emotions. Bottled it away. Put it on the back shelf. For later, he’d tell himself. Another time, he’d tell himself. All were lies, he knew, but they kept him from going insane, at least.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“She’s </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>not </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>wrong, Phera. Don’t.. don’t you see that?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">asked Jack, tainted with sullenness and sourness and weakness. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“All I do is make things worse.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">A pause. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Dr. Markson knew it. I… I saw how he looked at me. Like, like I’m incapable. And maybe I am.” </b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The taxi stopped, and it was then he realized they were at the apartment complex. Wordlessly and abruptly, he got out of the cab. With the door slammed, he took a long moment leaning against the yellow door, catching his breath as his heart hammered inside his chest, throat clenched with emotions threatening to spill. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I can’t do this anymore. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Tears burned in his eyes, and a helplessness sensation came crashing in. He was a lost cause. He was broken. He was incapable. But he had a duty to fulfill, and a person to take care of. After a long minute, Jackson brought the back of his hands to his eyes to wipe the stray tears away, sniffling for another minute before recollecting himself. Phera was still in the cab, and the driver was expecting payment. A deep breath, and he found himself walking around the car towards Phera’s side, opening the door and robotically taking her out after paying, and silently leading her to the place she had called home. </span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px">Feelings of terrible remorse and general confusion were threatening to smother Pheralynne as they crushed her chest like weights again, and she sat patiently through another frustrating round of metaphorical crashing waves of emotion literally without saying anything else, knowing at this point between herself and Jackson that she had more than said enough as usual; especially considering the stupid quip about "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>not leaving the people you love</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" that just fell out of her mouth as if on accident, her slight embarrassment was visible by the fervent coloration in her cheeks, easily apparent and understandable even. To think that she was still forcing her hopeful opinion down his throat, as if one day they would wake up and he would be back to normal or himself, perhaps even trying to convince herself in some twisted naivety, was absolutely absurd. It was always clear that she had good intentions, but with every set of sentences she directed towards him, she felt she was progressively making things worse for them both. As her guidance would always say back in college, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>the road to hell is paved with good intentions</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." Every verbal attempt to assist the situation resulted in sadness, confusion, anger, and as she had found out the hard way, sometimes much worse than just negative feelings; examples of this included multiple altercations, a night and half day of entire separation, more fighting, positive feelings giving her false hope, more arguing, and even now a medical emergency of her own dumb fruition, already accompanied by you guessed it, fighting. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Literally, the pathway to hell</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
A pain to tear her thoughts apart and away from the psychological examination of herself, Phera had realized that Jack had been speaking and that she hadn't paid much attention to his first words which were something about the competition, although immediately registering in its place as he continued was his disagreement with her. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Wait, what? You agree with my mom...?</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> The stinging feeling in her bones was overwhelming her with a sudden deep sympathy and heart wrenching depression, and as if her brain was delaying speaking purposefully for her this time, nothing was coming to the surface to stop him from continuing his little rant of self pity. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>"I only make things worse." You make things worse? You were one of the best parts of my entire life</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">... There were a hundred, million, no an </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>endless</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> amount of arguments she wanted to produce as she floated through their memories, something or everything to tell him exactly how valuable he really was to her, but in that moment, silence echoed from the inside of the cab like they were in an empty cave. Tension had built up to an explosive point, and the gnawing feeling of her stomach was making her incredibly sick, as if she could throw up from all the pressure. How could she possibly correctly express the extent of her feelings after what had already happened between them multiple times from simply vague and generic overviews? Even if the entire truth, honest to the depths of her soul, was that she would trade places with his past to spare him the trauma, or that she was giving up pieces of her own sanity every day to continue to love him the best that she could from such a vast distance, there would never be a confident place, time, or way for her to tell him that, or anything like it. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Would he even hear me?</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> The answer fell heavy on her heart, and she realized that sometimes the truth was a terrible thing. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The taxi door slammed, surprising Phera as she looked over into an empty space where she had expected Jack to be. She could discern that he was still right outside of the car, by the color of his shirt through the clear, glass window, which innately left her feeling a little better, although the shock and sadness that were upon her had won out in terms of which emotions were most desperate to be felt. At least he hadn't taken off and ditched her entirely, which would be such a problem in her condition, but now she was at more of a loss for what to do. Tears had welled up and started falling from her eyes as she considered the moments that had just passed- in a matter of seconds and sentences, her innately warm spring of eternal hope had been drained entirely, leaving her reeling in uncertainty. This particular circumstance, she had never been more uncertain; the more she considered it, the more fearful she was, as it were the majority of her life was hanging in the balance. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>What if I can't do this?</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> The terror was paralyzing, and she closed her eyes as she sat there in the cab, trying desperately not to break out into racked sobbing. How could things keep getting worse? She was more afraid to consider those answers, as every time she assumed it was the worst, things descended even lower. Holding her face between her hands, things were spiraling out of control into pure chaos, and right immediately as that occurred, something inside her snapped slightly. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b><i>ENOUGH</i></b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The swirling, savage hurricane of overwhelming feelings silenced itself instantly, leaving Phera in stunning, mental emptiness, which was neither a good nor a bad thing entirely, but a strange combination of both. On one hand, this detached, objective view would be an advantage away from the murky water of emotion to cloud better judgement. On the other hand, most of her vested, important decisions about herself and Jackson had been made in that emotional way, which may or may not have indicated a drastic change coming on. What it would come down to was the organization of her thoughts, and her priorities. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Did she love him as much as she said she did? </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>Enough to do literally anything for him</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px">. Then how could she be uncertain about her capabilities with him? It occurred to her in the moment of calm she had forced upon herself that she was the only person alive on this planet who knew him so well, and was willing to put forth the effort to love him when he was acting unlovable. Even if he didn't know himself very well anymore, she had just finished saying her important personal belief, which was that she could never leave a person she loved for any reason. She did love him, and she wasn't leaving him. Things with him were complicated and upsetting, but that wouldn't make them any less valuable in the long run, if she could remain positive and persistent with him. Of course this was easier said than done, but even persistent company would make a difference if positivity failed her, and even in the times that she felt betrayed, hurt, or like she couldn't hate him more, she would stay by him. Hearing the car door open again, and seeing him go about paying the driver as blurry as it was, she couldn't help but affirm to herself her decision. Even now, without thinking about it, he hadn't left her, and there was no convincing her to leave him either. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Taking his hand and silently, albeit incredibly cautiously, following him towards what she hoped was the apartment, it was occurring to her that something was innately stiff about the situation. It was likely some feeling of forced responsibility pressing upon him and making him cooperate, which would usually leave her wondering if she was burden to him, although in this instance she felt close to nothing. She was bouncing around ideas in her head as they walked of things that she could say to him, but saying things never got them very far... She knew they were approaching the apartment together, as they had made it in the building and she was on the bottom floor, and she didn't necessarily want to bring negativity back into her home space again between them, as they were so fond of doing. With a different approach in mind, she formulated a query very carefully, wondering if perhaps questions would be better for him than sentences. Without looking in his direction for fear of her facial expression giving anything away, a very broken sounding voice softly speaking, she asked "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>What makes you think that? That you make everything worse that is?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She was still very lightly grasping his hand as she blindly walked slightly behind him, wondering now if things were going to get any worse, or if maybe for a change he would have something productive to add to the "discussion."</span><br>
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-3699488" data-lb-caption-desc="Lady Odyssey · Aug 10, 2015 at 8:14 PM">

		

		
	


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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">He couldn’t breathe. His lungs expanded and contracted, but it </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">wasn’t enough</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> as he paced beside the yellow cab, hands shot with tremors and trembles. Everything was swirling around him, colors nothing but a blur in his line of vision. It had been quite some time since he had been like this, but it didn’t take away from the fact that everything felt so</span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> familiar</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> to him. The heavy breathing, the shakiness rippling through his body. All of it. Jackson wiped his hands against the smooth fabric of his pants again, frantically scanning his surroundings with hope no one was in sight. There wasn’t. Tears threatened to fall as he rummaged through his scrambled thoughts and emotions that fought for his undivided attention. A growing, gnawing sense of fright and terror was seeded within him as he clenched his hands in attempt to stop the shaking. </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">I can’t do this</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Vance knew it. Phera knew it. Why couldn’t he just accept it? Why? </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">I’m not afraid. There’s nothing to fear except fear itself. Nothing. </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">All of it was lies. Feeble, weak lies in hopes of comforting his pathetic self, in hopes of quenching the terror living within him. </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">I’m not afraid. </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">But he was. Jackson Ryder Wilde, survivor of horrendous war and skillfully trained fighter, was afraid.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Everything was burning. Or maybe that was just the tears left in his eyes. He couldn’t tell. Whatever it was,  Jackson couldn’t fight it. Whatever it was, it made him want to scream until his throat was raw, it made him want to sob until there was nothing left of him but puffy eyes and scattered emotions. He didn’t. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I’m not scared. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">A deep breath, another footstep. A blink, another footstep. Jackson’s hands were still clenched, sending a pounding pulse through the palms of his hands. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I can’t do this. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">He had to, he </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>knew </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he had to. Phera had no one else to receive help from, but why him? Like hell, he couldn’t even help himself from a small, puny anxiety attack. Jackson let a frustrated grunt pass his lips, swinging his hand against the open air impulsively, quickly recovering by running a hand through his hair after. A moment spent dwelling in self-pity and loathing his actions even more, and it was over. The pacing stopped abruptly, and so did his emotions. They were gone again. Where they went when they were gone, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to find out, either. They were gone the same way </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>he </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">was gone.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
His pulse returned to normal, his hands no longer displaying white knuckles. Jackson’s face had gone slack, any bit of energy left in his features now drooping with defeat and rout as he reached for his wallet. There was nothing to be said or done as he handed the driver money, and walked with a sickening dread towards Phera’s car door slowly. Any traces or indications of him crying just moments ago were completely gone, and instead replaced with a vacant expression as he helped her out of the car, rigid at her touch while wandering the rapid river of thought. Though his movements were hesitant in the slightest, Jackson didn’t have to think much before acting on a subconscious level, all the while her words echoed and lingered in his mind. What exactly was it she meant? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>You don’t just leave the people you love, not for any reason… </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Wait a minute. Was she implying… ? No, that couldn’t be it. There was no way—or was there? Jackson swallowed, feeling a shiver pass over his spine. Even if he wouldn’t willing admit to what she had hidden within her words, he knew, deep down, that she had meant every single word uttered in that taxi cab. Every. Single. Word.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The sound of feet making contact with the cool, hard pavement filled the air as he guided her through the complex, a sickening weight of her words finally pressing on him. As he continued to deny the impossible theory, he stole occasional glances towards the red head, feeling his pulse rise once more each and every time he did so. It was stupid of him, he had thought somewhere in the back of his mind, to be stealing these moments by glancing at her in the sunlight, but he couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was an unconscious act, an act in which he didn’t willingly do, but maybe… </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>maybe </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he did. Jackson hastily shook the thought out, and kept his eyes fixed straight ahead as a cold feeling settled on him. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Stupid, stupid, stupid. What’s wrong with me? </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The grass didn’t feel soft beneath his boots. If anything, they felt just as solid as the sidewalk pavement around him. Air didn’t feel as light as it had been just an hour ago, and took labored effort to suck into his lungs as he bit his tongue and willed himself not to peer over at her for what felt like the hundredth time. Why did he do it, anyways? He already knew what she looked like, in the sunlight or not. So what was his deal?</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Her voice broke the silence softly, almost sounding hesitant to speak at all. Had he been giving her his full attention, he may have felt a twinge of guilt for making her sound so… </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>sad</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Maybe it had been her softening features that had emitted her mood, or the way she slowed down ever so subtly. Whatever it had been, through his thoughts and all, he picked it up fairly easily as they walked side by side, approaching the front door faster than he would have liked. For the longest time, he considered her question carefully. Too carefully, almost, but still carefully nonetheless. Jackson felt himself gripping her hand more firmly than he normally would have, but didn’t find the courage to loosen it either as he mulled over the question, and the thoughts that came with it. The features on his face softly scrunched, the way they always did when he was lost in thought or considering a question, and his pace noticeably slowed down to a casual stroll through the apartment complex. Phera had asked almost innocently as a child, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>“What makes you think that?” </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Her voice had been sweet, but broken, as if hurt by the thought of him ever thinking of himself like </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>that</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. It struck confusion into him, if anything, as he read in between the lines of her quiet question. She posed the inquire as if </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>he </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">has been the one to have created the thought, that </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>he </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">was the one thinking wrongly of himself in a sad manner. What did it mean? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Of course </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he thought of himself like that! Why wouldn’t he? Jackson believed, and continues to do so, he was the cause of the mess of things. Even if it were direct, it was true. He believed it to be true. Why would she think otherwise? Why? More importantly, how was it possible that he was wrong in saying he always makes things worse? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I do make things worse, Phera. Can’t you see that? </i></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I…” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he began weakly, before trailing off into a period of stiff silence. They had reached the apartment door, and Jackson was fumbling around for the apartment key before pausing. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I just do, Phera. Jesus, just… just look at you. </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>You’re </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>like </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>that</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> because… because of </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>me.” </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">His voice was quiet towards the end, abruptly cutting off as he caught hold of the key, let go of her hand, and unlocked the front door. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Your mom probably… probably doesn’t wanna talk to you because of me,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson was speaking softly now, looking at her while standing in the doorway. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“And you’re… </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>sad</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>. Because of what I’ve done, and… and what I’ve become. I screwed things up, Phera, and still haven’t stopped that pattern. Why can’t you see that? All I do is make things worse than they already were.”</b></span></span></span></div></div>
				
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px">Slowing down subtly in the pace of the walk she shared with Jackson, connected to him at the hand, Pheralynne was unable to entirely hide the daunting sadness that hung in the back of her mind like a curtain, blocking the warmth of the metaphorical sun of her usually positive thoughts. The atmosphere around the pair was nothing short of tense, as was appearing to be the usual between them, as they traversed the open floor space towards the safety of her home; her apartment would be close, and it was where she wanted to promptly curl up, in her bed, and die at least for the rest of the day, which she knew somewhere within her confines that she wouldn't be allowed to do. Doctor's orders, she was supposed to be staying awake contrary to her preference, and she was painfully aware of how she would need Jack's company to help her achieve that goal, since she was beginning to lose touch with the finer senses of reality. Already partially blind, it was a pain not to want to keep her eyes shut from the glaring, blurry disaster that was currently reality, so falling asleep promptly thereafter getting comfortable would be easy to do, however frowned upon. The silence had been drawn out for some time after her query, implying a sense of intimidated hesitancy, as if he wasn't entirely sure of why he had said that in the first place or that perhaps he wasn't interested in giving an honest answer, once again. He was grasping her hand quite firmly, tighter than usual even as if she wasn't the one holding his hand anymore, but vice versa. Their pace together had slowed more, as if he was calming down the speed of his pace to dedicate more time to his thoughts, likewise not wanting to reach the apartment with a ton of unspoken words between them. The fear of the unknown from him, the uncertainty, was running rampant in her skull regardless of what would usually be a reassuring touch from him, giving her too much time to consider the options that were certainly approaching her. As she gripped his hand, trying not to give away her fidgeting and nervousness in their intermingling fingers, the many ideas were overwhelming to her. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Perhaps this was a situation where Jack had an honest answer that he didn't want to admit to her or to himself, or perhaps he didn't have a good answer at all as he considered his emotional disposition and was frustrated with himself. The endless number of problems he could have been tumbling about there in his brain without her information or perception was endless and disturbing, and left a heavy a feeling as always in her chest. The negativity abounding in her suddenly was comparable to an uninvited guest living inside of her body, hijacking her thoughts and her heart for the worst, planning and plotting to take her down internally as quickly as possible. It had only been a matter of days thus far and she was losing the grasp she had on reality and sensibility, full to the brim with complicated and confusing emotional responses that she didn't want to analyze by sheer notice of their pain. With every new truth that she admitted to herself, or to Jackson, nothing good was coming thereof, and this left her feeling more and more detached from herself for the sense of safety it evoked. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
They must have reached the apartment door as the slowed to a stop because she could hear the gentle sounds of her apartment keys tinkling in Jack's pocket as he carelessly reached around for them, and when her hopes were all but dashed, she was surprised that he started speaking again. Expressing that he felt innately responsible for the condition she was in, it was clear that she was displeased with the first sentence from his mouth as she rolled her eyes and caught her breath in a quiet huff. He had released her hand unfortunately for her and with that she was feeling slightly unbalanced, reaching an arm out and holding herself up against the wall nearby. Beginning to speak more softly, he continued on his tirade of sorts, and she was aware that he likely hadn't spoken more to her at once the entire time they had been in each other's presence. It was so terribly disappointing to her that the thing he had to say the most about was a negative assertion of himself, when all she could do was love him, and disagree. He had mentioned her mom, but that wasn't all, he continued then with the factual notice that she was upset. Absolutely, the last thing Phera had been expecting was for Jack to point out her feelings to her, as if she didn't already have a clue of her own emotions. Though, as she recollected on the meaning of his words, bouncing down the empty hallways past her ears, it was recognizable to her that he was wrong now too, and that this moment was another good opportunity to say something she would regret later, but that ultimately needed to be said eventually. Sick of holding herself back and still getting terrible results, she was certain now that the worst thing could be his anger, and even in that he would return to her, forcing her hand in a sick confidence that left her musing out loud to him again, as usual, about things she knowingly shouldn't repeat. She could feel him looking right at her, but honestly at that moment, she could't afford to much care.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I don't think this</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">," she said, pointing roundabout to herself in a wide gesture, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>is entirely your fault, and I think you know that.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" Her hand had dropped back in a slump of the weight, and her eyes still blinking painfully were a dead giveaway to her tired inability to be anything other than what she really was, in that moment. Just as they had been in the nostalgic past, she was being simultaneously emotionally supportive and detached, as if she was confiding in him and somehow chiding him at the same time. She didn't want to openly express more than was necessary, and she was off to the next topic without lingering too long on the thoughts of what had caused her injury. Unfortunately for her, she had caused her own impairment by having an anxiety attack over something she regretted saying, and she wasn't going to announce that aloud between them when they both knew, really. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>As for my mom,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" she laughed and looked towards him with a genuine smirk, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>you should know she's been looking for a reason to not talk to me,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" the words fell flat as they left her lips. It was a resolution, as if she wasn't looking for comfort or disagreement, but rather accepting of what the reality of the situation was.  With a shrug of her shoulders, she went on to say, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Besides, it's not like she won't come back.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" This was definitely assured, as she would not give up the reigns on her only daughter entirely, of course. Empty threats were one of her fortes, and as her daughter, Phera was more than aware of that. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As she rounded off her brief speech, coming to address the last thing he said after responding with short staples to every other sentence, about all the reasons she was sad and he was guilty, her face changed a tiny amount to include a hesitancy and a sorrow, both of which she tried to avoid letting him see. It was one thing for it to be there, but it was another thing entirely for her to display it to him, especially at the rate things were going for them... But she had to keep going at this point, regardless of that depressed truth showing on her face, or she never would again be able to argue with that statement honestly. It was a lot of courage from her now just to be honest with him, when before he would have resented the implication that she would be anything other than that. By God, even if persistence follow her to the grave, an early one coming at that, she would eventually get through to him somehow. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
"</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>You haven't ever asked why I'm sad</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">," came out of her mouth very matter of fact and first, followed by "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>and you're not as good at guessing as you think you are,</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" and these words surprised her almost as much as it would probably surprise him- hopefully enough to pay attention. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I'm not sad about the past anymore, not about what you did. It's already done, how can I justify that? We can't take it back, and there's no use living in the past, not when you're already home</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">..." She had faded off carefully, but thinking better of it, found her confidence again in a last ditch effort to mean something. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I'm sad because you stopped being yourself, and you stopped letting me love you</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">." Her words were jumbled together at this point but she knew he would follow along, as she let her weight collapse her arm, leaning herself into the wall and rolling her head to look off in the other direction. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I'm sad because I never wanted to let you go, you were everything.. Making things worse?</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She scoffed at the question quietly, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>For a while you were the only thing that made this life worthwhile, and you're a stranger now, and I meant what I said</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">," her breath hitched in her throat. It would be a damn shame to start crying, but the wavering in her voice was giving away the hint of the feelings. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I meant what I said when I said I never wanted anything else, and even if you never see it, losing you was like cutting my fingers off.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">" She was looking off in entirely the opposite direction, her face completely hidden in the profile of her curls, and she finished speaking so softly that she was barely audible. "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Even after that, I can't lie, even up to right now</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">," the words called attention to the moment between them, whether she was looking at him or not, "</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>I'm still bleeding out for you, and the truth is a terrible thing, because blood doesn't always bring people back.</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">"</span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The sounds, the sights and everything else came crashing in vibrancy and vividness, almost as if he was waking up for the first time. His senses were sharpened, his eyes capturing every miniscule of detail. It was almost as if he could see… </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">color</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> for the first time, if that was logical by any means. The sun’s illuminating rays were cast down from heaven in an almost blinding shade of bold yellow, slicing through the puffy white clouds towering high in the ocean of a sky. Jackson felt a trickle of something he didn’t dare admit to, felt its arms embrace him in a way he hasn’t felt or remembered since pre-enlistment, in the days of summer fun, dazzling smiles and falling asleep beside Phera. Was </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">that </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">it, were those</span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> memories </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">the reason why he was now on the brink of… </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">smiling</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">? No, that’s silly. It couldn’t be. Jack hastily shrugged the emotion off just as quickly as it had whisked into his mind, positive it had been a simple figment of his imagination as he purposely avoided her penetrating gaze. Though whatever it was that had plagued him during the short period of silence was finally extinct from conscious, it relentlessly emitted small echoes in the back of his mind as he put one foot in front of the other. Why, in any circumstances, would he even think back to the happy memories before enlistment? Yeah, sure, he did occasionally have a dream or two about his mom and Tommy, the three of them laughing and sharing inside jokes, but never had he really engrossed himself with memories of… well, </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">them</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Jack and Phera. Phera and Jack. The high school sweethearts, the inseparable love birds of a time long gone. </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Why </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">had he randomly brought those memories up? More importantly, why now? None of it seemed to click with him, and only ever added to the frustration of not knowing how to map what was going on inside his head. It seemed to him that he would only ever have his thoughts spilled out into the world, where everyone and anyone could see for themselves what he really was thinking or feeling about, but never would know truly for himself. He bit back a sigh, and reluctantly released her hand temporarily to get the keys.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
All his senses had dimmed by the time the grim atmosphere returned, and along with it Phera’s revealing indications. The sun looked dull, the grass not as alive as it had seemed just moments ago. It puzzled him, if anything, and made him feel as though he was… missing something. Oh, what is </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>it </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">that he’s missing? Was it something that Phera had, or something that every mentally healthy being was missing? Jackson couldn’t wrap his head around it, and concluded meagerly that he was just lacking sleep, that’s all. Nothing more to it, and certainly nothing to worry over. As he tugged the key out of his pocket, he could almost </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feel </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">the warmth leave from his hand. It was a silly thing to notice, but it was all he had managed to give thought to as he fumbled with the key and the lock, releasing a frustrated sigh in between tries of unlocking the front door. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember the last time he had needed to use a key. There was no need for such things while on tour, and though it was a simple task for most normal beings, he found it difficult to get back into the hang of the motion. His calloused fingers trembled as they turned the key in the small slot, finally followed by a soft </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>click </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">that indicated that he was successful on the third attempt. Jackson slipped the metal back into his back pocket, fingers finding their way back to the comfort and warmth of Phera’s. The action had been entirely instinctive and purely impulsive, and something he hadn’t thought much of until he glanced his way towards the red head. She remained quiet for a while, but not for long; her lips split open, seemingly ready to fire away when Phera found the words to do so.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>“I don’t think this,” </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">she paused, gesturing towards herself, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>“is entirely your fault, and I think you know that.” </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson felt his breath quicken, feeling the impact of her words bruise his crippling thoughts that seemed to swirl and twirl in a silly game of his own silly creation. Though he was careful to guard his physical indications of what was going on through the turmoil of emotions he called his own, Jackson couldn’t stop himself as he harshly bit his lip in effort to ground himself. It was a small reaction, but still one nonetheless he was certain she would be able to pick up on with ease. Phera had always been like that, if he recalled correctly; she always seemed to know when he was feeling stressed, when he was too tired to speak, without ever needing to ask. It made him feel vulnerable, if anything, and put him at unease as he stood beside her, blue eyes downcast to the pavement beneath them. Much to his own surprise, even through the thick emotions whirling within, Jackson never let go of her hand, almost as if it were a life line of some sort for him to remain occupied in reality, and perhaps something else he wouldn’t dare acknowledge was real; comfort. Was it even possible for him to feel… </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>comforted</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">? Why was Phera the only person that could do that for him? Why now, and again, how was it possible? Breath slowly returning to a state of normality, he carefully mulled over her words. Did he really know? Or was she just simply trying to comfort him? It certainly appeared to be something that she would do. No, it wasn’t. As he searched for answers hidden within her eyes, Jackson concluded that she was indeed telling the truth. Whatever that was anymore.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The coiled smirk caught him off guard, sending yet another glut of confusion into the mixture of emotions already swirling and churning behind his eyes. Her words were jumbled and scrambled once entering his mind, and after a moment spent deciphering what they meant and why she had a smug smile worn on her face, realization settled on his features. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Of course </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">her mom had been looking for an excuse to not be on speaking terms with Phera; why wouldn’t she, after what has happened since his deployment? In letters and phone calls, she often communicated that her mother would occasionally bring up the matter in a position of arrogance and anger that Phera hadn’t listened to her advice and warning in the first place when they learned of the news. Nonetheless, Jack still felt a wrench of guilt lying deep within his chest when he looked at the redhead standing in front of him, practically blind and barely standing on her own. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh God. How are we going to stay up </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">all</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i> night? </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The thought had only now crossed his mind, and stirred a weight of stress within him as the wheels began turning in search of answer. Somewhere in the thought process, most of her honest words were lost in the storm of panic and responsibility. Jackson’s eyes fogged with distraction, his hands abruptly still and motionless for the first time in the minutes they began talking. What in the world could he do to keep them </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>both </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">awake and occupied? Given her condition, movies, board games and a walk around town was out of the question. Maybe he could—…</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>“I’m sad because you stopped being yourself, and you stopped letting me love you.” </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Her words hit him with the impact of a harsh wave, smacking any air left in his lungs out into the atmosphere. Jackson’s heart fell, his stomach churning with anguish and contrition. The rest of what she had to say fell between the cracks, never seeming to reach his ears as he stared at her, throat tight and jaw clenched to fight the tears burning in his eyes. By the time she had finished, he felt too guilty to look at her, and instead focused on gently grabbing her arm and guiding her into the apartment, silent as ever.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I… I just… need a minute,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he breathed, settling her on the couch. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I … I can’t think right now.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">And he was gone, away into the bathroom quickly.</span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"> In another timely bout of ridiculously stupid bravery, Pheralynne was actively speaking openly with Jackson again, having no regard or time for sugar coating the truth of things as she was seeing them, and not to mention for being directly in the open hallway of the apartment complex unabashedly either. Somewhere in the plethora of decent points rolling from her tongue was the true nature of the problem between the pair overall, hiding betwixt the lines of conversation and yet still easily understandable, as if it were as verbal and visual as the things which she had actually said, even if that weren't necessarily the case. She may well have come out to his face saying </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>"I still love you and I wish you still loved me,"</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> considering all she </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>had</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> managed to speak, and although she had touched on this all being devastating to her, it took nothing away from the strength of her dedicated admission prior. The honesty of the many, unspoken indications following that major one were overwhelmingly forward in their context, the depth of the feelings buried beneath them virtually immeasurable, and as if she had learned nothing from the anxiety inducing incident she had only just experienced earlier on this same day, she had managed again to indirectly express her wistful affections and desperate desire to merely help him, if not even anything else. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
In actuality, this backwards, unexpected conversation wasn't indicating in the least bit that Phera hadn't learned from her mistake, no, it was believably, greatly showing that she finally </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>had</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> figured it out, no longer fitting them into the category of being a problem at all. It had never been a mistake to tell him the truth of her feelings, she just thought it was, which would show in her demeanor and attitude; the astounding lack of confidence in herself had likely been forefront with him and kept him uncertain of how to continue functionally, the same as her. It was clear that it had already been more than long enough years between them in hindsight, even as relative strangers now from missing years, and this ultimate conclusion found her devoid of any reason in the entire world to have to lie to him, walk around things, or even omit any partial truths, not about any topic ever- including the things that she knew he wouldn't like or would react badly to, and especially the things she herself wouldn't like or want to say, since not wanting to spit something out was usually a pointer that it inevitably needed to be said. There would never be a more opportune time between them to rebuild than on the same premises as before than now, based on how simultaneously badly and well things were already going in the few days they had shared thus far. Confusing ambivalence in him was only positive in proof of the cultivation of emotional responses, of which there would ultimately be a lot she had to handle gracefully if she intended to stay with him, and that she did; it was obviously time to be in the business of one hundred percent transparency as she always had been with him, and proving that open stability would foster safety, as if to say </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>"You can rely on me."</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> It must have occurred to her somewhere subconsciously how necessary that really was.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
For a multitude of moments in the unsteadiness of herself physically after she had forced her own hand in speaking, leaning into the wall there with an almost dejected look on her fragile face, it had seemed evident that Phera was in fact as truly sad as she claimed to be, perhaps even worsening by the moment in the apparent depression. In all reality, due to the longtime internally, which was actually merely seconds more, spent analyzing herself and Jack respectively and building solid conclusions once again, she was entirely outside of her sorrow by the second it had finished crossing her lips and landed in the open space betwixt them. It was too late to reconsider what she had said in the tense quiet, especially since the massive shift in her attitude left no space for timidity or uncertainty; there was no reason not to have mentioned anything she had said, in fact there were many reasons to have been so honest, and she had to keep reminding herself consistently of that outlook lest she change her mind again. It was incredibly difficult, terrifying even in many aspects, for her to be assuming a role of leadership with a man whom she felt easily could be as wayward as the wind, but there was nothing else she could do that would actually work, as she was beginning to figure.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Gingerly and simultaneously, the sudden feelings of both tightness in the hand still connected to Jack and another rough hand, presumably his other, gently taking her forearm left her focusing on the feeling of him, both right in in the moment and in general. It was a strange thought to be having in a moment that had only prior seemed so destitute of hope and abandoned by love, the revelation of peace that would come from the soft caress, but this acknowledgement did not prevent her from continuing to experience it. The seconds dragged on like minutes as she realized the torn, calloused skin rugged with hard work, dangerous accidents, and who could only guess what other disastrous encounters, had once been as soft as her own, and even having touched him many times before this moment, in her heightened sense of awareness idea was suddenly available to her as if metaphorically a light bulb had turned on. Countless flashes of the same hands on her smooth skin before raced through her mind as if on rewind and left goosebumps crawling, a shiver rolling down her spine. She really had only seconds to revel as he was leading her in likely baby steps for himself through the door, as she had heard it swing open and shortly thereafter shut again. Even in actions occurring, she could only leave the vast majority of her attention on the touch, since the intensely bright light changing to a dimly lit interior was moderately disorienting, and the sounds of the creaking jarring to her sensitive ears. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The pair had at least made it into her living room, she had so far assessed, and she could certainly tell that Ryder was both present and desperate for her reassuring affections to him, after having been gone for so long and in such a condition. It was a wonder if our canine companions could worry, but emotionally speaking we all understand on a basic level that they had feelings as well, and it was clear that he was very dedicated to her in their friendship. She could feel the couch and fell down into it softly with the help of Jack, and as Ryder hopped up onto the couch, she felt an unsettling cold in the empty skin he was only just before occupying with a strong warmth. The sensation of heat from the tight interlocking of her fingers with his hadn't much occurred to her until then, when she was already missing it, leaving her with another unfamiliar pang of regrettable loss. In this instance and many others she was more than pleased to have initiated the safe habit of clasping hands, which he had apparently recently taken to doing himself, and the more she accepted and enjoyed the moderate comfort thankfully, the more increasingly she missed it when it was gone, and inevitably it was always gone. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>No.</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> She stopped herself short with her hands in the silky fur of her favorite fluffy creature, who was promptly licking her face, climbing all over her and into her lap, regardless of his moderate size, and eventually settling down into a cuddled hug of sorts. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
This had taken place as Jack disappeared into the darkness of the apartment hallway beyond the couch, holing himself up behind a closed door within the confines of the small bathroom, his honest and stuttered words repeatedly echoing inside the walls of her head, leaving her with intense ambivalence in reference to his reaction and her analysis thereof. On the negative area of the scale was the consideration that he had once again removed himself from her presence in some fit of emotion the likes of which she couldn't much understand, what with her blindness leaving her unable to read his facial expressions clearly she couldn't be certain the extent of the damage that her words had forced on him this time. Merely from the sounds of his voice and the feeling of his hand, she was trying to piece together the mood, but her guess could be anywhere from terribly wrong to generally just slightly inaccurate. Sitting on the couch she tried not to think about what she could be bringing upon herself in this instance, knowing full well she would be needing his company for a long day, into the evening. Even after falling asleep, she would have to be up another four hours after that, and she would likely need assistance keeping herself to that schedule.  </span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson’s throat was tight, clenched with a suffocating feeling collapsing down heavily on his chest. His legs were shaking, hands trembling as he fought the bubbling urge to burst into hot tears. </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Why? Get over it, Jack. Stop being such a baby. </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The thought and words were familiar, stolen from years ago, stolen from an entirely different time period and an entirely different, teenager version of Jackson. Regardless if they were used from a different time or from a different Jackson, he felt anxiety crawling into his skin, making it harder and harder to breathe in the confining, tiny little bathroom that was just too tight and enclosed around him. The mirror was too revealing of his appearance, and ultimately seeded a frustration deep within his mind. Why couldn’t he just learn to accept the truth? Why couldn’t he just be strong? Why couldn’t he just be </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">normal</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">? As the thoughts and speculations pounded inside the walls of his mind, Jackson clenched his fists tightly in weak attempt to put an end to the shaking, all the while he stared at himself in the mirror, willing for himself not to shed another tear. And he didn’t, quite remarkably. He did in fact pull through the emotional turmoil he had put himself through yet again, pushed aside the trembling limbs, and inhaled a sharp, deep breath to calm himself. The glazed tears in his eyes were now dry, almost as if he had never been crying in the first place after splashing cold water with his rough hands multiple times, and regained a sliver of composure. </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Get over it.</span></span></i><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The angry tears were nonexistent, the tremoring hands never to be seen as he emerged out of the bathroom after a number of minutes, eyes cleared like that of a blank canvas, ready to be taken into the hands of an artist and be splattered on. Jackson walked slowly, almost as if he had nearly forgotten entirely how to walk properly. His movement was inconsistent, accompanied by the occasional mishap that collided with the smooth surface of the flooring in the apartment. Though his head was no longer held lowly, he couldn’t help but to feel a pang of embarrassment. Not only for himself, but for what he had become. Three years ago, neither would have bat an eye if he had the instinct to cry in front of her. It had been quite the opposite, actually. Phera had not only encouraged him to be transparent with her, but welcomed him and whatever emotion gnawing at him with open, embracing arms that would hold him as he broke. Looking back at it, he felt an odd feeling. Almost like he… </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>missed </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">it. Missed having her arms around him as he poured everything to her, allowing for her to share the weight, allowing for her to just </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>hold him </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">while he </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>shattered</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> into crumbs and bits of mixed emotions. Jackson shook his head, disproving of the silly thought. Why would he ever need to have someone hold him? No, more importantly; why would anyone even </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>want </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to hold him while he broke?</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The truth of the matter was, he was already broken. He just was too afraid of the likely possibility nothing could fix him and no one can pick up the broken pieces to put him back together.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Silence suddenly seemed toxic and noxious, slowly poisoning his cryptic thoughts brewing in the atmosphere, all the while he tried to keep on walking with straightened shoulders and a head held high with what little confidence he had left. His blood may as well have trickled out of his skin; any color he had was long gone, leaving him appearing paler than he normally was. Admittedly,  he hadn’t eaten much since the whole incident concerning Phera’s injury, and posed a possible reason as to why he felt more waves of tremors spread through his body than usual. The explanation was a meager attempt to calm himself down, but nonetheless, it did its job and succeeded in leveling his breathing and pulse as he crossed into the living room. Jackson guiltily shoved his hands inside his pockets, his eyes planted on the flooring beneath him rather than her gaze. Even if he didn’t have to look at her to know, he could </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feel </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">the confusion as well as muddled worry radiating from her being, adding another pile of shame and exasperation onto his conscience. Its weight was heavy, and made utterly unbearable the split second he landed eyes on her frail little body, sitting there on the couch with thin arms, pale skin that made his heart sink with an ache he hadn’t felt in years.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Maybe it was a good thing he felt the ache, he concluded. Maybe it was a good thing that he felt anything at all, given what he’s been through and what </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>they </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">have been through. Though the feeling wasn’t at all a fairy tale, loving emotion in his gut, it was better than nothing. Jackson may have trouble untangling his thoughts from time to time, but who’s to say that he wouldn’t want to </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feel something</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">? To remind him that he wasn’t completely dead, to remind him that he wasn’t completely gone over the deep end. Yet, he added mentally. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Yet</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Jackson inhaled, exhaled, and found himself standing over her, eyes finding hers even if he knew she wouldn’t be able to necessarily see well at all. For a moment, he locked gazes with Phera, and let down his walls. Just for a moment, and then it was gone as quickly as it had come. The walls were erected up out of instinct, and his eyes glazed with monotone and a veil in which he carefully constructed, all in hopes she wouldn’t be able to see past him—or more accurately, hear past his words and read in between the lines. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>No. No, that would be godawful, </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he frowned, sucking in a mouthful of air to fill his burning lungs. His ears were ringing. The floor beneath him was spinning. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>I can’t breathe</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. When could he ever?</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Look, Phera. I–I just can’t—…” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he was cut midsentence, staring at the dog curled into her lap. Ryder had his tongue stuck out, his dark eyes burning into Jackson’s. They both froze, as if they had both sensed something was bound to break, and it would be at that moment. The puppy was standing now, head cocked curiously at Jackson as he reluctantly backed away, his movement slow as ever. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh God, help me.</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
A long pause, shortly after he had taken it upon himself to be seated across from her.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Never mind,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jack hastily spoke, frustrated as he fumbled over the words. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I was just going to say I can’t cook, so we’ll be having leftovers tonight.” </b></span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px">Casually attempting to collect herself via deep thought comfortably on the dark couch in the living room where Jackson had left her to wait, Pheralynne was lost in her thoughts about him in particular and somehow still actively waiting to hear the sound of the bathroom door swinging open to signify his return, all the while with her tiny hands tightly intertwined with thick patches of her canine companions silky fur coat. The kneading motion she provided herself with on him as an activity was justified in being a certified dog massage, but honestly the entire process was more for the sake of keeping her anxious fidgeting at bay, to keep herself physically calm and hopefully influence her own mental stability. It wasn't very often at all that she battled so repeatedly in such short time with terribly uncontrollable emotions ranging over the entire emotional spectrum, but obviously something about her many encounters with Jack always left her feeling many different types of ways, the likes of which she almost didn't want to consider let alone say but that always she knew subconsciously; things like fear and sadness were obvious, even admiration and sympathy understandable, but then the likes of nostalgia, lust, and even anger would find their way in and confuse her with their entirely unwelcome presence. How could she be feeling so many things at once, where did these things come from, how could she help him, what was the root of her own problem and how could she solve it? It almost seemed as if no matter the length of time she spent analyzing herself, him, and their circumstances both past and present, she was unable to find an end to the extreme emotion, the flow of feelings just renewing constantly with no regard to her having a normal life to attend to. These thoughts weren't allowing for her to be functional, and this was driving her internally mad. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The creaking noise of the bathroom door finally opening after a few silent minutes had Ryder cocking his head to the sound and Phera felt her fingers tighten in his hair in response to both, as if to try and calm herself down and keep the dog situated in her lap. In all the blurry masses and lack of defining qualities to anything in her field of vision, she could still tell perfectly well as Jack came shuffling back into the room particularly slowly, almost as if to hint at his uncertainty once again. It was difficult to tell if her eyesight was worse than she originally believed or if he seemed particularly pale in the light, but aside from being atypically bright to her, he was also... reserved? There was something underlying in his attitude, even if she couldn't gather detailed information about his facial expressions or minor movements, and she knew well enough by now to be looking where she could register as being his face, even if she couldn't entirely see perfectly. She heard his breathing in and out, and she could almost feel him looking at her directly. She was glancing over at him, feeling as if she had somehow made eye contact with him, even if she couldn't be certain. She was only hoping that there was something going on, some feeling deep behind whatever expression he was wearing, ultimately perhaps awareness of himself, and a desire to face this situation instead of leave, for example. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Matters of seconds were making great differences in the perceived mood to her, from entire uncertainty to a confusing concern for his person, as he deeply sucked in a breath before beginning to talk in his usual stuttered manner. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>“Look, Phera. I–I just can’t—…”</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> It sounded so dejected and admitted, until he cut himself off quickly. Ryder was moving under her arms, and loosening her grip on the fluffy friend, he was standing over her lap curiously. The sound of the opposite couch heaving air in result of receiving weight alerted her to him being seated, as if the dog had made him entirely nervous to the point of sitting away from her, instead of staying standing nearby. With a slight frown, she rubbed the dog gently a few times, before quietly saying, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Go lay down baby, go."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> Before she had a chance to address Jack's prior statement, nothing but </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>"I can't,"</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> he was speaking openly again, this time with a frustrated sound in his voice. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><i>“Never mind, I was just going to say I can’t cook, so we’ll be having leftovers tonight.”</i></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> The tension in the air was thick again as she quickly considered the few options she had to reply to him with, trying desperately to put the pieces together quickly. It was unlike her to feel slow, but she was realizing that over the course of the few minutes he was gone, and even now as he faced her, she was losing some of her usual cognitive vibrancy. Whether it was a side effect of the medicine or generally just head trauma was up for debate, but the fuzziness settling on her mind was frustrating as she carefully considered him. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I don't think that's what you were going to say."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> Her accusation was rather bold, and she didn't want to admit that it was just that- an accusation. How else could you go about letting someone know that you were on to them, though? She could tell by the mood in the room, the sounds of his voice as he tripped on his words and avoided things, that it was more than time to be forcefully up front with him. Again, he hadn't left this time when he surely could have, since she had been so emotionally forthcoming, which had thus far been frowned upon, and that was a sure sign that he was becoming more capable of dealing with things from her, at least. Even if "normalcy" was a difficult concept for him internally, it was no trouble for her, and this would leave her in an unusual leadership role with him, blindly showing him the way back to the place they had come from. Even if he was hesitant at first, the fact that he was still around and that she could see the visible progress between them was enough to calm her and keep her consistent now. It was time for her confidence to be relocated, and just as she had in the hallway, she hadn't just now held anything back from him, even if she figured he wouldn't like it. Although she could have replied merely to his half-truth over the food, since it was likely true that he couldn't cook, she felt it rather pertinent to start with the never mind, since that was unacceptable to her as an answer. Never mind were two words that were used together when you just would rather not express the whole story of your emotions or thoughts, like a blanket that meant "leave this alone." </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Well, Phera wasn't in the business of leaving anything alone, especially not Jack. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Actually, I know that's not what you were going to say. What is it?"</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> The question came out sounding surprisingly pleasant in its curiosity, and not as perhaps rudely straight as her previous statements, leaving the atmosphere sympathetic and open, instead of being anything negative. His reception of her would be everything, from here on out. </span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The whole situation was embarrassing. For him, for her. For everyone, really, now that he had time to pour thought and consideration into it.  Even though it did cause a stir of frustration and cold feet on his behalf, it shouldn’t have been a big deal at all to begin with. Sure, she probably wouldn’t grasp the concept as to </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">why </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he had made the whole thing more complicated than it had to be, but Jackson couldn’t stop himself as he bailed on the feeble confession he had attempted to share with Phera.  The question he kept coming back to was, why did he feel ashamed to admit it? Why couldn’t he just man up and tell her the truth? She would understand, surely, but the voices whispering in the back corners of his mind would relentlessly taunt him until he </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">did </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">spill what was vexing him. A cold sweat broke out over him as he fidgeted restlessly, eyes flickering back and forth between Phera and Ryder as a war waged within the walls of his head, tearing and shredding his attention span into half of what it normally had been. Where did he even begin? How does he even put this into words? </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">I guess I’ll find out.</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> If anything, the pleasant curiosity obviously implanted within her voice put him at ease as he went through what he wanted to say mentally.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Everything was crashing down on his shoulders, the pressure and weight of the conversation making it difficult to breathe. Jackson had opened his mouth, closed it, reconsidered what he wanted to say and </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>how </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to say it, and repeated the process over the span of an agonizing minute. Both of his hands were still shaking as his poker face was compromised, cracked with a slight indication of fear. It was frustrating, knowing he had absolutely nothing to fear but still trembled where he sat. She just wanted to know the truth, that’s all. Nothing more, and nothing less. It should have been simple, straight to the point. But it wasn’t. How could it be, when it dealt with his past that he currently was residing in, his muddled emotions, and the present? Jackson was reminded to inhale when his lungs burned, hungry for air, all the while he avoided her gaze in attempt to regain his composure. He knew he had to tell her, tell her how he truly felt about himself and the whole scenario. If he didn’t, he’d spend the rest of his numbered days tripping in his own guilt.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Okay,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he began uncertainly, fear poking through his features as he finally found the nerve to blurt it out before he decided against it. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I don’t trust myself.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">A long pause, leaving his wobbly words in the air longer than he would have liked. Jackson stared down at his hands as he fidgeted with them, purposely not making eye contact with her as he continued. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“Sometimes I feel like I’m… losing it. I’ve heard stories, you know. Former soldiers going off the deep end… I’m just scared I’ll wake up one day, and I’ll do something to lose you, and lose myself. I’m scared that I’ll be too far gone to be fixed,” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">his voice cracked, followed by a stretch of silence. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I stopped being myself because I don’t know myself anymore, and it’s my </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>own damn fault</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>. That’s why I said I make things worse. I know it’s true, because I relive it every night.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson finished, feeling raw and empty and vulnerable as he tore his gaze away from Phera. He still couldn’t breathe, even after getting it all off his chest. Was that normal? Was this what a heart attack felt like? Would he finally snap and go crazy, exactly like he feared?</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Even if he wasn’t in touch with his emotions like Phera, he knew he didn’t want to lose touch completely. Losing touch meant he would become even more withdrawn, which everyone already knew would eventually lead to loss of sanity and perception of reality. Jackson has seen slivers of it in his own time, and it iced him to his core with fear. Fear of slowly drifting farther and farther away from reality, and eventually diving off the deep end into insanity. How much longer would it be, he wondered, until he finally did fall off the cliff? Was there a way to prevent it? A way to reverse the war ever present in his head? He didn’t know, and even if there was, how would he know to take it? More importantly, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>how </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">would he select the right path to recovery? Jackson wasn’t ready for therapy, or any other ridiculous scheme to “cure” him, but what other option did he really have? Perhaps Phera was right. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>No, therapy is for people who have already lost their minds. Have I lost mine already? </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Therapy was out of the question, he concluded. Completely out of the question.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson felt lost, and not the good kind. Even if he was well aware of his incapability to focus and properly digest emotions, how would he even begin to explain anything to Phera, or anyone else? No one else could possibly understand him, not after what he’s been through and what he’s seen. Civilians had it too good, civilians haven’t been torn apart by haunted echoes of the real world like Jack has. It would be too much to open up to some shrink in a hospital, he decided. It would be too much to open up to anyone. </span></span><br>
<br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
As the silky fur of her beloved dog had left her curled fingertips and she had started her bold query with sweet confidence and support, Pheralynne could only barely make out as the pup seemed to retreat to his bed, and even less could she really tell of Jackson, who was seated opposite of her on the other couch but felt endlessly distant to her in the tense quiet. Still living primarily vicariously through her other senses since losing focus in her eyes temporarily, with a heavy breath hitched in her throat no matter the positivity of her curiosity just previous, she could merely guess anxiously at the many circumstances of the situation happening around her. Only by the sounds of the furniture as the minutes drifted by could she ascertain that he was at least fidgeting nervously, as if he was wrestling with the answers to the question she had asked, and desperately she wished she had a clear picture of his facial expressions as they surely passed by. Flailing and drowning in the tumultuous waters of another persons feelings was inevitable in moments such as these, and she could metaphorically feel the heavy weights of assumption dragging her into the same anxiety he seemed to be displaying... Or, not. </span><br>
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Keeping her face turned in his direction, as if to say she was watching him without the use of her vision being necessary at all, she persisted in her calm, confident, manner, and desperately held to the peaceful visage she had formed. It was obvious as she watched the blurry forms in his direction that he was nervous, fretful, and avoiding looking in her general direction as he repeatedly breathed heavily to himself, as if the turmoil within was threatening to break the delicate balance he was clinging to. The terrible fear that escaped in his tone as he began to speak was having no profound effect on her other than pulling her heartstrings in a terribly sympathy that left her only desiring to wrap him up in her arms. There had been a time that they could spend hours on end curled into each other, cooing and calming to one another consistently as if there was nothing possibly better to do other than invest in one another, which was completely true for them both at the time. Of course, the circumstances had long since changed, and she imaged that if she so much as tried to touch him in such a vulnerable state, anger and distance would meet her, and push her away. </span><br>
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Realizing that Jack was still speaking, his words excessively heavy, the gentle smile on her face morphed into a curious look of deep thought, as if she was comprehending his words and attempting to rationally put something together to respond to him with. It wasn't as if she didn't have a clue what to tell him, but simply that his sudden openness was to be treated with the utmost careful respect. If there was any hope of her keeping him talking and saving him more emotional dismay, she would have to respond in some positive fashion, even if the support would be unwelcome or uncertain to him. As he had finished his somewhat long admittance of emotional distress, she could tell he had been looking at her, because she could partially see and certainly feel his gaze drift from her to something else, although perhaps nothing else, but to be distracted. With a small breath, reassuring herself internally that this was in fact the best course of action for them both, she began in a very reserved tone. There would be no use in lying about her emotions, and she would start with that. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Jackson,"</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> his name on her breath was surprisingly calm, almost comforting if he desired it to be, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I'm so sorry you feel that way."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> The admission of sympathy was clearly real, the pain of her sorrow etched into her face temporarily. Gone as quickly as it came, she carried on. </span><br>
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</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I don't want to sound forward,"</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> she began calmly, a gentle tone twinged with sadness finding her,</span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b> "but you know I don't feel that way, at all, or at least I hope you know that." </b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">The statement was matter of fact and pleasant in its context, leaving finally a comfortable silence between them, at least temporarily. Continuing with the good she had managed to accumulate in the few sentences she had forced out, she added with haste something that didn't need a lot of discussion to be understood. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Obviously I trust you, and you haven't lost me yet through all of this, even if you may have misplaced yourself."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> The surprising amount of affection in her honesty was hopefully not going to be overwhelming to him, but regardless, she knew it would be perceived at least as the support he would need from her to trust her with his personal feelings. With a finger finding her lip and tapping a few times, she had one last thing to add the conversation, musing aloud, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"You don't always make things worse, you aren't now. I mean without you I'd be in pretty bad shape right about now, don't you think?" </b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">The question was obviously rhetorical, but the meaning was clear; he was taking care of her, however incapable he thought he was, he was at least being helpful to her in this moment. As much as she ever wanted to hold him, she certainly did now, but she remained frozen in her seat. </span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Reassuring Jack that he had value and that he was more than the sum of his bad decisions, however haunting, would be pertinent to them being able to continue on together, comfortable as even friends, let alone lovers. As much as she wanted the progress, things would be slow, and she would have to be accepting of that. At least he subconsciously trusted her enough still to have come to her for safety in the first place, and now to be trying to communicate with her was as good a sign as any that things would inevitably be fine, if she could persist. Frankly, she would do anything for him, so this trying patience wasn't entirely upsetting to her, in its at least usefulness. </span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">The lines were all blurred, swirling in front of him as if to mock him as the emotional turbulence in him brewed and churned. Even if he had been through the storm of webbing anxiety and intoxicating fear a million times, it never seemed to make it easier—no, it seemed like it got darker and gloomier each and every time.  It was quite sad, considering how much of a happy and outgoing guy he had once been, constantly looking for means of adventure and fun when he was given the chance. Jackson didn’t know him anymore. Whether or not he was still around, he didn’t know. Did anyone, really? It was difficult to pinpoint, and it troubled him somewhere internally, even if he wouldn’t dare admit it aloud. Was this how it was supposed to be for people like him? Probably. Either way, Jackson felt alone and helpless as he pushed his demons to the back closet, just like always. It took more energy and effort than it normally did, but at the end of the day, he’s done it again; become numb to his own set of feelings and thoughts, simply to escape from the sinking guilt and heartache pounding inside a place no one has seen since enlistment.</span></span><br>
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Jackson no longer knew what to do with his hands, or any extension of his body, really. Everything fell limp, motionless against the cool fabric of the couch he was seated on. In a way, it was relieving and allowed for him to rest for once in his miserable life. Not having to fiddle with his fingers, not having to fidget restlessly meant he accepted the situation as it was—or it just meant he was too distracted to really care what was going on in the physical world around him. Escaping from reality was a way for him to examine himself, and ultimately face the demons he has been pushing aside for far too long. The demons were taunting him, lining him into the landscape of his troubled mind, pulling him farther and farther away from Phera, Ryder and the whole rest of the world. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, either. Maybe it was the closest thing he had to  </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>feeling</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> at this point, but either way, it was too late for him. Jackson was trapped inside his head, and he couldn’t bring himself out of it. All he had were his thoughts, and the company of himself. Nothing more, nothing less.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Her words didn’t stick once they made their way past his ears, and slipped out as easily as butter. His eyes were trained on her mouth, watching as they moved and twitched and opened, but nothing came out. Was this his time? Was this when he lost it, completely and thoroughly? Possibly, considering Jackson could barely keep track with where Ryder moved to and when Phera paused in her speech. It was a bit strange, watching the world flash by in such slowed movement, almost as if he was viewing a movie frame by frame. Jackson’s face felt hot—no, his whole body felt overheated, and broke out into a sweat. Was that normal? Why was he suddenly feeling… queasy? Was that even the word for it? Why wasn’t he—… His trail of thought was shattered by the calling of the present, allowing for him to breathe again. The small fieldtrip into his mind was over, quite thankfully, and things were moving normally. Or at least, as normally as they could through the lens of fear and uncertainty that tainted his vision. He could hear again.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
The sympathy impacted him with a punch to the gut, adding a whole new meaning to heartache. Jackson couldn’t look at her as her sweetness and affection poured through the dense air, penetrating even the thickest of sweaty skin as he resorted to fidgeting once again. He figured if he couldn’t cope with the uneasiness, he may as well manifest it into the physical with something he </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>could </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">deal with, somewhat. Of course, the logic played in his thought never would sound… well, </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>logical </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to any ears other than his own. Truth be told, fidgeting and other habits was a way of coping with feelings he couldn’t cope with on his own. It was somewhat pathetic on his part, but Jackson didn’t know of any other way to deal with stress or fear. Silly, he knew, but sometimes he couldn’t really help what he did unconsciously. Phera was speaking again, her words breathed with an almost reassuring calm and confidence, soothing his rigid bones beneath. Her sentence was tainted by a haunted sadness, as if she felt </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>compassion </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">for him. Why, again, did he deserve any of it? He knew the answer to it; he didn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t ever, after what he’s said and done to such a sweet soul as her.</span></span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Jackson took to noticing how she used the particular word “misplaced”, rather than a word he would have used, like </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>lost</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> or even </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>broken</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Though the choice of words may not have been intentional, he felt a twinge of… hope, was it? No, that couldn’t be right. He lost hope far longer than he has lost himself, so he must have been mistaken for thinking such a silly thing. That has to be the answer for his stupid thoughts, right? Right. Another deep breath, and he was glancing her way with doubt traced in his tired features. When would he ever stop lying to himself? When would he ever face his demons? Never, preferably. But Phera kept pulling them back into his life, reminding him that they are </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>still there</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">, and they aren’t leaving until he does something about it. His eyes shifted away from her gaze, and he somehow found a shard of strength to push through the fear and anxiety to speak. Funny, how such a fundamental thing could be so difficult for him. He almost wished they were writing instead of talking, but it was too late now.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“How… how can you be so </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>certain </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>of that?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he asked, a perplexed tone peeking through his quiet voice. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“How can you just </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>know </i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>that I’ve only misplaced myself? I don’t get it.” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">He didn’t. How could anyone, even himself, know that without a doubt he was simply a work in progress? For all he knew, he could be already in the deep end of life, slowly crawling towards insanity without him ever realizing it. It scared him down to his core, not knowing if he was already insane or not. The saying may be true; crazy people don’t know they’re crazy, but do crazy people worry that they are crazy? He didn’t know. Either way, whatever the answer may be, he felt frustrated. Frustrated enough to run a rough hand through his hair—something he has been doing all too frequently—and frustrated enough to stand up and begin pacing. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b><i>am</i></b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b> making things worse now, Phera. You just don’t know because it’s all in my head.”</b></span></span><br>
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			<h5 class="userTitle message-userTitle" dir="auto" itemprop="jobTitle">❃ Flower Child ❃</h5>
			

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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #F5745F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Pheralynne Renay O'Sullivan<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
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<span class="bbcode-justify"><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px">Floating on comfortably in the safety of herself as if a seaworthy vessel even on such turbulently unpredictable waters as Jackson's misunderstood emotions and disturbed thoughts, Pheralynne was somehow consistently exuding confidence and peacefulness for once, desperately fighting a negative situation to hopefully transform it into a positive outcome. Where she would usually falter with herself, unable to process or support her thoughts or feelings towards him, she had recently finally come around to the unsurprising conclusion that she must take the lead this time. She felt it annoyingly ironic, not amusing in the least really, that the tables had finally turned in their relationship; why wouldn't they have after all this time, anyways? Where he was once more outgoing than her and consistently helping her throughout their schooling and partying, here she was now forced to be assisting him with something far more important than simple frivolity- inadvertently whether he liked it or not, her treatment of him would be life changing in one way or another. It was entirely up to her now to make sure that her impact was nothing short of well planned and successfully supportive. Even with the prospect of them never being together in a way that relates to how they once were, he would need her no less than as a confidante, meaning that her emotional stability was of the utmost importance. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
It was readily apparent that this attitude produced by Phera had to have been helping in some capacity, because here he was fidgeting uncomfortably and absolutely avoiding looking in her general direction. As unfortunate it was that he was scared and anxious, uncertain around her, it was at least fortunate enough to be vocalizations directed at her, and this compassion for his condition among other things kept her appreciating what good she could find, instead of focusing on how much better things would be. Reminding herself time and time again, things would be better simply when they were, and she must let them get there however slowly he felt them, regardless of her ability to logically see the outcome. If Jack were lost in the deep places that she had read about, there would be no real logic behind his emotions, the irrationality locking him tightly into confusion of what would seem like endless levels. It was more than a few moments again, but this time confident that he would respond at least in some fashion, the supportive half smile of mild sadness found her face again, and stayed put, as she glanced about the blurry landscape around her. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
She knew it would full well be a foolish mistake to stare at him, since it would make him entirely uncomfortable, and compound things into a worse situation than they had to be. She knew it was a bad idea, and he would know that she knew that, however complex that would sound; it was true regardless. This would leave him even more upset than as if it were an accident that she would know nothing about, and with that in mind, she had long since been glancing about the room. This time looking away from him would not only give him time to think with the absence of pressure, but it would allow her to attempt focusing or improving the slight misfortune of everything appearing so surreal and vague. Blotches of colors with fuzzy outlines was certainly better than being blind, but it was certainly making it hard to function at an optimal a level as usual, considering that she needed cues from facial expressions and close body movements. She couldn't tell how much fidgeting he was doing really, or what emotion was playing on his features ready for her to analyze. Everything felt like a matter of educated guessing, making the comfort of positivity even more alluring; she could at least maintain the strength of mind to be solid as a rock in the storm, as if his negativity could be left with her without it ruining everything, as she inadvertently had been acting the last few days.</span><br>
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<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Words fell from his lips soaked with the sound of confusion, expressing his bewildered perplexity at her knowledge and certainty, questions of her confidence, essentially. She had certainly refocused her vision onto him, what there was of it, the small upturn of her lips becoming a sideways smile, with an eyebrow raised in curiosity, as if she were having a decent time with the answer to that question. Frankly, she really was- after all, how was she so certain? </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
From the time that he had arrived on her doorstep in that very first moment, she was already certain, and in the few days that had passed since that, even if the signs of him were small, they were altogether unavoidable. The overwhelming accountability of his actions that she could recall were astounding, and she doubted that he had put them together in the same way that she could with such affection and understanding. Going over it, the list was incredibly longer than even she anticipated; he had enough surviving trust in her to call her, ask for help, actually arrive at her house and accept her help offered (essentially making them unintentional room mates), let her physically touch him multiple times, allowed her to take him out in public, let her get drunk and fall asleep on him, he had the fruition enough to at least converse with her in what ways he could manage (which was obviously improving daily), and now effectively risen to the responsibility of a medical emergency and its at least partial care. All of this and more minor details she could certainly skip over were forefront in her mind, and that was merely a matter of seconds. As soon as she was ready and willing to give him a summarized version of that list, barely parting her lips and uttering only </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Jackson," </b></span><span style="font-size: 12px">he was standing up quickly and pacing about, now speaking again as well, which cut her off. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Mentioning this sentence of desperate belief of his own worsening of things, a mild frown found her fair features, and she sucked in a small breath, as if to stop herself from saying anything too instantly applied. Standing up as well, however uncertain she was about it, she reached out gently over the table between them and grasped onto his arm, slowly letting her hand trail down until she was gripping the fingers of his hand. This intentional behavior would at least help him focus less on the pacing and anxiety, and more on the quality of calm conversation that was ultimately going on, even if he wasn't noticing how peaceful things happened to be in that moment. It would do her well to keep thinking critically on her responses, and with that, she exhaled, starting again calmly. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Well, it's not all in your head, now, you know."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> This was a good ice breaker in its simplicity, since it reminded him that he had at least given her some insight into his life, and that she had yet to say anything negative based thereof. Not wanting to give him a chance to talk, she continued softly, lightheartedly as if she were again offering comfort and compassion. </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"You asked me how I'm certain that you're only misplaced,"</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> a hesitant few seconds and gently releasing his hand, she continued as softly and sweetly as prior, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"I think you've provided enough proof, and I could list all the instances if you wanted, but I figure you might just find it slightly creepy."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> A tiny giggle escaped her lips and calming herself quickly, she mused, </span><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>"Just think about it. You have plenty of time to, anyways."</b></span><span style="font-size: 12px"> With that she was sitting back down on the couch, leaning her head back restfully into the cushion, looking small and comfortable, and removing the pressure from him entirely to respond to her, in case he was quickly tiring of the conversation, which was more than possible. </span><br>
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<span class="post-heading post-heading-underline"><span style="color: #2F416F"><i class="fa angle-double-right" aria-hidden="true"></i> Jackson Ryder Wilde<i class="fa angle-double-left" aria-hidden="true"></i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span class="bbcode-justify"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Something in the air twisted his contents within him, crushing them into fine remnants of what he hadn’t been able to block out entirely as he had with the others. Even if Jackson couldn’t label the feeling with an elaborate word or phrase, he </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">felt </span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">it squirming underneath him, whispering his name when he least expected it. Was this the beginning of the dominos to fall? Was this finally the reaping of what he had sown for himself when he enlisted, handing himself over for something other than Phera? It may have been the case, but he was too afraid to admit such a thing even within the confines of his mind. Though it took some convincing, he came to the conclusion that he simply wasn’t rested—and it was, not odd at all, true. A few nights spent tossing and turning with wide open eyes certainly couldn’t have been healthy, even with his given condition and inclination to want to refrain from sleep for reasons only he knows. Or, at least, he </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">thinks</span></span></i><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"> he only knows about the terrors that plague him, night after night, and relentlessly, mercilessly. The cycle has been long and brutal, but something that has become so attached to his new life that he doesn’t feel the need to share them anymore. Funny enough, during his tour, Phera had been able to pry information about the dreams every now and then. Now she can barely get him to answer anything, let alone grasp her every word.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Regardless of it all, Phera was oddly calm and seemed to be plump with humble confidence in herself. Though it was somewhat unnerving, seeing her watch him with her guard completely down, Jackson felt himself unconsciously lower his own. Different emotions danced along his features as he let his frantic thoughts run rampant, shining a small sliver within his eyes that he was certain she picked up on. Was this what it felt like? Was this how everyone else behaved around people they loved; vulnerable and ultimately open? Was it supposed to make his heart race faster? Maybe. Maybe for people like him, he reasoned quietly. Whatever the answer may be, Jackson found himself slowly panicking upon realization that—for the first time in two years, really—his walls were completely down. Everything was out there in the open, displayed for the world to see, written all over his face. A few deep breaths, a few paces, and he convinced himself that Phera wouldn’t be able to see him anyway—right? Of course, she wouldn’t be able to analyze him like a magazine unless she was close enough. And… she’s standing up. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh Jesus. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">Jackson felt lightheaded, disoriented and anxious as he watched Phera approach him, and… she was holding his hand.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Through the emotional turmoil and swirling thoughts, someplace he wouldn’t dare venture into, he felt it. He felt a spark echoing in the back of his mind, as she held his hand. The hand was small as it had once been, softer than it had ever been. It was an odd juxtaposition, feeling physical warmth when his heart felt anything except warmth, but Jackson didn’t make any moves to change it as she looked at him with a sad smile. Why was she looking at him like that? Oh God, was it something he had said, done? Did he say too much, did he freak her out? Did she think he’s definitely gone mad now? Jackson’s grip on her hand tightened, his knuckles turning bone white as he felt his body hurt from all the activity and fear and exhaustion. He shouldn’t have stood up, he thought with a frown; he felt lightheaded and his headache was killing him, now that he aggravated it further with excessive worry and anxiety. Then Phera’s lips parted, her soft words entering the atmosphere. Though it took a while for him to grasp their meaning, Jackson felt himself frown. What made her say that? As far as he knew, he had barely let on with what he had </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>wanted </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">to say; a few sputtered, broken sentences certainly wasn’t enough to qualify, right? He didn’t know, and the more he thought about it, the more he grew frustrated in trying to decipher his own thoughts.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
Just after she released his hand, her words flowed freely through the atmosphere yet again, this time offering a soothing tone for him to briefly consider. For once, Jackson knew she was right by her words—time was plentiful now that Ellie finally had the twins, and there was simply nothing to do except try to fight off the sleep. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, either. Thinking, whether it may be rooted in the depths of his fear or not, did him more good than he would ever care to acknowledge. It allowed for him to, even if it was just a small capsule in time compared to the rest of his life, escape the confines of reality, and more importantly, escape the shackles that kept bringing him back to Iraq. Phera may have inferred this already by now, but Jackson himself still had difficulty figuring out the layout of his own mind. With so many twists and turns, where did he even want to begin? Where did he even start to process everything and relay it through thought? It felt like too much, with everything that had happened within the time frame of a day.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
His stomach growled, reminded him once more that his body still needed to be taken care of—how again was he qualified to take care of Phera? He couldn’t remember. Not that it really mattered, anyway. They were both stuck in this situation, and there wasn’t much they could do to get out of it. Jackson would have to march on, like he always did, and come up with a game plan. But first, fill the fuel tank so he can run on a full stomach, which hopefully would help with the thought process. He stood up wordlessly, running a quick hand through his hair as he glanced around the living room for a long moment, before opening his mouth.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><b>“I… um, do you want to eat something?” </b></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">he asked, feeling a pang of uncertainty ripple through him. What if he forgot how to use the microwave? What if there weren’t any leftovers, or anything to make a meal out of? Would he have to go to the grocery store? </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Oh God</i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">. Jackson didn’t let his thoughts wander any farther, and without waiting for an answer, rushed to the kitchen in a swift panic. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'"><i>Please please please. </i></span></span><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'verdana'">He yanked the fridge door open, squinting at the bright light coming from within. Relief flooded him; there seemed to be a few leftovers stored carefully on the top shelf. Looked like they’d be having noodles and salad.</span></span></span></div></div>
				
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	<div class="structItem structItem--thread is-prefix64 js-inlineModContainer js-threadListItem-551897" data-author="That Lass Over There">

	
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	<div class="structItem structItem--thread is-prefix64 js-inlineModContainer js-threadListItem-551679" data-author="Cealen">

	
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	<div class="structItem structItem--thread is-prefix63 js-inlineModContainer js-threadListItem-551653" data-author="Al-Yumeko">

	
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