Disclaimer: I don't own T.J., Amal, Amal's apartment, or anything else in the <Epic universe. They belong to gallo_de_pelea, whom I worship for her characterization. :D
Warnings: Not really, just, adult concepts are present, but there ain't nothing explicit or nothing.
Notes: I have speculated about T.J.'s past in the past. I mean, in my past I've thought about T.J.'s past. Like...yeah. I'm interested in that little cluster of circular scars on his shoulder, the ones that look like cigarrette burns. I want to know what happened to him when his dad died. I wish I could understand why he wears a yellow pineapple shirt.
This is my curiousity's fault, and GDP I hope you can forgive me.
T.J. felt them again, pressing against his back, hot breath against his neck. With violent instinct, he tried to pull away but found he couldn’t move. His shoulders ached, his breath was short, his head pounded in time with the hot skin moving against him. Panic scrambled through his chest like a million hot pins; he wanted to cry out, scream, shout for help, anything, but he couldn’t give in. No not yet…Besides, screaming wouldn’t help him now.
T.J. swallowed his voice and his soul convulsively, burying them as deep as they could go. He choked on his unspoken curses, scalding his throat with tears and blood.
Someone started to laugh, as if they’d felt him stop struggling. It echoed, ringing in time with the steady drum against his tired body. T.J. moaned softly, the laughter getting louder and louder until his bones were shaking with the sound. He couldn’t stop the scream this time, as the breath on his neck became so hot it burned his skin like fire. The scream ripped from him, tearing him, carrying his soul with it.
T.J. woke up with a gasp. Well, not really a gasp. More like a startled hiss of breath that he hushed quickly before it actually turned into a real sound.
He didn’t know where he was for a moment, everything was unfamiliar. He glanced around the room frantically, his dream panic still clawing his ribs, half expecting to wake up in that dank, sunless place plaguing his dreams.
He was on a couch, though, not a cold hard floor. There was a cabinet with a lamp on it, cheap cream carpet, neutral colours on the walls. It was the living room of someone’s apartment…Amal.
T.J. remembered where he was with a shaky sigh. He rubbed his chest with one hand, passing the other hand over his eyes. Yeah, the bar last night. And the man sitting at the bar with copper skin and his seventh straight scotch, eyes so dark and full of self pity.
The plan. There had been a plan. Right, course. Gotta focus, Teej, he thought, sitting up and pulling on his shirt. Gotta piss, too. Where’s the kitchen?
T.J. raided Amal’s kitchen cupboards. He found eggs and a pan and frozen peas and barbeque sauce and some other things and he smashed them all together, trying to convince himself that the dream was fading and in a few hours he wouldn’t remember it at all.
- Current Location:in front of the fire, coz it's friggin cold.
- Current Music:You're no good, you're no good, you're no good...