Recovery (for Sarah again)
Feb. 19th, 2010 04:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freedhunterFord had never had trouble sleeping. Even though he'd been through a lot of bad stuff over the years, he'd always been able to just shut down his brain and go to sleep.
He still could, but now he'd started waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep. The first night back home passed peacefully. But the second night he'd woken up from his whole body cramping up and with a splitting headache. The third he'd woken up scared out of his mind for no reason at all. The fourth night he'd woken up unable to breathe for a minute.
Now, on the fifth night home, he woke up crying. He stayed in bed for a moment, wiping his tears away and feeling like a complete idiot. What the hell did he have to cry for? Wasn't things better than they had been in a long time?
After a while he got up, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and tip-toed down the stairs and into the kitchen. He knew that Francis could sleep through a tornado, but he didn't know if Sarah was a light sleeper or not. She was still staying with them after Francis more or less demanding that she did until she had found a place of her own. If the little man was to have his way she'd stay there forever.
Once in teh kitchen he peeked into the fridge. He didn't really want anything - didn't know why he looked at all - so he shut it again and got himself a glass of water. Outside it was snowing again, and he stood for a while watching the millions upon millions of tiny flakes fall. Before he knew it he was crying again, gritting his teeth and covering his eyes, fighting back sobs to keep quiet. He succeeded.
It was ridiculous! The absurdity of it made him angry, and that in his opinion was far better. Setting the glass of water aside, he went down into the basement. The basement was Ford's place to both work out his aggressions, and to relax. In other words, there was a gym and a sauna down there. While Ford could alter his body bast he wished with just a thought, he enjoyed the feeling of working out. Just because he could, it didn't mean he had to cheat at everything.
He went through the motions of bandaging his hands and feet without really thinking about it. Then he went over to the punching bag. The first hit was weak. Testing. The second had more force behind it. Soon enough he was at it for real, moving around the bag, alternating punches with kicks, the room now sounding of heavy thuds as fists and feet struck the heavy bag. He still felt angry, and beneath that was something lurking. Something that had woken him up.
He still could, but now he'd started waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep. The first night back home passed peacefully. But the second night he'd woken up from his whole body cramping up and with a splitting headache. The third he'd woken up scared out of his mind for no reason at all. The fourth night he'd woken up unable to breathe for a minute.
Now, on the fifth night home, he woke up crying. He stayed in bed for a moment, wiping his tears away and feeling like a complete idiot. What the hell did he have to cry for? Wasn't things better than they had been in a long time?
After a while he got up, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and tip-toed down the stairs and into the kitchen. He knew that Francis could sleep through a tornado, but he didn't know if Sarah was a light sleeper or not. She was still staying with them after Francis more or less demanding that she did until she had found a place of her own. If the little man was to have his way she'd stay there forever.
Once in teh kitchen he peeked into the fridge. He didn't really want anything - didn't know why he looked at all - so he shut it again and got himself a glass of water. Outside it was snowing again, and he stood for a while watching the millions upon millions of tiny flakes fall. Before he knew it he was crying again, gritting his teeth and covering his eyes, fighting back sobs to keep quiet. He succeeded.
It was ridiculous! The absurdity of it made him angry, and that in his opinion was far better. Setting the glass of water aside, he went down into the basement. The basement was Ford's place to both work out his aggressions, and to relax. In other words, there was a gym and a sauna down there. While Ford could alter his body bast he wished with just a thought, he enjoyed the feeling of working out. Just because he could, it didn't mean he had to cheat at everything.
He went through the motions of bandaging his hands and feet without really thinking about it. Then he went over to the punching bag. The first hit was weak. Testing. The second had more force behind it. Soon enough he was at it for real, moving around the bag, alternating punches with kicks, the room now sounding of heavy thuds as fists and feet struck the heavy bag. He still felt angry, and beneath that was something lurking. Something that had woken him up.
