Luka Rhys Delaney (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
desperatebeliever) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
noirenewyork2014-02-19 01:08 pm
desperatebeliever) wrote in noirenewyork2014-02-19 01:08 pm
@ muserevival || Word of the Day 048.
HERE @ muserevival
Turmoil
n. 1. a state of great commotion, confusion, or disturbance; tumult; agitation; disquiet
- contains triggering content -
Luka hadn't slept in three nights. Every time he tried, it was like his mind kicked into overdrive and started to replay all the inner turmoil in him over and over again. He slept badly at the best of times, the pain in his knee making it hard to relax, but he hadn't been this bad since the very wake of his trauma in Afghanistan. The biggest mistake he made was not calling anyone for help. Not because he was being a pain in the arse, but because he was in such a bad emotional and mental state that he couldn't rationally make the choice to need help. He could have called Jett, or Molly, or even that guy with the English accent with a name he had trouble remembering. But the person he really wanted didn't want to talk to him, and what Luka didn't realise was that was the exact reason he felt like he was beginning to lose his mind.
He didn't have any knowledge of the concept of soul mates, or the intensity that sort of connection could be when a Kindred was involved. Hell, all he really knew was that they were like vampires, only not. In fact, the only thing that seemed to be the same between Kindred and vampires was the blood drinking and the not being able to be out in the daylight. Everything else, they seemed like normal people and they were running around turning people into other vampires just by sucking their blood. They could do that without harm, and it was a serious intense pleasure humans felt when they were bitten... and the bite was left with no trace.
Though, there was nothing in Luka now remotely capable of pausing to think how he was feeling was anything related to that. He just knew that for the past three days, he had began to feel more and more lost, more and more self-loathing, more and more like was falling and there was nothing or no one to catch him. Without sleep, it was about a hundred times worse than it normally would be. He knew in general, he had psychological problems. They had come from almost being blown up at war, and then trying to deal with the pain of the injuries he was left with. Ongoing chronic pain, they called it. He might never be free of it, it would take time, more painkillers. He now had a dependency on those, and along with his anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds to try to soothe the effects of the PTSD, he was left with a lot of medication in his possession...
Leaving Australia, he had no one to monitor anything for him anymore. Back home, he had military funded medication and therapy, but he hadn't been able to stay there. His father was the root of all his issues, and why he had little choice but to enlist in the Army when his father found out he was homosexual and frequenting the gay bars in Sydney dressed flamboyantly, wearing make-up, and enjoying being himself. But that couldn't be allowed for a son of a homophobic politician campaigning to get the Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras - Australia's LGBT celebration - cancelled permanently. Luka didn't know who he was anymore, and these past few days, he didn't want to keep being who he was anymore either.
There was some desperately gaping hole inside him, like he was missing something vital to finding peace. It had all come to head when he raided the mini bar and drank everything in it with a double-dose of his painkillers just to try to get to sleep. When it didn't work, he managed to get himself into such a state, he had a breakdown, and now he was sitting on the floor of the bathroom of his hotel room in just his underwear, tears falling that he couldn't stop and fingers dripping at his long hear, pulling out strands of it has he just tried to get his mind to turn-off. The booze and the medication were triggering flashbacks, he wanted to reach out and hold on to someone to pull himself back from it, but there was no one there.
He rubbed his hands over his face with a helpless sob. There was nothing left to keep going for. The best way to switch off this pain engulfing him was to just stop it all. By this point, he didn't even realise he had gone through the entire remaining supply of his pain medication he had brought from Australia with him. He had taken way more than he intended in a state of panicked confusion when he couldn't turn his mind off. There was no more procrastinating. He didn't want to live anymore, so he was going to end it. It would be better off for him, and better off for everyone involved. Seamus and Jett could keep doing their thing without him there making it all worse for them. His father wouldn't have to live with himself knowing he created a fag for a son. His mother was so so off her face with her own prescription medication and booze, she probably barely remembered she had a son.
Holding onto the vanity with a white-knuckled grip, he pulled himself up and reached for the razor lying by the sink. Pain shot through his leg, and he fell heavily back onto the tiles with a hoarse, brief scream of agony ripping through his knee. He ended up leaning back against the bath tub, a defeated and exhausted shake of his head, his long curly hair plastered to his sweaty forehead and hanging in his eyes. He looked at the razor and then his other wrist lying limply against his leg. In a split second, it could all be over. He fucked it up the first time, he didn't succeed. He had to do a better job this time. He could close his eyes and it would all shut off...
Did he really want to do this?
Luka Delaney
{ kindred: the embraced oc }
Turmoil
n. 1. a state of great commotion, confusion, or disturbance; tumult; agitation; disquiet
Luka hadn't slept in three nights. Every time he tried, it was like his mind kicked into overdrive and started to replay all the inner turmoil in him over and over again. He slept badly at the best of times, the pain in his knee making it hard to relax, but he hadn't been this bad since the very wake of his trauma in Afghanistan. The biggest mistake he made was not calling anyone for help. Not because he was being a pain in the arse, but because he was in such a bad emotional and mental state that he couldn't rationally make the choice to need help. He could have called Jett, or Molly, or even that guy with the English accent with a name he had trouble remembering. But the person he really wanted didn't want to talk to him, and what Luka didn't realise was that was the exact reason he felt like he was beginning to lose his mind.
He didn't have any knowledge of the concept of soul mates, or the intensity that sort of connection could be when a Kindred was involved. Hell, all he really knew was that they were like vampires, only not. In fact, the only thing that seemed to be the same between Kindred and vampires was the blood drinking and the not being able to be out in the daylight. Everything else, they seemed like normal people and they were running around turning people into other vampires just by sucking their blood. They could do that without harm, and it was a serious intense pleasure humans felt when they were bitten... and the bite was left with no trace.
Though, there was nothing in Luka now remotely capable of pausing to think how he was feeling was anything related to that. He just knew that for the past three days, he had began to feel more and more lost, more and more self-loathing, more and more like was falling and there was nothing or no one to catch him. Without sleep, it was about a hundred times worse than it normally would be. He knew in general, he had psychological problems. They had come from almost being blown up at war, and then trying to deal with the pain of the injuries he was left with. Ongoing chronic pain, they called it. He might never be free of it, it would take time, more painkillers. He now had a dependency on those, and along with his anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds to try to soothe the effects of the PTSD, he was left with a lot of medication in his possession...
Leaving Australia, he had no one to monitor anything for him anymore. Back home, he had military funded medication and therapy, but he hadn't been able to stay there. His father was the root of all his issues, and why he had little choice but to enlist in the Army when his father found out he was homosexual and frequenting the gay bars in Sydney dressed flamboyantly, wearing make-up, and enjoying being himself. But that couldn't be allowed for a son of a homophobic politician campaigning to get the Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras - Australia's LGBT celebration - cancelled permanently. Luka didn't know who he was anymore, and these past few days, he didn't want to keep being who he was anymore either.
There was some desperately gaping hole inside him, like he was missing something vital to finding peace. It had all come to head when he raided the mini bar and drank everything in it with a double-dose of his painkillers just to try to get to sleep. When it didn't work, he managed to get himself into such a state, he had a breakdown, and now he was sitting on the floor of the bathroom of his hotel room in just his underwear, tears falling that he couldn't stop and fingers dripping at his long hear, pulling out strands of it has he just tried to get his mind to turn-off. The booze and the medication were triggering flashbacks, he wanted to reach out and hold on to someone to pull himself back from it, but there was no one there.
He rubbed his hands over his face with a helpless sob. There was nothing left to keep going for. The best way to switch off this pain engulfing him was to just stop it all. By this point, he didn't even realise he had gone through the entire remaining supply of his pain medication he had brought from Australia with him. He had taken way more than he intended in a state of panicked confusion when he couldn't turn his mind off. There was no more procrastinating. He didn't want to live anymore, so he was going to end it. It would be better off for him, and better off for everyone involved. Seamus and Jett could keep doing their thing without him there making it all worse for them. His father wouldn't have to live with himself knowing he created a fag for a son. His mother was so so off her face with her own prescription medication and booze, she probably barely remembered she had a son.
Holding onto the vanity with a white-knuckled grip, he pulled himself up and reached for the razor lying by the sink. Pain shot through his leg, and he fell heavily back onto the tiles with a hoarse, brief scream of agony ripping through his knee. He ended up leaning back against the bath tub, a defeated and exhausted shake of his head, his long curly hair plastered to his sweaty forehead and hanging in his eyes. He looked at the razor and then his other wrist lying limply against his leg. In a split second, it could all be over. He fucked it up the first time, he didn't succeed. He had to do a better job this time. He could close his eyes and it would all shut off...
Did he really want to do this?
{ kindred: the embraced oc }