twoboneswriter

[twoboneswriter]

Both Arms?

I'm dragging him through the dirt because I love him. More of a treat for book readers who know what scene I'm changing but also forgive me if I have the timeline mixed up I'm silly.

Short read. Injury and violence. Driver crying.

The shot missed. The glass crackled and twinkled as it fell.

The bullet made its home in the wooden beam hidden behind the apartment's drywall. Irene yelped, hands up to her ears as she dropped to the ground. Driver shot up, moving towards her to grab and guide her away from the glass and the resetting eye of the gun. Another shot was heard and another bullet found itself inside of drywall instead of flesh. Driver dragged the two of them towards the front door of the apartment, putting a corner wall between them and the windows. He stood there pressed against it, all too reminiscent of the hotel having nearly the same ringing in his ears.

Fortunately, amateurs were predictable, the man kicked away at the glass on the bottom of the window before stepping inside. He grumbled something about wrist pain ruining his clean kill, taking calculated steps towards the corner. The magnum was held out away from the man's body in typical gun-holding fashion, yet being held that far forward made it vulnerable. The gun was nothing more than a field mouse, Driver's hands being the talons of the red tailed hawk.

The man slipped the trigger as he grabbed it, shooting a sharp silence into both their ears, they wrestled and foul play wasn't off the table. The man kicked at Driver's legs without letting go of the gun taking them both down to the ground. While a good move this was, this made the man take his attention off the gun which, while still in his hands, was now bent towards at him. He puppeteered the man's hands, squeezing down on his fingers and having blood splatter onto his face from the now lack there of on the dead man.

Driver laid his own head to the ground, attempting to level his breathing as the pain from the situation started to show face. He became aware of how much more blood was on him then there should've been, then the pain in his arm. The stray fire from earlier had made it home in his arm, well not comfortably enough- it blasted through leaving a horribly torn crater behind.

Yet, there was also a body in front of him with a crater where eyes should be. There's no bullet to pick out, there's no glass to pick out, he has eyes, a nose, and a mouth on his face, he's grateful.

Time to clean it all up.

He had a lazy wrap around the wound, feeling an equally lazy sense of dejavu as he sat in the front seat staring out at the apartment's parking lot. His nose was used to the metallic sting of blood at this point, turning over the engine he took the body elsewhere as Irene gathered what she had. They said their curt goodbyes, thanked him for what he done for her and went to explain how she was just going to be leaving, finding grandparents more than a few states over. He understood. Despite saving her life that night he had still lost her and Benicio.

Coming back to his own apartment he did the same, they knew he lived here and they would come back but he wanted to see Irene off. His arm continued to bleed slow and thick, most of it having crusted over clinging to the soaked bunches of cotton balls. He wasn't a doctor, he would make sure it would stay clean and check to make sure it never looks infected but the rest was keeping it covered, whatever covered may be. As he stood there, packing away what little he owned in the one duffle bag he had, Driver shook. He shook with silent and choked cries. What little tears he had trickled like a creek down his cheeks. It hurt like hell, it all hurt like hell.

Just like that everything he had was gone again. Just like that him and everything he had was on the road again.

It wasn't until he was on the road, off the freeway, and onto the freeway did he let it loose. Barely a sound above the radio as his chest heaved, up and down, jerk, down, jerk, down, jerk, down, a whine no louder than a whisper, and up again. Driver wasn't unfamiliar with crying, but sobbing was different. He's not above letting out a tear, no man is he believes, but the vulnerability of the sob is something he has only shown his steering wheel and the asphalt of the freeway. The two lane stretch of track, surrounded by miles of sprawled land and the ones around California had some nice scenery. Driver couldn't pay attention to it though, much of it being blurred through watery eyes and wet eyelashes.

[twoboneswriter]

That moment when a character has just been through hell and they crack a joke to lighten the mood but their laughter turns into sobbing

[twoboneswriter]

When the unflappable character sees someone they care about in danger and the mask slips, it's great.

But when the unflappable character sees someone they care about in danger, and the mask DOESN'T slip.

Because they understand they need to be calm and unflappable now more than ever; if it protects them, it will certainly protect the person they care about. So their voice doesn't waver, their hands don't shake. They don't panic. From the outside looking in, they're as calm as could be. They handle it.

But after it's over-when the person they care about is safe, and the unflappable character is alone-they completely shatter. Gasping breaths, sobs, barely holding it together because someone they love almost DIED, and it was far, far too close for comfort.

(Optional: Character that they care about finds them in this state and comforts them.)