a tale of midnight
restraining from succumbing to mania · 8/21

Hard blinks started off the hour as the morning of Sunday flipped over into the world where veils were blown away. Sometimes done violently, hinting with reminders of life as Slade, while Nathan was elbowed to the back. At times the switch was a fight where supremacy was concerned. They both shared in the strengths that carried from day to day except he had more of an edge on his host. Slade blinked many times again to realize he wasn't alone, nor had he been the duration of the weekend. Shared were their commitments and emotions to the one person that could lit a match and fire him up all over.

Heat left sheets to skimp out on coverage as his own body generated enough to never need the use of it. Not that evening in particular. He marched mentally, looking around the darkened room long enough to dart back to a body of familiarity, of security, and then suddenly animosity. His chest caved in on the longest intake of air, holding it long enough while spurts of last month's circumstances brimmed over with rapid shots to the dome. Most of it had been his doing only to discover that what was done through the script of a false world, wasn't real.

His intentions were. His lies, the fabrications, and omission of truths pushed her hand. Enabled it to react as the judge and jury in handing out a sentence that pulled them apart. Briefly, under a haze between weeks of simmering down. He was now steaming. Like sounds from the television where guns were going off and piercing explosions did the same, it ignited the parts of him reactive to reels of turbulent cinematography. Generated amplified sounds of explosions weren't symphonic as he remember.

Unstable, beyond its violent nature, fully roused him. And was mad. Curtains pulled apart now, the blinds rolling up, and flinching occurred while stuck between a fictional Gotham, his home, and her. He rustled in his position, moving further away while he blinked back the confusion and to what was or wasn't real. Distinction was key as the mind rapidly flipped flopped between figments of consciousness and riding a wave to awaken. He was furious.

Anything was always questioned, including where he was or what he had many hands in. Costly were the things out of his control when he wanted to be in control. Midnight turned into twenty minutes after, ticking away getting to him than he could sputter out. He wanted out for air. Out of her space to grab at all the thoughts escaping him before impulses of battery were an option. Light shined on a terrace, balcony, or a street. Visions scraped his head, suddenly out of the bed as stealthy as he could be. He rubbed his face. Scraped the crap from the corner of his eyes. Double the vision seen and it faded into one again. He stepped away in a slowed paced, balance off just a hair to feel around surfaces and bumps of the air.

Belted pants felt beneath the sole of his feet where he tripped and saved himself from falling right on his ass. He was stupefied and mad. Chest beating harder than before the longer his sight lined up with empty space and her figure. He wasn't within the box, only the energy of being within was still with him. How he was going to pull away from it, or run towards the dead end where he felt most of himself, became his tight corner. Series of times and ones where combative of a nature split in the middle for the two, edged within his burden. The longer he looked at the outline of her sleeping figure, the longer he seen her struggle within the vice of his hands.

Treatment of the maddening arena was where his search went. Patterned steps eased out of the room, abandoning his post for silence. To get away from the phobia of wrecking death upon the innocent or the ones he had yet to claim to love. Escaping from fantasy or any reality was harder to accomplish when the door to another room he went through felt like it closed behind him. Catching a pair of clean shorts on a stack of folded clothes, he quickly dressed. Sleeping pets didn't rise from their towers or fall out of the sky to land on his head. The ceiling didn't break open ready to topple on top of his head but he knew it could happen. Like a stack of cards, built to the highest of its capabilities, reinforced with illusions of durability when truth was that weakness shown beneath the spaces.

He dropped down into the couch almost splintering the wooden structure holding its components together. Ruffled hair sprung through fanned fingers after running his hands through it. He was fuming and uneasy. Nearly nudged into hysterics. Where it all stemmed from struck deeply in a span of more than a couple of years in the making. He was there more than enough, more times than he could find the time to count. His hands were shaky finding a place at the top of his head as he slid into the relief of the couch. Shrouded in darkness, where the light from his room flickered on and off. Punching the shadow slightly cast. Mind was playing with him again. Time was doing a number on it as well where corrupted parts of his being were toyed with.

Everything around him he became sensitive to. Pulling a throw pillow at either side of his head to drown out the sound pouring from the room feet away. To muffle the heavy breathing of his own lungs and beat of his heart that was in position to fall from his chest. He has to keep distance. Rebuild the mental partition. Renovate the barrier of where he felt the safest until the percussion settled and acts of self-destruction would take its course. Slade's physiology was gradually aligning to term but his mind was stalling to fix and tussle with sensitivities weary by the month removed. Sleep would miss him per usual, as midnight was passing him on, almost one hour into Sunday.