07-04-2020, 02:31 PM
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— at the start of a young age, jerome had been shielded from most harms the new world had to offer. shut into a house that had very little to offer a growing mind except for books, a formal education, he grew out of the house rather quickly. though as much as he seemed to have outgrown the four walls, his parents still insisted on keeping him confined to their estate. for many years he struggled to see the reasoning. if the city truly was such a vile and gruesome thing, why then was it jerome - the young, innocent boy - being kept in his own prison? why must his innocence be maintained rather than hold the city accountable for its own actions?
by the time his home had been destroyed, his parents gone among the ashes, he felt guilty for the relief that had initially flooded over him. although traumatized and helpless, he thought it was better to be traumatized and set free than to be undamaged and confined between those walls any longer. though if he had known while wandering outside of the broken city that all of this hurt waited for him down the long and winding road, would he have felt that same initial relief? if he had known those beautiful ghostly blues that first greeted him would ultimately be the last thing he saw, his hands tight around his throat, would he have still done it all the same if he had the choice?
no matter what he did, it seemed that j was never quite truly happy. was that anyone else’s fault but his own? whether he had a safe home to protect himself from the danger, or a dear friend to keep him guarded, that never seemed to be enough for him. his heart always yearned for so much more than anyone or any place could offer him; he was breaking his own heart. breaking himself. if he had known the hurt that was waiting for him-- his throat felt tight as he slowly regained his consciousness, limbs slow to move. for the first time in a long, long time, jerome’s heart ached for his old home.
he shortly groaned as he began to stir, brows furrowing stubbornly as if he wished to stay in his uneasy slumber. as if he wasn’t mentally prepared to face the emotions his sleep had once guarded him from. from the edges of his mind, he could faintly hear eben talking to him - unable to catch much save for the man’s last sentence. ”i’m going to die if you leave me. please.” hands lifted against a weight, shifting a bit to realize that a blanket had been placed over him. eyes fluttered open; eben was the first thing his eyes focused on.
the silence was deafening. jerome could only stare up at eben, lips gently parted. for those first few moments, it felt tranquil while his mind worked to catch up to such a gruesome tragedy. his head leaned back against a soft pillow, covered comfortably in a blanket. eben’s teary eyes stared down at him so woefully that it almost physically pained him. he struggled to piece it all together at first; eben’s care for him felt overwhelming on its own.
it took a moment for him to realize everything that had happened; the gravity of it all eventually hitting him with a sick, crushing weight that he yearned for those initial sweet moments of being blissfully unaware. he felt foolish to think eben’s actions hadn’t been out of anything but sheer guilt. the memory of eben on top of him, hands tight around his throat as he squirmed helplessly beneath the person he never thought he would have to protect himself from felt burned into his mind. the person he always ran to became the person he so desperately wanted to run away from that very morning. eben was his protector, he always had been. but, just like that, eben had turned on him. and for what? the betrayal that burned nauseatingly in his chest made his lips twist downwards into a sad, distressed look.
eben almost killed him. every feature of his slowly started to contort into such a painful and sorrowful look, a broken sob passing his lips, eyes welling with tears. his hands went to his throat as if to cradle the painful ache with ever harsh breath and dry sob, shoulders shaking pathetically. just like that, the ever-composed, calm, collected man began to unwind as he drowned in his very own sorrow. his heart was broken; he was fearful and afraid. nothing could hold back the despair that came in waves.
he didn’t even seem like the same person in that moment. this wasn’t the jerome anyone truly knew. at this point j failed to grasp onto his posture. he struggled to hold onto his carefully-constructed composure; he looked like an absolute wreck. nothing like the jerome hemingway the world had come to know. he wanted to be angry with himself, hot tears stinging his eyes as he sniffled and cried. he wasn’t a man to come undone like this, to be so openly falling apart in front of someone else. he often chose to display his sadness behind closed doors, gently clasping a hand over his mouth to conceal the tears. though this side of him didn’t even feel like himself. something was missing. something was horribly broken inside him.
a part of him died that day; eben would never know just how much he hurt him.
an ugly cry passed his lips, curling up slightly from his spot on the floor. he slowly curled in on himself until his forehead touched eben’s knee. the closest hand went up to rest atop the same knee, as if quietly willing eben to stay there next to him. a lump formed in his throat. urging the very person that had hurt him to stay close in a moment of need… his jaw wobbled, squeezing his eyes shut as a pitiful sob spilled from his lips.
“i’m sorry,” it was the first thing he rasped, blurted out amid his uncontrollable sobs. his grip tightened around eben’s knee - as if those very fingers hadn’t dug into eben’s wrist for dear life only hours prior. he shook his head, breathing in a stuttering breath before he sputtered, voice cracking woefully, “i’m so sorry. it’s all my fault. it’s all my fault…”
it was an awful feeling. wanting to be consoled by the very same hands that had almost killed him. terrified of the idea that eben would never want to console him again after jerome had been so awful to him; after eben had been so terrible to him in return and left j feeling so horribly conflicted. though the longer he laid there on the floor, the more he began to realize how much it really was his fault. eben had only acted out of retaliation. he told jerome to stop; he told him and j still failed to listen. his dear friend had only been protecting himself during a quickly escalating situation.
he hated how quickly he tried to justify just why he deserved to be treated so horribly.
though he knew he couldn’t bear the idea of pointing the finger at eben, especially when the man seemed evidently guilty about it. no apology had spilled from his lips - not that j had heard at least - but, even if he didn’t end up apologizing, he at least cared. he cried, pleaded for him to still be alive. would someone so heartless go through the effort to put a pillow beneath his head and throw a blanket over him? wouldn’t a true monster have tried to get rid of all evidence? wouldn’t someone who was truly guilty have at least fled the scene? j felt so disoriented and pained, confused and conflicted - it was a horrible look for him that he didn’t wear well.
there was nothing pretty about the way he cried. as much as he often cared about his appearances, all semblance of his tidy and groomed image seemed thrown out the window. hair a mess, face contorted in a way that was painful to look at. a look so ugly, and yet it was the most genuine look he had worn in such a long while. he shook his head, a small cry escaping through gently gritted teeth. shoulders shaking and hands trembling, he urged desperately, “please, eben.. please. forgive me. i don’t know- what i’d do if-”
he broke into hysterics again, pathetically sniffling and trying to contain his woeful sobs. his throat ached. it hurt to breathe, let alone try and beg his friend for any sort of forgiveness. how could he ever seek forgiveness to a man he had been so horrible to? how could he ever plead for forgiveness from someone who had hurt him so deeply? he tried to console himself in those few moments, but he had little control over emotions he once could so effortlessly manage. he grew quiet, swallowing hard in an attempt to will away the lump that had settled in his throat. then, in a quiet whine he pleaded, voice crackling weakly, “please don’t hate me...” the very day he told eben that he hated him - words he knew he didn’t mean - he was begging the man not to hate him after he had been so cruel.
it was embarrassing. tears were hot with shame as they fell down his face. hadn’t he just this morning been facing eben as if he could possibly live without him? had he not been fighting so hard to break free from the shackles that held him down? jerome felt utterly humiliated. he had been foolish to think that he could’ve gotten away from this sort of treatment. the trap would forever ensnare him. he had been a fool to think that he wanted to get away from his dear friend. the man always had his best interest in mind; jerome would be utterly lost without him in his life.
his parents often shielded him from the danger of other places, trying to protect their son from a city they feared could ruin the hemingway’s way of life. if they had known that the real danger was in two eyes and a heartbeat - a dear friend, the one closest to j’s heart - would they have done better to protect his innocence from the grievous heartbreak? would they have taught him how to cope with the loss of his innocence, rather than try and keep it intact? those were questions he would simply never get to know. all he knew in that moment was how painful it felt as his innocence died and laid broken on the floor, collapsed among the wreckage that was now jerome hemingway.
— at the start of a young age, jerome had been shielded from most harms the new world had to offer. shut into a house that had very little to offer a growing mind except for books, a formal education, he grew out of the house rather quickly. though as much as he seemed to have outgrown the four walls, his parents still insisted on keeping him confined to their estate. for many years he struggled to see the reasoning. if the city truly was such a vile and gruesome thing, why then was it jerome - the young, innocent boy - being kept in his own prison? why must his innocence be maintained rather than hold the city accountable for its own actions?
by the time his home had been destroyed, his parents gone among the ashes, he felt guilty for the relief that had initially flooded over him. although traumatized and helpless, he thought it was better to be traumatized and set free than to be undamaged and confined between those walls any longer. though if he had known while wandering outside of the broken city that all of this hurt waited for him down the long and winding road, would he have felt that same initial relief? if he had known those beautiful ghostly blues that first greeted him would ultimately be the last thing he saw, his hands tight around his throat, would he have still done it all the same if he had the choice?
no matter what he did, it seemed that j was never quite truly happy. was that anyone else’s fault but his own? whether he had a safe home to protect himself from the danger, or a dear friend to keep him guarded, that never seemed to be enough for him. his heart always yearned for so much more than anyone or any place could offer him; he was breaking his own heart. breaking himself. if he had known the hurt that was waiting for him-- his throat felt tight as he slowly regained his consciousness, limbs slow to move. for the first time in a long, long time, jerome’s heart ached for his old home.
he shortly groaned as he began to stir, brows furrowing stubbornly as if he wished to stay in his uneasy slumber. as if he wasn’t mentally prepared to face the emotions his sleep had once guarded him from. from the edges of his mind, he could faintly hear eben talking to him - unable to catch much save for the man’s last sentence. ”i’m going to die if you leave me. please.” hands lifted against a weight, shifting a bit to realize that a blanket had been placed over him. eyes fluttered open; eben was the first thing his eyes focused on.
the silence was deafening. jerome could only stare up at eben, lips gently parted. for those first few moments, it felt tranquil while his mind worked to catch up to such a gruesome tragedy. his head leaned back against a soft pillow, covered comfortably in a blanket. eben’s teary eyes stared down at him so woefully that it almost physically pained him. he struggled to piece it all together at first; eben’s care for him felt overwhelming on its own.
it took a moment for him to realize everything that had happened; the gravity of it all eventually hitting him with a sick, crushing weight that he yearned for those initial sweet moments of being blissfully unaware. he felt foolish to think eben’s actions hadn’t been out of anything but sheer guilt. the memory of eben on top of him, hands tight around his throat as he squirmed helplessly beneath the person he never thought he would have to protect himself from felt burned into his mind. the person he always ran to became the person he so desperately wanted to run away from that very morning. eben was his protector, he always had been. but, just like that, eben had turned on him. and for what? the betrayal that burned nauseatingly in his chest made his lips twist downwards into a sad, distressed look.
eben almost killed him. every feature of his slowly started to contort into such a painful and sorrowful look, a broken sob passing his lips, eyes welling with tears. his hands went to his throat as if to cradle the painful ache with ever harsh breath and dry sob, shoulders shaking pathetically. just like that, the ever-composed, calm, collected man began to unwind as he drowned in his very own sorrow. his heart was broken; he was fearful and afraid. nothing could hold back the despair that came in waves.
he didn’t even seem like the same person in that moment. this wasn’t the jerome anyone truly knew. at this point j failed to grasp onto his posture. he struggled to hold onto his carefully-constructed composure; he looked like an absolute wreck. nothing like the jerome hemingway the world had come to know. he wanted to be angry with himself, hot tears stinging his eyes as he sniffled and cried. he wasn’t a man to come undone like this, to be so openly falling apart in front of someone else. he often chose to display his sadness behind closed doors, gently clasping a hand over his mouth to conceal the tears. though this side of him didn’t even feel like himself. something was missing. something was horribly broken inside him.
a part of him died that day; eben would never know just how much he hurt him.
an ugly cry passed his lips, curling up slightly from his spot on the floor. he slowly curled in on himself until his forehead touched eben’s knee. the closest hand went up to rest atop the same knee, as if quietly willing eben to stay there next to him. a lump formed in his throat. urging the very person that had hurt him to stay close in a moment of need… his jaw wobbled, squeezing his eyes shut as a pitiful sob spilled from his lips.
“i’m sorry,” it was the first thing he rasped, blurted out amid his uncontrollable sobs. his grip tightened around eben’s knee - as if those very fingers hadn’t dug into eben’s wrist for dear life only hours prior. he shook his head, breathing in a stuttering breath before he sputtered, voice cracking woefully, “i’m so sorry. it’s all my fault. it’s all my fault…”
it was an awful feeling. wanting to be consoled by the very same hands that had almost killed him. terrified of the idea that eben would never want to console him again after jerome had been so awful to him; after eben had been so terrible to him in return and left j feeling so horribly conflicted. though the longer he laid there on the floor, the more he began to realize how much it really was his fault. eben had only acted out of retaliation. he told jerome to stop; he told him and j still failed to listen. his dear friend had only been protecting himself during a quickly escalating situation.
he hated how quickly he tried to justify just why he deserved to be treated so horribly.
though he knew he couldn’t bear the idea of pointing the finger at eben, especially when the man seemed evidently guilty about it. no apology had spilled from his lips - not that j had heard at least - but, even if he didn’t end up apologizing, he at least cared. he cried, pleaded for him to still be alive. would someone so heartless go through the effort to put a pillow beneath his head and throw a blanket over him? wouldn’t a true monster have tried to get rid of all evidence? wouldn’t someone who was truly guilty have at least fled the scene? j felt so disoriented and pained, confused and conflicted - it was a horrible look for him that he didn’t wear well.
there was nothing pretty about the way he cried. as much as he often cared about his appearances, all semblance of his tidy and groomed image seemed thrown out the window. hair a mess, face contorted in a way that was painful to look at. a look so ugly, and yet it was the most genuine look he had worn in such a long while. he shook his head, a small cry escaping through gently gritted teeth. shoulders shaking and hands trembling, he urged desperately, “please, eben.. please. forgive me. i don’t know- what i’d do if-”
he broke into hysterics again, pathetically sniffling and trying to contain his woeful sobs. his throat ached. it hurt to breathe, let alone try and beg his friend for any sort of forgiveness. how could he ever seek forgiveness to a man he had been so horrible to? how could he ever plead for forgiveness from someone who had hurt him so deeply? he tried to console himself in those few moments, but he had little control over emotions he once could so effortlessly manage. he grew quiet, swallowing hard in an attempt to will away the lump that had settled in his throat. then, in a quiet whine he pleaded, voice crackling weakly, “please don’t hate me...” the very day he told eben that he hated him - words he knew he didn’t mean - he was begging the man not to hate him after he had been so cruel.
it was embarrassing. tears were hot with shame as they fell down his face. hadn’t he just this morning been facing eben as if he could possibly live without him? had he not been fighting so hard to break free from the shackles that held him down? jerome felt utterly humiliated. he had been foolish to think that he could’ve gotten away from this sort of treatment. the trap would forever ensnare him. he had been a fool to think that he wanted to get away from his dear friend. the man always had his best interest in mind; jerome would be utterly lost without him in his life.
his parents often shielded him from the danger of other places, trying to protect their son from a city they feared could ruin the hemingway’s way of life. if they had known that the real danger was in two eyes and a heartbeat - a dear friend, the one closest to j’s heart - would they have done better to protect his innocence from the grievous heartbreak? would they have taught him how to cope with the loss of his innocence, rather than try and keep it intact? those were questions he would simply never get to know. all he knew in that moment was how painful it felt as his innocence died and laid broken on the floor, collapsed among the wreckage that was now jerome hemingway.
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HOW COULD I KNOW WHAT YOU DON'T SHOW?
[abbr=31 years old, male, bluestem prairie]—[/abbr] surely you've had enough of always thinking you're right. . .
[abbr=31 years old, male, bluestem prairie]—[/abbr] surely you've had enough of always thinking you're right. . .