Ian Matheson {D7/FIN}
Feb 25, 2014 15:49:17 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2014 15:49:17 GMT -5
Pieces of broken glass litter the floor, green in color, like the tired eyes that stare down at the shards. Hands tremble, pushing dark pieces of hair away from the face that hides behind it. The noise that followed the slamming door just an hour or two ago still reverberates in his ears, posing a mental breakdown with each and every echo. ”He yelled at me again. Oh, why did he yell at me again?" He shakes his head in an attempt to clear the thoughts that swarm about in it, but it does not work. An attempt to stand up and pace results in his crashing back against the floor, his normally sturdy legs not able to support him any longer. He reaches under the bed that sits beside him, but the length of his arms renders him from being able to reach what he’s after. He tries again for a moment, only to realize the struggle is pointless, and he proceeds to lay back and watch the ceiling. It’s plain with nothing to set it apart from the definition of normal, however his green eyes trace pattern after pattern at a speed that is anything but fast. I’ve got all the time in the world now, so why rush?
He falls asleep there, and it’s no surprise to the boy who tiptoes in to be met with the site of Ian passed out on the floor, the only real indicator he’s still breathing being the shaky rise and fall of his chest. The thin shirt Ian’s wearing outlines a slight trace of ribs, and the other boys shakes his head in worry, for he’s used to seeing the vulnerability in Ian, but not from a physical standpoint. He was used to seeing the anger flash through his eyes, or the clench of his fists. Even if he didn’t throw a punch, he seemed as if he could knock out the strongest man with one punch. The canvas to be painted shouldn’t show a picture of an eighteen year old passed out among shards of glass and dirty clothes. Pictures were supposed to be pretty, no, showy. They’re supposed to show the good side of things, the silver lining behind the clouds. But this pictured showed the exact opposite, and Ian only grumbled when Miles lifted him to the bed and threw a blanket over his shivering body. This is definitely not picture perfect.
The sun that streams through the uncovered window the following morning is not a welcome sight, and the eyes that so sluggishly stared at the dots on the ceiling as if they were stars were now squinting in disgust. Like a small child pulls the covers over their head to hide from the monsters, so did Ian, but only to hide from the sun. The stench from the night before hits next, like a stab to the stomach, and if it weren’t for the glass still littering the floor, he would have flown from the room. Instead, he’s forced to step carefully, picking his way from the far side of the room to the door, only to be stopped by Russell, whose dark eyes speak a thousand words before any can fall from his lips. “We need to talk about last night, Ian.” Ian begins to shake his head in disagreement, as he believes Russell made his answer quite clear as soon as the glass bottle fell to pieces around us.
He doesn’t give Ian a second to answer before shutting the door behind him, whilst still blocking the exit with his own frame, which is substantially larger than Ian’s. It doesn’t take long for Ian to fall apart, apologies and tears flowing faster than the streams that cut through the woods behind the place they called home. “You can’t just leave me, Russell. Don’t you realize that? Everything I’ve done, everything I do, it’s all for you. So what makes you think—no what gives you the right to storm out of that door like you’ve done nothing wrong? I need you, don’t you realize that?” He doesn’t even wait for a response before pushing past the taller boy, his hands, still shaking, pushing his sturdy frame away from his own body. There are many other pairs of eyes that follow his movements, and he longs deeply to yell at them all to mind their own business, but there really are no private matters in this household. Everybody has something they’d like to hide, but no one’s ever given the chance to stow it away.
Russell doesn’t follow him, and for that Ian is grateful. There’s times when one needs to be alone, and even if that time doesn’t cross Ian’s clock often, it does every once and a while. Another time that more often than not does not pass is joy and unrelenting happiness, for those times have long since struck out. Now, he’s at the top of the household, supposedly holding a position of authority over all the others, but somehow, Ian doesn’t quite believe it. Everyone else, including Russell, knows he can barely manage himself, let alone everyone else. Between the struggles to stay one step in front of everyone else, the bottles of whiskey under the bed dwindling in number, and the lack of sleep, he’s hardly fit to guide others. That doesn’t stop him from trying, and he barks out a couple of things at Jason before slamming the white, wooden door behind him.
His feet pound the ground quietly, for even if he stomped, he couldn’t make half the noise Russell could. They used to compete with things like that out in the fields behind their home. Simple things like who could yell the loudest or run the fastest. Russell usually one a fair game, but Ian always won a match or two, most often by tripping Russell at the start line or taking an inconspicuous short cut during a race. No one really paid attention to his knack for cheating, especially at that age, where it was written off as “just a phase” or “something he’ll grow out of.” But even now, if something goes missing, the room Russell and Ian share is the first to be checked, and more often than not, whatever they’re looking for turns up. Of course Ian always has an excuse as to why it’s there, and even Russell plays along, coming up with details on the spur of the moment to match Ian’s far-fetched story.
While Ian’s relationship with Russell had always been one of excitement, two brothers taking on the world and only stopping when it crumbled at their feet, his relations to his other siblings had been much more strained. Rachel and Charlie had never seen things his way, and in turn, anything they said tended to fly over his head. That never stopped them from talking Ian’s ears off, and most of what they said (from what he actually heard) was criticism, from the way Ian talked to others to the way he folded his shirts. They disapproved of it all. Danny never talked much, especially not to Ian. A simple exchange of “good morning” sufficed, and the two had never had any major altercations. In fact, he liked the boy, and had even promised himself he would try to get closer to him in the following years. He longed to teach Danny what it was like to be tough, as he was sick of watching the girls treat him like a child.
Maggie stayed away from him for the most part, clinging to the walls and shutting the door anytime Ian passed by. He talked to Russell about her often, asking what she did behind the closed doors all day. Russell told him that she poured herself over the books that a family friend managed to get to her. Ian didn’t see the point in fawning over things like that, but if it kept her content, what did it matter to him? Nora, had from day one, rubbed Ian the wrong way. The younger girl knew exactly how to push his buttons, and not a day went by that she didn’t mash one of them. She was dynamic in every sort of the word, always apt to barge in on any games that he and Russell would play. Russell, however, liked her, and so Ian put up with her (but only when Russell was around). Jason was the one thing that Ian seemed to feel as if he had failed with. He had tried to teach the boy what he knew, but everything seemed to go over his head. Eventually, he got so frustrated that he just gave up. Even now, the two don’t talk much at all, and Ian still cannot look him straight in the eye.
The eight fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, each one shaping one another in a way that changes every day from that one forward. Ian’s pieces are jagged and rough, but they fit in a way that no one else’s pieces can. They’re all reminded often that everyone brings something different to the table, and even if they are in a period of absolutely hating each other, they realize that they work better as a team rather than enemies.
{o t h e r}
Ian Matheson
age: 18
district: 7
gender: male
face claim: Landon Austin
codeword: oDair
words: 404 + 508 + 635 = 1,547
template by Chelsey
