Hearts Without Chains} [Tom]

[arx!!]

\\ Jequirity Orellia Eckhart //

District 6 - Eighteen - Tempus Opera House

" Tell my love to wreck it all ... "

Yesterday I became one huge burden again, collapsing into yet another panic attack, the fifth in a month. I had been doing so well, my mind on everything but ... that. But every time I go home at night I find myself racked with terror. My hands shake, my eyes fill with tears, my throat constricts shut, and the world crumbles around me as a knife traces lines over my body - again.

I had tried to volunteer this year, but as usual, I couldn't make the words come out. When I tasted them on the tip of my tongue, threatening to burst free, vile had risen in my throat, and I had had to sprint from the square before my breakfast made a sudden reappearance. I had wretched in a back alley with tears in my eyes for what seemed like hours before Shale found me crumpled into a tight ball on the concrete. I couldn't remember any of it until Shale forced my rigid fingers to the ivory piano keys at home. It seemed I was doomed to being a silent, helpless heap of tears and scars for the rest of my life. Forever broken.

As a result, I have taken to staying late at Tempus. I practice until my fingers begin to cramp or bleed, and most nights I fall asleep on top of the piano, reading over music that I just can't seem to get right. Sometimes I don't wake up until Rio nudges me awake. I can't even pretend that I had just gotten there in those instances. That's when I take to brewing coffee instead in an attempt to not look like such a crazy person. Coffee is normal. Coffee says I'm normal. Sadly, the silent nods and smiles I give in response to anything and everything are not. I'm more than just abnormal, I am insane. My dreams are never dreams - only nightmares. And those nightmares are not just fantasy, they are reality. Memories.

Sometimes I think he can see it. Riordan, I mean. Then again I think everyone can. I've trained myself to hide the physical scars, but the emotional ones are harder to conceal. Luckily I haven't completely lost it yet around my new friends. It's embarrassing enough to make my sisters and moms deal with it ... none of the people here need another burden to worry about. Everyone came here to escape - including me - but despite all of the good that playing music for hours and hours on end does me, I still can't shake the past as I thought I might be able to. In fact, I think the past is only starting to catch up with me more often.

("Jequirity? Please, darling, you have to say something.")

The beat, beat, beat of my heart flutters uncontrollably and I feel like screaming. I feel like screaming is the only way to prove that I can't speak. Ever. The urge to leave through the back doors for a smoke grows strong in that moment, and I force myself to battle through the voices in my head, the memories that won't shut up, and a year old addiction that only occasionally manages to itch at the back of my mind. I slam my fingers into the ivory keys, a discordant screech echoing through the place. I shove away from the bench, and clamber to the edge of the stage, reaching for my violin.

And as I draw the bow across the strings, my mind empties and the whole world just melts away. I close my eyes and a whole new world forms within my mind - one where I am 10 years younger and my sisters are dancing around the basement to the tune I play. We used to boast that we were fairy princesses. Every so often there would be a giggle from the twins who sat watching at the edge of the room as Opiliones or Shale twirled and jumped like they were the most graceful dancers in the world. ("Why did you quit dancing anyway?") I used to always ask Shale, remembering how rigorously she had practiced when we were younger. The memory of the basement makes me smile.

I walk to the center of the stage, still playing, the smile seemingly engraved on my face, and set myself down with my feet dangling over the edge. There is something about music - something about this place - that makes all of my problems completely disappear.

" Cut out all the ropes and let me fall ... "

[Tom]

Description/writing, Speaking , Thinking , Hears

The thoughts were back. The feeling of loss. The feeling that the world falls apart in your hands. The feeling of everything you know breaking and falling apart. The memory of Navy and Theo always drifted to his head. There was too many what ifs. What if Rio had volunteered. What if Rio escaped with them. What if Rio started a riot. Rio had all the thoughts jumbled in his head. He wanted to move on. He really did, but saying it and doing it are two very different things. They were always different. To do something, he had to be able to do it and he definitely could not move on yet. The old thoughts of his past. The selling of himself. The emptiness of his stomach. The drugs. The thoughts of leaving the world. He just couldn't handle all of the memories of terror and pain. This is what his parents were hiding him from. They were always trying to keep him away from this. This was the only thing that Rio should have listened to his parents about. Now they didn't know where he was. They didn't even know if he was alive still. Rio should have listened. He was wrong. He always was.

The rows of graves at the graveyard tugging at Rio's heartstrings like they always do. The names as he walks past. Theseus Rhodium. His pal. His friend. The boy who had a secret. Rio knew that secret. The secret of the torch and how the boy would burn himself. The games ended for Theo with his voice being cut off from the world. A Tempus singer was silenced. Rio never wanted any other Tempus singers to be silenced by the games. Rio could never forgive Wednesdae or Kiera. The lovers who killed together. Rio's hands slide across Theo's headstone. Theo always felt forgotten and Rio would never forget Theo. He would never forget the silenced boy. Rio's footsteps were quiet. The headstones passing by him. Tributes from other games. The rain began to pick up as Rio made his way to the one headstone that he always went to. The winged ring reminding him that she flew up to the heavens above. She was happy without him. Theo was happy without him too. Everyone was happy without Rio. The headstone had another bouquet on it that Rio had placed. Rio would talk to Navy all day if he could, but she was silenced too. Silenced by the one and only Wednesdae Drummond who took her head off. Rio slid his hand across the headstone. This was the place he found a light in the dark. A light to guide him past all the danger and bad things. Kalyan Casovnik. The druggie. He was the one who got Rio into drugs, but got Rio closer to the path back to normalcy. Rio silently let the rain fall on him. The boy knew where he had to go next. He was taking a walk to the place he was locked up like a prisoner at, home.

It was just like he remembered. The wooden door that was severely old and a bit run down. The creakiness of the door as it opened. Rio was expecting a lot more out of the first time he came home in almost a year. His thoughts of being home and having a relationship with his family were overwhelming. That was until he ended up face first on the wooden floor of his home. Rio looked up at the women before him. It was his mother. She rolled her eyes at Rio and helped him up. "You always were a clumsy one." Rio rolled his eyes back at her snarky comment. His mother let him in and they sat in the main room that Rio basically lived in for most of his life. His father came inside from out back where he apparently was working on something like always. All three sat down together. His mother was the first to speak. "Have you finally decided to come crawling back to your father and me after experiencing the cruel world?" Rio felt anger at his mother as she had asked if he was coming home. Rio simply shook his head. Rio was never coming home. He would visit, but that's it.

His father had been quiet the entire time. The family was just talking about Rio and how Tempus was. His parents were proud of him for continuing something that he loved and that kept him sane. Rio began explaining all of the members there, but one stuck out to his mother and father. Jequirity Eckhart. His mother kept asking about her and if she was pretty. Rio thought she was. She was an amazing addition to Tempus and her music just made Rio shiver at the thought of the beautiful sounds. His mother just smiled after all her questions were answered. Riordan never understood what went through his mother's head. She was like a pool of random thoughts here and there. Riordan was getting ready to leave. He had gotten some of his old stuff from his room that he never seemed to pick up. Rio was walking out the door of his home, until he tripped and fell off the front steps and onto his face in the grass in front of his house. Rio blacked out after his fall.

Rio woke up on the sofa in his parent's first room with a teenager standing in front of him. Who the hell is this kid? Why is he in my parent's house? Ugh. So many unanswered questions. The kid smiled at Rio as he handed him a glass of water. Rio rose his eyebrow and accepted the water and drank it. That was when his mother walked into the room. She smiled and spoke softly, "Rio, honey, you're awake." Rio stared at his mom and looked at the boy. He spoke finally to his mother, "Who the hell is this?" His mother smiled and said, "Rio, watch your language. This is Caspar. Well, it's a long story, but he is your adopted brother Riordan." And within a few seconds on hearing those words Riordan was gone.

Tempus was the place Rio ended up at. It was a late night, almost no one was up, but Riordan knew one person would be up. Another person who he barely met who was changing his life every day. She brought hope and life to his life. The feeling on the old days where Rio was perfectly fine, except his eating problem. Riordan Einfallen knew that Jequirity would be up. She always was up practicing her violin or her piano skills. The shivers were silently coming to body as I hear the notes hit the air. Jeq was perfect for Tempus. Riordan liked her and so did the other members. They all seemed to be cool with Jeq. The only thing Rio wished she could do was talk, but you don't always get what you want. Rio got something he needed. He could see the emotions she always showed. She had a hard and emotional life already and Rio was determined to help her like Kal had helped him. He was going to be the light in the dark for someone else. HE wanted to save others, not let them die. The role model for the house was what he wanted to be. He had the most experience and was the most qualified to be a role model for them. He experienced almost all of it.

Riordan watched as Jeq went and sat down and let her feet dangle off the edge of the stage. Her feet kicked slightly as they dangled off the edge. Riordan took this as the chance to calm walk into the room. His hands in his pockets as he walked closer to Jeq. His feet making noise that echoed across the entire room. "Is this spot taken?" Riordan knew that she couldn't really reply. HE just smiled and hoped she didn't mind. The boy sat and let his feet dangle off the edge as he sat next to Jeq. He smiled at her with his smile that he hadn't used since he saw Kal. Riordan smiled and knew what he wanted to say next. "You know. Jeq, you're an interesting person. I know you can't talk or anything, but I feel like I know you somehow. Call me crazy, but I just think you and me are similar. You have all the signs of a bad past. I know this won't help you at all, but I know truly that you are something special Jeq. The way you play that violin and the piano, you can just see the talent shining in your eyes. I don't know why I want to tell you this. I just have to, it's like something I am itching to say always. Jeq I will be here for you. I hope you and I both can get past our pasts. I try to live in the now, but I always feel the past trying to swallow me whole. Jeq, you are something rare. I am glad I found you and we are... friends? I dunno, maybe I am insane. Well, make sure not to wear yourself out. Ok? I don't want to see you out cold in the morning every day. It's definitely not healthy to do. If you ever need someone to tell something to, just come to me."

Rio flashed his smile. Jequirity was a good friend and Rio was going to keep it like that for a long time hopefully. Jeq was like a diamond in the rust, not many children in District 6 had talents to show like Jeq did. Rio may be professional at time, but other times, he was just a friend and they didn't need to be professional. Rio's style of working is that you have to be friends and know your workers or else nothing will get done. Riordan began to get up to leave Jeq to her work. Rio was halfway off the stage when he stopped and said "oh, and Jeq, you don't need to practice, you're already amazing. Also, I was wondering, do you know how to write?" Riordan smiled as he turned around to see her reply if it was a nod or shake of the head. Riordan Einfallen was going to help this girl who had a bad past of some sort. It's what he has done since he's been out of his cramped room. His destiny was to help people with their lives and that's what Rio wanted to do. Rio always thought of being a counselor or a therapist and help others, just like the way people had helped him. Riordan Einfallen had a goal and he was going to complete it, even if it meant losing something dear to him. Riordan Einfallen, the boy who wants to help.

[arx!!]

\\ Jequirity Orellia Eckhart //

District 6 - Eighteen - Tempus Opera House

" Tell my love to wreck it all ... "

Once when I was younger, I dreamed about what I thought my mother would be like. The real one. Of course that was when I was still to little to understand the complexities of where I came from and how my moms were really all I had for my entire life. Now I know that they are the only people I could ever call "Mom" and mean it. I asked once, and thankfully I wasn't lied to like I'm sure so many others would have. I was left on the doorstep, in the rain, crying. There wasn't a note, no nametags, nothing. I was nothing. At least to the one who gave birth to me. To the pair that adopted me, I was the beginning of one big, happy family. To them, I was everything they could have ever hoped for. And they never failed to remind me, especially after the ... accident.

For so long I could see them blaming themselves. After all, they had been the ones to make me go to the appointment. But it was my fault that they had a reason to think I was hurting myself. I remember dealing and smoking and shoving various pills down my throat just to "test them out" for some of the guys who were part of the crew. Shale was always insisting I needed to stop before I killed myself, always telling me if I didn't stop she would do something to stop me. I didn't listen. I never listened. Life was always a game, and I was always trying to see how far I could go before I just - disappeared. Stopped. Found myself 6 feet down with dead eyes and a heart that didn't beat. Shale had turned me in to Penelope and they had booked me for therapist sessions. They forced me to go, but I had forced them to worry - I should've been worried, should've feared that if I kept dealing and using I would end up shot or in a coma - and now I won't can't speak.

Not with my lips or with words. Not anymore. Not without passing out from the pressure. ("Speak, child. I can help you, darling.") She wants me to tell her my problems. Tell her why I am here. Tell her, talk to her, talk?? No. No, not anymore, no, she can't make me. Not anymore, I'm not tied down, no, no - NO! Not anymore ... I feel the rope tightening on my wrists and I try to pull away ...

My fingers flinch and a discordant sound errupts from the violin. My eyes fly open and I gasp. Just my thoughts tearing me down again. Just the fear slipping in. I take a deep breath and begin again, the smile slipping back onto my face as the first few notes make it all disappear again. My heart slows, my feet kick back and forth idly, my eyes drift shut, and the music carries me away. ("It's easy. So easy. Just ... play.")

I'm so enamored with my own performance that I don't hear the click-clack of his shoes echoing through the place. I barely hear him when he speaks - ("Is this spot taken?") - I only nod idly, my every move on autopilot. Or maybe I've grown used to the voice? Recognized it as not being a threat and erased all acknowledgement of it from my mind? Whatever it is, he sits next to me, and I keep playing, not minding for one moment about how close he is. I glance at him, and use a small smile, only to realize he is using one of those magical smiles that I haven't yet mastered since ... well, then, of course. I look away. Whether it is because I am unsettled or mezmorized I couldn't say. My feelings are all jumbled in my head, and I don't think they will ever reveal themselves - even to myself.

But my blood boils and my skin crawls when he speaks. His words almost match the melody I play. ("I know you can't talk or anything...") Can't or won't? That is the question, isn't it? That isn't the same question for him, but I know that somewhere beneath the poised exterior that we newbies see is someone who has been seasoned by grief or anger or maybe some mixture of both. ("You have all the signs of a bad past.") My insides twist and my scars flare so hot that I could swear for a moment he has to be able to see them glowing - see them bleeding - again. I feel the blood, but ignore the sensation. It's not real. This music is. Rio is. The blood is a past memory, a past sensation - nothing more than the past.

("Jeq I will be here for you.") ("I try to live in the now, but I always feel the past trying to swallow me whole.") ("Jeq, you are something rare.")

And as he begins to walk away, the words hitting me hard in the chest or swirling my mind into mush, I drop the bow from the strings and the violin falls away from my chin. I nearly drop it because I am so stunned. I would say stunned into silence, but that has already happened. I knew he was troubled. I knew that he knew I was troubled. But I didn't know how much his feelings reflected mine. I've been dreaming of a new start for years now. Years. I thought I could get it here. I mean, I am getting that fresh start, but everything is still so hard. I'm still struggling to stay sane. Some days I could swear my condition was worsening, the panic attacks coming on more often, paralyzing me straight down to the core. Nothing goes as planned. I should know that, probably more than anyone.

"Oh, and Jeq, you don't need to practice, you're already amazing." I turn and smile, but it only falls away as I shrug the compliment off. "Also, I was wondering, do you know how to write?" I bite my lip and turn away from him, picking up my violin and carrying it back to the case. It's quiet, as all conversations are with me, and for a moment I hope he will just leave when I don't answer. But that would not only be rude of me, but also the complete opposite of what I want. I think.

I walk over to the piano and scoop up some sheets of music that I had been modifying. I point to the notes inked onto the sheet as I get closer to him, smiling, but knowing full well that isn't what he meant. I swallow and pull a pen from the waistband of my jeans. At first I attempt to scrawl my name against my thigh to prove that I can in fact write coherent (oh Ripred, words) sentences, but as soon as I get the 'J' scrawled out my hand is shaking so horrible that I can't get anything more to come out. I sit down on the floor in frustration, swallowing back fear. I know I can do this. I talk to Iridium with my hands all the time. Sign language ... which I am sure he doesn't know, seeing at is a family thing that only me, my sisters, and moms understand. Our own invention.

My heart races, my hands sweat, and heat rises to the top of my skin and at the back of my eyes, my throat beginning to constrict from all the fear and concentration, but I manage it. Above all the musical notes is my name. And the simple explanation, "I can write." next to it. I stand and point then, trying to get my hands to steady. I smile, a measly one, but I manage it - force it - if only to please him. Or perhaps to please myself, if only for a few moments before I have to scrawl out another message.

" Cut out all the ropes and let me fall ... "