bones {jude x ollie}!blitz

[[nyte]]

o l i v e r . I like the way hunger feels. Pain still idle hands, teeth digging into the side of my cheek and everything takes more effort but it is a good kind of suffering. The kind that makes me feel alive, fighting the fatigue that makes my arms heavy and makes my head spin. Ribs hidden by large sweaters, not that anybody notices. It's more force of habit, to hide the ugly thing my body has become since not one person has given a damn about my well being since I ran away four years ago. Even then, it was only appearance that mattered. These days I keep myself busy, boiling coffee down a dry throat and every moment that passes is once better spent watching the world slip further and further down this rabbit hole that I cannot escape. I don't think I could eat if I wanted to. "We still on for lunch, cutie?" Her name is Daisy, hair dyed platinum with blue eyes and pale lips. I like the way she smiles, with every inch of her body and not just her lips. A genuine, sweet thing she is. I'd like to call her a friend, had I the confidence. "Of course." The smile cracks dry lips and I can taste the blood beading upon the split skin. Wipe it away on the back of my hand, wipe the back of my hand on my jeans and keep smiling, no matter what else you do. Actions take so much concentration these days, any amount of effort is taxing on a brain filled with cotton balls and candy wrappers. My mind is foggy, like the ocean on a winter's day and I can appreciate its beauty now- despite my hatred for the place. The cafe is warm. Its a nice break from the volatile ocean winds that taste like salt and fish. I never was a fan. And though my search is frantic- sure I'm missing the white haired woman among the crowd - realization is a rock down my throat and into the pit of my stomach. I can't tell those girls anything. Because there he is, the hot doctor I had mentioned to them in passing. (We just want to know, Ol baby, who is he?) I think I'd punch them if their intentions weren't always so pure. Really, I've got to work on the anger thing. I can't just walk in, stand here for a good five minutes and walk back out. If I'm going to make an impression on the guy it's certainly not going to be like that. Instead, long legs bring me to the seat across from him, carefully resting my elbows on the table and staring at the salt and pepper shakers so tediously placed upon its edge. "Wonderful day to be stood up, don't you think?" Cocky half grin, heart beating so fast he must hear its thumping. But a part of me hopes he can. A part of me wishes someone would see that I am dying and offer help that I will no doubt refuse. It's a sick kind of game, I am both the cat and the mouse and the man with a gun to his own temple.

table by elegant

[gamemaker kelsier]

 

It was ritual to die everyday.

Afer every shift, he scrubbed the skin off in layers, shedding it like a butterfly. It was against the rules to leave a shift without proper sanitization and Jude never minded really, it felt nice to take a hot shower after a long set of rounds. Sometimes he even took showers on his breaks, scrubbing at the blood on his arms until it at least seemed to be going away.

This had been a long one, spanning over three days when another doctor had inexplicably come down with an illness. Jude had checked on them himself, prescribing him a week in bed and some anti-inflammatories.

He stood in the shower, letting the water run over his face for a long while. He could feel his muscles relaxing with every drop of steaming, hot water. Jude stared down at his wrists, at the heavy scarring there. He was doing better. The voice barely ever came anymore. Fresh cuts lined his arm in neat little rows. If he cut before the voice even appeared then maybe it would stay away forever, held at bay by the lines of red.

A strangeness overtook him at the thought of the voice and the lines. thoughts of Nessie libertine filled his head. Of three years ago, when Eye Saw had taken his place in the games.

Fitz.

Noah.

I'm sorry.

He stopped at the cafe again on his way home, book in hand. He'd traded his doctor's coat and dress shirt for a comfortable knit sweater that had come from his father's closet. He was finally old enough to fill it out.

With a book in his hand, and a cup of jasmine tea cooling in front of him, he spent the rest of the morning in a moment of frozen time. The constant beeping of the monitors in the hospital finally left his ears and he could relax.

He was so invested in his book that he didn't notice at first when someone sat across from him, right up until he spoke. \

"Ah?" Jude said, lowering his book and taking in the boy across from him, "Oh no, how unfortunate."

He looked familiar, Jude knew that he must have been someone from work, not a patient, more familiar than that. He had large lips and curly brown hair, an unassuming sort of handsome. He furrowed his brow in thought, placing his book on the table when he placed him.

"Oliver, right?"

J U D E  ●  R I P L E Y

[[nyte]]

o l i v e r . I didn't think this through. Pink is already crawling up the apples of my cheeks, down my neck and I must look like a fucking cherry - and not even a ripe one. I'm kind of hoping I'll die right here because I'd seem a lot less stupid. Leaving was a much better idea. But so far my life has been filled with stupid decisions and obvious mistakes- there's no point stopping now. When he lowers the book I feel myself fidgeting, fingers dancing along the table's surface and leg bouncing beneath it. This restless energy will be the death of me. Teeth dug into my lip, hands through my hair and eyes settled just about anywhere but the handsome doctor sat in front of me. Maybe this is the reason I don't have any friends- I act like a fucking middle schooler when approached by anyone above a seven. And this guy is way above a seven. The nurses wouldn't stop cooing. (Oh Ripley? You have good taste Ol~) I don't know what it is with women and having a gay friend but despite my lack of charm, abysmal social skills and average looks I've found a home within their ranks. At least until the novelty wears off. My heart skips a beat when he says my name and I manage a broken sort of smile and nod. In all honesty, I hate that he knows my name. I've tried so hard to fade into the background that standing out to much of anyone is enough to cause me a good bit of unease. "Do you make a point of learning the help's names or something?" I could always think before I speak but I find such a careful existence boring. Aggression is sewn into my tongue, laced throughout even the calmest of my words and so far I think I'm nailing this- if my goal was to scare him away. (Which it might honestly be.) Life is like the tides, constant push and pull. Give and take. Self sabotage, self pity. There is so much toxicity within every person, within every secret they hide 'neath oversized sweaters and tight sleeves. Pessimism has proven most useful in these years I've spent alone. Not getting my hopes up for anything means I am let down by nothing. Loneliness and pain are side affects that I will gladly endure if it means my frozen heart remains intact. "Call me Ollie, Oliver makes me sound like an old man with a stick up his ass." Really, I think I could be doing much worse.

table by elegant