All he did was hear, listen, and it waved over him like the tides from seven seas put together and overtaking everything he had. The plane was landing, the night had been long, everything had been long. New York to London; such a long flight, and at this point, it was too long for him and far too much for him. Christopher had jumped each and every task he needed to, everything that he had left, and it was simply over in all of his mind.
The worst part of it all, of course, was that in the end with everything he had said and done that regardless he would blame himself for ripping his life apart, ripping other people apart. All those thoughts did was spark a warning in his mind: oh, how dumb he had been to not take a warning, but it all came from someone he needed a warning from in the first place, and yet it proved to be all too true.
The air was cold as he stepped out so calmly, so easily, heading into his quiet and dark home that had been unoccupied for far to long. He thought it strange, weary even, how absolutely calm he was finding himself knowing that every thought and plan he had were already combusted into invalid atoms in the air that would never amount to anything. Yet, regardless, he was calm.
His home smelled different, it felt empty from the start, as soon as he passed through the foyer and into the living room. Chris did not bother turning on a single light, he had one destination, and it was not here. Dropping his luggage at the door, he went up his stairs, two flights, before entering his room. Being here -- it had been too long -- but he had become too exhausted in all forms to even be forced the picture the last time he could recall laying in his own bed, and he was not alone.
His bed, sitting right at the edge of his side as he opened up the drawer in the bedside table, they had all been in there, since after Japan. But now they would come to use, now they would have a purpose. Throughout his ride in, he had taken a few things to blow out his mind, and yet the numbness made him feel more than he had hoped.
Numbness, though, was becoming more of a force of habit than an actual emotion of feeling, and the truly hurtful feelings and emotions seemed to continue to slip through no matter which substance he seemed to numb it with. Great, really, even his therapy needed therapy for him.
Pills were not his only option, but then again, were they ever really? The needle in his arm had such a temporary helping feeling, and the alcohol in his system was beginning to bring back more of that numbness that he so eagerly required at this point. But, oh how they weren't enough. Christopher felt the room spinning, tossing, turning, like a nightmare on a hot night. He was running in circles in his head and it was if his own skin was beginning to no longer fit him.
Leaning up his hand, he slid the sharpest part of his barely apparent nail on his index finger, tracing it along the tattoo, the words on his arm, he had thought about forcing it all to disappear before any of this happened.
Stop, he thought, he needed to stop thinking. Thoughts were irrelevant at this point anyway, right? They weren't going to help. They wouldn't speed this up. If anything, really, they only slowed him down. Yet just as his mind wandered, he felt himself slowing down, and not his head, just his breathing and his heart rate.
Finally is not something you would think anyone would feel, at the time though, that was all Christopher thought; finally. His eyes battled the line between closed and shut, his entire body felt like it was breaking and falling apart all while he was still.
Let this be it, please, let this end.
He couldn't seem to handle it anymore, it had to make all of this stop, and hopefully this time... it would.
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