Waving off the EMTs that answered Director Seraphine's call for assistance had been a no brainer, unfortunately he'd not done well when he stood to go change. Bright lights and dark dots set to dancing across his field of vision light disco fireflies having a rowdy party in his aching head. Hit by a truck...maybe I should have let the EMTs take me when they took September. I didn't think it'd be so bad.
That Colin had been making poor life decisions for some time now was nothing new; he'd gone after a powered captain of the Negaverse with bare hands. He shouldn't be alive to feel pain in his head or body, let alone the ache in his chest that had deepened for some ungodly and unfathomable reason.
Yet another thing for Colin to puzzle out when his brain was in a bit more workable order than a half-broken toaster or coffee machine. Somehow he managed to drag himself bodily past the shaken ballerinas still fluttering about like tattered butterflies and to the changing rooms. His changing room was as ordered and neat as it had been left before the rehearsal, before his life had grown disordered with Björn's leave-taking. In the mirror Colin watched a shattered looking young man sinking into the chair, eyes bruised from lack of sleep and poor diet. The curly hair was too long and still mostly plastered to his head in thick, disorderly clumps.
I look like s**t. Guess everything's finally catching up to me. Mirthless laughter came forth, harsh and frightening enough to sober the expression of the mirror-Colin. "It only took four months..." And how quickly the world gives up colour, scents, and textures. Clinical depression. A likely diagnosis, had he bothered to see a doctor about the whole thing...but he had only spoken to a handful about his break-up with Björn; only speaking in relatively light terms for the bulk of those. His mother knew the whole story, her shock and dismay had been quite...refreshing, especially as he'd pretty much been stuffing his misery down and ignoring his health - physical, mental, and emotional - ever since March 6th.
A face with lines like the sound of cracking ice framed by hair as rich as potting soil peered in. Jessica. So she hadn't left right after being dressed down, had she been crying in the bathroom this whole time? Posting something salty on her blog? Either was likely. "Hey." He said, leaning wearily back in his chair and watching her via the mirror.
"Hey Mophead, you look trashed."
"That's...pretty accurate. You heard what happened?"
Jessica nodded, "Yep. Thombley's at the police station now, or that's what Gail says. She was looking for you, by the way."
Green eyes closed, blocking the two dancers interacting from view, "Not sure I care right now."
"What's up?" Now she noticed, when they weren't being berated. When there was no danger but Colin's own inability to care for himself properly and his wont for destruction. To say the principle ballerina was careless of others would be overstating the general way that ballerinas operated. Their world tended to be dismayingly cutthroat - no dancer got to the top without using the backs of others as a means of affecting the climb. Professional dancers tended to be very self-centered in a lot of ways...kind of like cats.
"I'm dizzy as hell." That she would sympathize, even if only for show, was expected. But her offer to take him home was wholly unexpected and entirely welcome. He did not want to have to walk home, he might not make it. At least this way he'd be able to make it home. The rest would sort itself out in the wash, as his mother sometimes said. "Sure. That'd be great. Thanks Jess."
Fifteen minutes later they were on their way. Ten after that he was saying goodbye and letting himself into his apartment at Florence Court and all but falling inside as Jessica headed off to get herself home. Colin slumped on the floor, dizzy still, his dance bag around his shoulders weightlessly. When he was unable to sit up after some length of time he couldn't quite determine, the blond knew he needed to call for help. Which was utter bullshit because he'd been mostly fine this morning, before getting heat-stroke and fighting with Titan. Weirdest encounter ever.
Colin fished his phone out and unthinkingly hit speed dial 1 - Björn. It didn't even occur to him that doing so was likely a futile exercise until he heard the call start to connect. Stupidly he let it ring once, twice before dropping the phone to his lap and forcing his brain to remember how to hang up. Not his problem anymore. If the strongman answered, he didn't notice, though there would be a quite definitive <********> from his end before it cut off. There was a lot of effort being put forth on Colin's end, but unfortunately not much action. He tried again after resting a few moments...but this time he didn't bother with dialing, he just texted Aleksy.
Hey. Can you come over, I'm ******** that done, he dropped his phone and curled up onto his side with eyes closed, waiting while the room spun. This is bad, isn't it? Yep. Bad. Maybe I should just dial 911? Trying to move again made him faint and the last thought in his head before everything became nothing was that he probably should have gotten juice before leaving DCBC. It was just his luck that he'd meant to but forgotten, since dancing in that stupid costume in the heat - Why did they never turn the AC on during practices? It was so much easier for the staff to put on more clothes, so the dancers wouldn't suffer heat stroke, but nooooo... - had him sweating bullets. In addition to being lax in taking care of himself.
Oops.
Full faint overtaking the blond, he missed the sound of his text being returned - some time later he'd read it and be amused by the ?? shot back seconds after his own text had gone out. He also missed the sounds of a body rushing down stairs with what one might have called a sense of urgency, as well as the harsher tones of his friend swearing in Russian. Had he been conscious, it would perhaps have warmed his heart like sunlight through a window pane...or it might have set him frowning for having caused such concern in Aleksy Spektor, who - for being a good friend - was just not very emotionally available. Or demonstrative. Rocks could be less mysterious in their inner worlds than Aleksy.
Colin neither worried nor thought about any of these things, nor in fact did he care. He was dreaming - char and haze, blue eyes and blond hair. Blood and death from spidery pale hands that touched intimately within the chest. Totem-faced monsters and black haired heathens, all colliding and expanding into eternity, a nightmare without end. Whatever actions taken, he was wholly unaware and would have to be told later.
When he regained consciousness.
Oops.
Full faint overtaking the blond, he missed the sound of his text being returned - some time later he'd read it and be amused by the ?? shot back seconds after his own text had gone out. He also missed the sounds of a body rushing down stairs with what one might have called a sense of urgency, as well as the harsher tones of his friend swearing in Russian. Had he been conscious, it would perhaps have warmed his heart like sunlight through a window pane...or it might have set him frowning for having caused such concern in Aleksy Spektor, who - for being a good friend - was just not very emotionally available. Or demonstrative. Rocks could be less mysterious in their inner worlds than Aleksy.
Colin neither worried nor thought about any of these things, nor in fact did he care. He was dreaming - char and haze, blue eyes and blond hair. Blood and death from spidery pale hands that touched intimately within the chest. Totem-faced monsters and black haired heathens, all colliding and expanding into eternity, a nightmare without end. Whatever actions taken, he was wholly unaware and would have to be told later.
When he regained consciousness.
1,210 words
