Lorenzo Jérôme Chevalier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nothingelsematters) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2015-04-05 03:40 pm
nothingelsematters) wrote in muserevival2015-04-05 03:40 pm
Entry tags:
089.1. Muse Prompt (Lyrics)
"It's alright to shake,
Even my hand does sometimes
So inside we'll rage,
Against the dying of the light
It's alright to say,
That that's the only thing you haven't tried
But just for today, Hold on."
• Hold On, Ed Sheeran
tw: dark themes, mentions of violence & suicide
Lorenzo's hands were trembling so much that it was hard to get the cigarette to his lips easily. The rain was still falling, though it was a light drizzle now. It had been raining since the day Lewis disappeared. The balcony was wet, and he was huddled in the corner under the awning, slumped against the wrought iron outdoor table proudly displaying a cute little pot of succulents and purple flowers.
He managed a shaky, shallow puff on the cigarette and when he tried to ash it into the crystal ashtray, he got more sprinkles of ash on the table than in the dish. He felt so sick inside and out with a crippling fear that a phone call was about to come to say Lewis' body had been found. Life was cruel. Life was so incredibly cruel and painful that he could see as clear as day now why so many felt they wanted to end it.
There were two things halting him from taking that route. From climbing up onto the balcony ledge and jumping, ending it all. His beautiful baby girl and his amazing lover, who was chained up somewhere being held, taunted, tortured. The terrible ache had started in his heart as soon as he realised something had happened to Lewis. Then it spread to his gut in a burning, agonising nausea unlike he had ever felt before. Now it was just all over. His head pounded, his arms and legs felt like they were burning, his throat was knotted up in a painful lump, and every beat of his heart felt like it was cracking his chest open.
Crying wasn't even an option anymore. He had literally cried himself out because that was all he had been able to do. You couldn't go out and hunt for someone who disappeared in a place ike New York City. It was beyond needle in a haystack bullshit. All he had been able to do was put 100% trust in Euan, Clint, Em, Ange, and the rest of the team to do their detective work. He didn't trust them though. He wanted to. Holy fuck, did he want to. But he was losing hope. He had lost all energy to cope with anymore pain and what was left was him curling up in a sobbing mess in bed and feeling like he would never be able to function again.
But he did. He had to keep functioning somehow. His daughter needed feeding, and changing, and bathing, and cuddling. Gratitude wasn't enough for the help his little tight-knit group of friends were giving him, but he couldn't relinquish Holly's care to them for very long. He needed to still be her daddy. He had to hold on for her. She was part of him, and she was his world. He was just going to keep going... somehow.
Nothing could quite match the torture inside of the absence of someone you were in love with. Unconditional love. Love that felt like it was true love, for someone you were really beginning to believe was The One. Love songs were making sense, and romance was suddenly a life's priority. Intimacy, touch, kisses, connection; you needed them like you needed air and without, it felt like you were suffocating. Then to witness a video recording of that person being inflicated unconscionable torment and distress, right there on a video recording, it felt like his whole world was bottoming out from beneath him and holding on for dear life was getting harder by each passing second.
And all he could do was sit there and wait. Wait for clues, wait for answers, wait for bad news. What for hope? No. Hope was a foreign concept now. Every time he clawed back a tiny ounce of hope, it was torn away from him in even more horrific ways than the last.
The cigarette came to his lips again, though before he could inhale, he was just hit with another crushing wave of heartache. The smoke was abandoned in the ashtray so he could bury his face in his hands. A few moments later, his head was resting on the tabletop and his arms were folded over his head like he could somehow drown out the pain. If Lewis was murdered for a disastrous error Mara had made before she committed suicide, he didn't know how he would keep living without losing his mind.
And yet, all he could still was wait. Wait and hold on, but not wait with false hope.
lorenzo chevalier
- original character -
references: this
Even my hand does sometimes
So inside we'll rage,
Against the dying of the light
It's alright to say,
That that's the only thing you haven't tried
But just for today, Hold on."
• Hold On, Ed Sheeran
Lorenzo's hands were trembling so much that it was hard to get the cigarette to his lips easily. The rain was still falling, though it was a light drizzle now. It had been raining since the day Lewis disappeared. The balcony was wet, and he was huddled in the corner under the awning, slumped against the wrought iron outdoor table proudly displaying a cute little pot of succulents and purple flowers.
He managed a shaky, shallow puff on the cigarette and when he tried to ash it into the crystal ashtray, he got more sprinkles of ash on the table than in the dish. He felt so sick inside and out with a crippling fear that a phone call was about to come to say Lewis' body had been found. Life was cruel. Life was so incredibly cruel and painful that he could see as clear as day now why so many felt they wanted to end it.
There were two things halting him from taking that route. From climbing up onto the balcony ledge and jumping, ending it all. His beautiful baby girl and his amazing lover, who was chained up somewhere being held, taunted, tortured. The terrible ache had started in his heart as soon as he realised something had happened to Lewis. Then it spread to his gut in a burning, agonising nausea unlike he had ever felt before. Now it was just all over. His head pounded, his arms and legs felt like they were burning, his throat was knotted up in a painful lump, and every beat of his heart felt like it was cracking his chest open.
Crying wasn't even an option anymore. He had literally cried himself out because that was all he had been able to do. You couldn't go out and hunt for someone who disappeared in a place ike New York City. It was beyond needle in a haystack bullshit. All he had been able to do was put 100% trust in Euan, Clint, Em, Ange, and the rest of the team to do their detective work. He didn't trust them though. He wanted to. Holy fuck, did he want to. But he was losing hope. He had lost all energy to cope with anymore pain and what was left was him curling up in a sobbing mess in bed and feeling like he would never be able to function again.
But he did. He had to keep functioning somehow. His daughter needed feeding, and changing, and bathing, and cuddling. Gratitude wasn't enough for the help his little tight-knit group of friends were giving him, but he couldn't relinquish Holly's care to them for very long. He needed to still be her daddy. He had to hold on for her. She was part of him, and she was his world. He was just going to keep going... somehow.
Nothing could quite match the torture inside of the absence of someone you were in love with. Unconditional love. Love that felt like it was true love, for someone you were really beginning to believe was The One. Love songs were making sense, and romance was suddenly a life's priority. Intimacy, touch, kisses, connection; you needed them like you needed air and without, it felt like you were suffocating. Then to witness a video recording of that person being inflicated unconscionable torment and distress, right there on a video recording, it felt like his whole world was bottoming out from beneath him and holding on for dear life was getting harder by each passing second.
And all he could do was sit there and wait. Wait for clues, wait for answers, wait for bad news. What for hope? No. Hope was a foreign concept now. Every time he clawed back a tiny ounce of hope, it was torn away from him in even more horrific ways than the last.
The cigarette came to his lips again, though before he could inhale, he was just hit with another crushing wave of heartache. The smoke was abandoned in the ashtray so he could bury his face in his hands. A few moments later, his head was resting on the tabletop and his arms were folded over his head like he could somehow drown out the pain. If Lewis was murdered for a disastrous error Mara had made before she committed suicide, he didn't know how he would keep living without losing his mind.
And yet, all he could still was wait. Wait and hold on, but not wait with false hope.
- original character -
references: this