Cole Carrington (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burninginside) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2015-06-16 10:36 pm
burninginside) wrote in muserevival2015-06-16 10:36 pm
Entry tags:
093.1. Muse Prompt (Lyrics)
"Am I out of luck?
Am I waiting to break?
When I keep saying that I'm looking for a way to escape
Oh, I'm wishing I had what I'd taken for granted
I can't help you when I'm only gonna do you wrong
Oh, I'm going to mess this up
Oh, this is just my luck
Over and over and over again."
• Shots, Imagine Dragons
Cole had sworn that he never wanted to be in this hell hole again. He had been so fucking sure that once would be enough for him to learn his lesson. But of course, he had to fuck up all over again and he was now lying in the fetal position on the uncomfortable bed, sweating, shaking, nauseated, wishing his own death. The DTs had set in. He felt like he was about to lose his mind.
Addiction was a tragic thing. Horrific, even. The thing about the human mind was that memory of pain can be skewed as time goes on. It doesn’t go away, but you begin to see it differently. You forget the clarity of how it hit hard at the time. Which is why addiction can get its clutches back into you, just when you think you’ve conquered it. Cole was doubting whether he had the ability to conquer anything. He felt like such a fuck-up, that he had been entertaining thoughts of just ending himself before he was told in a no-nonsense way by a friend that he had to go back to rehab, or the friendship was done for. He couldn’t handle losing anyone else, so deleting himself from existence seemed like the best option. The selfish coward’s option, sure. But he wasn’t disputing that was exactly what he was.
That was a common theme in Cole’s life lately. Emilio had been the exception to every rule. He had been the one to remind Cole what love felt like and how it was supposed to work. He helped him overcome the fear of falling in love for fear of losing another partner. He had been what gave Cole the fight to get clean and stay clean. eight whole months he managed to stay clean, and right now, he couldn’t even remember how good it felt to reach that milestone and have any sliver of pride left in himself.
He would even go so far as to say he had been happy for those eight months. Happy wasn't an emotion he could remember either. It wasn't an easy eight months, however. Emilio had spent a lot of time in hospital following his car accident that was caused by a DUI, the driver drunk and high. The head injury left him with a neurological injury that led to trauma-induced blindness. No one knew if it was temporary, or if his eyesight would never return. From there, Cole had vowed he would do whatever it took to support Emilio and help him. Fuck, he hated himself for breaking those promises.
Emilio's family had been amazing. He had the best care he could, and when his eyesight didn't return for the duration of his long hospital stay that spanned over a couple of months of rehab, home assistance needed to be set up. Emilio had to start learning how to live away from the hospital as a blind person. Things like a stick to guide him, commencing learning how to read Braille, and even a guide dog puppy had been marked for him. Cole's apartment was more open-plan, so Emilio came to live with him, and it was fitted with a number of aids to help him live vision-impaired.
It had all gone well... for the most part. But cracks had begun to show when Emilio went through a period of depression that he might be blind for the rest of his life. Up to then, he had held firmly onto hope that it was just temporary and if he went through the motions, it would get better. The neurological injury would heal, and especially because he had done everything the rehab and neuro specialists set in motion for him. He jumped all the hoops, and he had managed to stay in good spirits most of the time. Save for the bad days, when he was hit with sheer exhaustion of not being able to see. Many would think it wouldn't be as exhausting as a physical disability, but it was in every sense. It was still living with a disability and having to re-learn a way of life. Some days, he wasn't happy and slowly, those days increased in frequency.
They started to argue, born only of frayed emotions and stress. When Emilio started to get depressed about his condition, Cole did also. Cole had fought his own battle for months, staving off the cravings to use or drink. He still had the nightmares, and he still had the flashbacks, but somehow with Emilio sharing his bed, he had been able to pull himself out of them more quickly and just being held through the panicked terror made it easier to control. When Emilio started to pull away from him emotionally, and then physically, Cole's own PTSD began to deteriorate, and so did his eight month clean streak.
At first, it started with small amounts of coke with some shots of booze. He told himself it was just for stress relief so he didn't take the cravings out on his partner, who was more and more struggling to even get out of bed in a haze of depression. It was like Emilio started to give up on himself, and even the urgings of his family fell on deaf ears, ringing warning bells for them. Cole told himself if he just had a little to hold off the cravings, he would be in a better position to help Emilio with his deteriorating mental state.
None of that shit ever worked in reality. It didn't. He was a fucking deluded cunt for even convincing himself of such bullshit. From the moment he snorted that first line, he was on a slippery slope back into the addictive behaviours, mood swings, delusions. Emilio might have been blind, but he managed to sense something was wrong with Cole. The confrontation was terrible. There was nothing quite as distressing or unnerving as having a vicious argument with your lover when he wasn't able to make eye contact with you. As much as he wished Emilio could look at him, there was nothing there. Which is exactly why Emilio lost his shit the worst of all that night. Because he couldn't see, he had no way to prove Cole's lies. Cole was, of course, lying through his fucking teeth to cover up that he was using again. He was already high and had been drinking when Emilio confronted him. That night, Cole did the worst thing he could imagine doing in his life... he hit Emilio in a fit of anger at being attacked. Emilio hit him back, and then told him to go fuck himself, that he hoped Cole died of an overdose, because he never wanted to see him again.
Since then, Cole had fallen so hard off the wagon, he had completely fallen from grace. He sold his nightclub to his friend, Flynn, and had been eating away at the profit from it spending it on hard booze and drugs. It was only a group intervention from his friends, including his best friend, Des - Emilio's sister - who hadn't spoken a word to him since the night he hit Emilio, that got him back to rehab to once again try to get clean. He was either going to succeed with it, or he was going to die trying... literally. If this didn't kill him, and he couldn't fight it, he was going to end it. He had nothing left to fight for. That was exactly how he was feeling the fourth day into the rehab. He didn't want to go on.
There was a succinct knock at the door of his rehab room, but the visitor didn't wait for permission to enter. The staff didn't have to. He was completely at their mercy. He had lost track of the time and days. He didn't know when his meds were due. There was no keeping them down, so what did it matter when they stuck him with more injections? None of them made him feel any better, but apparently they were stopping making him feel worse.
"There's someone here to see you, Cole."
Cole didn't even want to open his eyes. Even his eyelids were in incredible pain. He knew it was his own doing, and he brought it all on himself. But that didn't fucking stop the pain, did it? Visitor? Last time, he wasn't allowed fucking visitors for days on end, and even when he got to the point he was allowed, it was supervised visitation. He opened his eyes just a little, and when he spoke, his voice was a hoarse, just audible but confused croak of, "Who?"
"Emilio Alvarez."
Cole Carrington
( original character )
Am I waiting to break?
When I keep saying that I'm looking for a way to escape
Oh, I'm wishing I had what I'd taken for granted
I can't help you when I'm only gonna do you wrong
Oh, I'm going to mess this up
Oh, this is just my luck
Over and over and over again."
• Shots, Imagine Dragons
Cole had sworn that he never wanted to be in this hell hole again. He had been so fucking sure that once would be enough for him to learn his lesson. But of course, he had to fuck up all over again and he was now lying in the fetal position on the uncomfortable bed, sweating, shaking, nauseated, wishing his own death. The DTs had set in. He felt like he was about to lose his mind.
Addiction was a tragic thing. Horrific, even. The thing about the human mind was that memory of pain can be skewed as time goes on. It doesn’t go away, but you begin to see it differently. You forget the clarity of how it hit hard at the time. Which is why addiction can get its clutches back into you, just when you think you’ve conquered it. Cole was doubting whether he had the ability to conquer anything. He felt like such a fuck-up, that he had been entertaining thoughts of just ending himself before he was told in a no-nonsense way by a friend that he had to go back to rehab, or the friendship was done for. He couldn’t handle losing anyone else, so deleting himself from existence seemed like the best option. The selfish coward’s option, sure. But he wasn’t disputing that was exactly what he was.
That was a common theme in Cole’s life lately. Emilio had been the exception to every rule. He had been the one to remind Cole what love felt like and how it was supposed to work. He helped him overcome the fear of falling in love for fear of losing another partner. He had been what gave Cole the fight to get clean and stay clean. eight whole months he managed to stay clean, and right now, he couldn’t even remember how good it felt to reach that milestone and have any sliver of pride left in himself.
He would even go so far as to say he had been happy for those eight months. Happy wasn't an emotion he could remember either. It wasn't an easy eight months, however. Emilio had spent a lot of time in hospital following his car accident that was caused by a DUI, the driver drunk and high. The head injury left him with a neurological injury that led to trauma-induced blindness. No one knew if it was temporary, or if his eyesight would never return. From there, Cole had vowed he would do whatever it took to support Emilio and help him. Fuck, he hated himself for breaking those promises.
Emilio's family had been amazing. He had the best care he could, and when his eyesight didn't return for the duration of his long hospital stay that spanned over a couple of months of rehab, home assistance needed to be set up. Emilio had to start learning how to live away from the hospital as a blind person. Things like a stick to guide him, commencing learning how to read Braille, and even a guide dog puppy had been marked for him. Cole's apartment was more open-plan, so Emilio came to live with him, and it was fitted with a number of aids to help him live vision-impaired.
It had all gone well... for the most part. But cracks had begun to show when Emilio went through a period of depression that he might be blind for the rest of his life. Up to then, he had held firmly onto hope that it was just temporary and if he went through the motions, it would get better. The neurological injury would heal, and especially because he had done everything the rehab and neuro specialists set in motion for him. He jumped all the hoops, and he had managed to stay in good spirits most of the time. Save for the bad days, when he was hit with sheer exhaustion of not being able to see. Many would think it wouldn't be as exhausting as a physical disability, but it was in every sense. It was still living with a disability and having to re-learn a way of life. Some days, he wasn't happy and slowly, those days increased in frequency.
They started to argue, born only of frayed emotions and stress. When Emilio started to get depressed about his condition, Cole did also. Cole had fought his own battle for months, staving off the cravings to use or drink. He still had the nightmares, and he still had the flashbacks, but somehow with Emilio sharing his bed, he had been able to pull himself out of them more quickly and just being held through the panicked terror made it easier to control. When Emilio started to pull away from him emotionally, and then physically, Cole's own PTSD began to deteriorate, and so did his eight month clean streak.
At first, it started with small amounts of coke with some shots of booze. He told himself it was just for stress relief so he didn't take the cravings out on his partner, who was more and more struggling to even get out of bed in a haze of depression. It was like Emilio started to give up on himself, and even the urgings of his family fell on deaf ears, ringing warning bells for them. Cole told himself if he just had a little to hold off the cravings, he would be in a better position to help Emilio with his deteriorating mental state.
None of that shit ever worked in reality. It didn't. He was a fucking deluded cunt for even convincing himself of such bullshit. From the moment he snorted that first line, he was on a slippery slope back into the addictive behaviours, mood swings, delusions. Emilio might have been blind, but he managed to sense something was wrong with Cole. The confrontation was terrible. There was nothing quite as distressing or unnerving as having a vicious argument with your lover when he wasn't able to make eye contact with you. As much as he wished Emilio could look at him, there was nothing there. Which is exactly why Emilio lost his shit the worst of all that night. Because he couldn't see, he had no way to prove Cole's lies. Cole was, of course, lying through his fucking teeth to cover up that he was using again. He was already high and had been drinking when Emilio confronted him. That night, Cole did the worst thing he could imagine doing in his life... he hit Emilio in a fit of anger at being attacked. Emilio hit him back, and then told him to go fuck himself, that he hoped Cole died of an overdose, because he never wanted to see him again.
Since then, Cole had fallen so hard off the wagon, he had completely fallen from grace. He sold his nightclub to his friend, Flynn, and had been eating away at the profit from it spending it on hard booze and drugs. It was only a group intervention from his friends, including his best friend, Des - Emilio's sister - who hadn't spoken a word to him since the night he hit Emilio, that got him back to rehab to once again try to get clean. He was either going to succeed with it, or he was going to die trying... literally. If this didn't kill him, and he couldn't fight it, he was going to end it. He had nothing left to fight for. That was exactly how he was feeling the fourth day into the rehab. He didn't want to go on.
There was a succinct knock at the door of his rehab room, but the visitor didn't wait for permission to enter. The staff didn't have to. He was completely at their mercy. He had lost track of the time and days. He didn't know when his meds were due. There was no keeping them down, so what did it matter when they stuck him with more injections? None of them made him feel any better, but apparently they were stopping making him feel worse.
"There's someone here to see you, Cole."
Cole didn't even want to open his eyes. Even his eyelids were in incredible pain. He knew it was his own doing, and he brought it all on himself. But that didn't fucking stop the pain, did it? Visitor? Last time, he wasn't allowed fucking visitors for days on end, and even when he got to the point he was allowed, it was supervised visitation. He opened his eyes just a little, and when he spoke, his voice was a hoarse, just audible but confused croak of, "Who?"
"Emilio Alvarez."
( original character )